Frenched (12 page)

We fell asleep, and when I woke up, I watched Lucas for a few minutes. His bedroom window was open slightly, allowing a cool breeze to blow through, and I could still hear the rain, although the thunder had ceased. I rolled onto my belly and set my chin in my hand, breathing in rainy-cool air and the scent of sex on our bodies.

Lucas’s skin was a little olive in tone, not very hairy except on his legs, and unmarred from what I could see, except for a small scar on his stomach. The inch-long slash sat just below his bottom left rib. I was tempted to run my finger over it, but I didn’t want to wake him.

He lay on his back, one arm tossed above his head, the other across his belly.
I take it back. His armpits are little hairy too.
I stifled a giggle. But his chest was nice and smooth, his nipples the color of wine—couldn’t stop the smile now—and his stomach a delicious meal of muscles and lines and that happy little trail that made my mouth water. The sheet was pulled up to his hips, or I’d have had more to enjoy.

“You’re awake.” Lucas’s eyes were open, his voice scratchy. “And you’re staring at me.”

I laughed. “Sorry. Nothing creepy, I promise. Just enjoying the view.”

He closed his eyes and smiled. “Carry on.”

Giving him a swat on the chest, I let my head fall onto my upper arm and stretched out next to him. “Mmmm. That was amazing.”

“The sex or the nap?”

“Both.” I wasn’t really a napper—I usually felt guilty about them, like there was always something I could be doing. But waking up next to Lucas on a rainy evening felt even better than crossing something off a list.

“Agreed. But now I’m starving,” he said, scratching his stomach.

“Are you? Yeah, I guess we sort of skipped dinner. Poor baby. You had to work so hard without enough energy.”

He looked at me. “You. Are not. Work.”

I smiled shyly, and he reached out, pulling me close so my body aligned with his and my head rested on his chest.

“But,” he continued. “I do need some energy if we’re going to keep this up—which I hope we do—so we should probably get something to eat. It must be nine o’clock.”

My heart beat hard against his side. Could he feel it? “OK.”

But neither of us moved, and in a moment our breathing synced in a way that had me warm and drowsy again. I wrapped an arm around his stomach and Lucas’s hand traced spirals on my shoulder. When his stomach growled, it startled me.

“Your body has spoken,” I said, sitting up. “Shall we eat?”

“Definitely. What do you feel like?”

I shrugged. “Surprise me.”

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“What?”

It split wide open on his face. “Your hair is awesome right now.”

Groaning, I wrapped my head in my hands. “I know. So is yours.”

“I figured.” He swept a hand through his and sat up as well. “I guess I should comb it.”

I dropped my arms and feigned shock. “You own a comb?”

He tackled me, throwing me onto my back and hovering above me, my wrists pinned to the bed. His curly mop of hair fell forward, but rather than make me laugh, it had me chewing my bottom lip again, imagining his head between my thighs. What the hell was I going to do when I had to go home? What if I never had this again? Lucas lingered above me a moment, studying me, and both our chests started to expand more rapidly. I felt his engorged cock on my thigh, hard and ready.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

“I thought you were hungry.”

“My stomach can wait,” he said, lowering his mouth to my neck. “My dick is more demanding. It wants you now.”

Desire oozed between my legs as he sucked my earlobe and began to slide his body over mine.

“Lucas.”

“Yeah.” His breath was warm in my ear.

“Let’s take a shower.”

#

4 Insanely Glorious Things

I Realized In The Shower With Lucas

(& 1 Terrifying One)

1) Lucas is Dangerous When Wet. Because when I saw him with his hair soaked and slicked back, it only emphasized the cut of his cheekbones, the arch of his brows, the angle of his jaw, and I nearly hyperventilated with the need to put my mouth EVERYWHERE.

2) Having someone else wash your hair and soap your body feels more decadent than indulging in molten chocolate cake —especially when that person is naked, sexy as hell, and massages your scalp in a way that makes your toes curl.

3) Kissing in the rain is fun, but making out with Lucas in his shower is fucking outstanding—hot water streaming down our bodies, steam rising all around us, enveloping us in a hot little cloud of lust. It’s enough to make you do things you never thought you’d do (See item #4).

4) Having Lucas inside me without any barrier between us is a physical rapture beyond words—actually the rapture is beyond physical. Which brings me to item #5.

5) I think I might have feelings for Lucas. Big ones.

The shower spray was hot on my back, but I was even hotter on Lucas’s front. My legs were twined around his hips and he held me aloft with his hands under my ass. Our mouths were connected so tightly not one drop of water permeated the kiss, and I was sucking his tongue into my mouth, wishing I could have more of him inside me.

But we had no condom in the shower.

His cock was trapped between us, sliding between my slippery folds as he moved me against him. He was hard and thick and long, and all I could think of was having him slide into me, just the way we were.

“Lucas, I want you inside me,” I said breathlessly. “I’m on the pill.”

He pulled his head back and looked at me, water dripping from his dark locks. “We can’t.”

“You’re right, sorry.” And he was right. God, what the hell was I thinking? I went back to kissing him, grinding against him, panting with want.

A few seconds later he said, “Well, maybe we can.”

“We can?”

“Maybe just for a minute. I mean, if you want to. I won’t come.”

How the hell could he say that? I knew I couldn’t make that kind of promise. And I knew being on the pill shouldn’t give us permission to be reckless—it wasn’t foolproof. Sex without a condom wasn’t smart behavior when you’d only known someone for two days—and yet I wanted to feel him
so badly
. And he was leaving tomorrow. “OK. I just want to feel you that way. Even if it’s only for a minute.”

He kissed me before hitching me a little higher, and I used my leg muscles to hold myself up while he positioned himself beneath me. Steam rose around us, lending the moment a dreamlike quality.
It’s like it’s not even real.
When I felt him at my center, I released my viselike hold on his waist and slid down his hard length, my eyes locked on his.

Oh my God.

I thought it, but he actually said it.

Then he closed his eyes. “You feel so good. Too fucking good.”

My body fought the urge to move, to ride him, to feel him thrusting into me.

Fought it for five whole seconds.

“Oh God.” I grabbed the back of his neck and circled my hips, squeezing my muscles around him.

“Fuck, Mia.” He turned and put my back against the cool white tiles, giving in to his own urge to drive into me, slow at first, then deep and hard. I answered every thrust of his hips with my own, rubbing myself against him in a way that had my body racing toward climax.

The
feeling
of his bare cock inside me was arousing enough, but it was the
thought
that did me in—the notion that the most sensitive, most intimate, most private part of him was inside that part of me, unguarded.

I came hard, biting down on his shoulder and clamping my legs around him, unable even to breathe.

The moment I relaxed my hold on him, Lucas frantically set me down and pulled out. Without even hesitating, I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth, employing all the little tricks he’d liked before, skipping the slow, teasing phase and going straight for porn star goddess.

“Oh my God, Mia, oh my God, oh fuck, I’m gonna come, so if you don’t—”

I silenced him by looking up and meeting his eyes, and he lost control two seconds after that, throbbing and streaming into my mouth as he braced himself against the wall behind me.

When it was over, he reached down and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me and resting his forehead on my shoulder. “Jesus. Mia.”

And his voice cracked. Right over my name.

And that little sound, more than anything else, had me closing my eyes, holding him close, and thinking the terrifying thing.

I’m so in love with him.

#

Which was ridiculous. I wasn’t in love with him. I couldn’t be. I’d just met the guy two days ago.

I was in love with the way he made me feel during sex, the way he worshipped my body, and let me worship his. We had really incredible sexual chemistry, that was all. And he was a cool person. I’d never had a fuck friend before, so it was only natural that there would be some confusion in my brain about what it all meant.

It means you can enjoy yourself with him without worrying about a relationship. It means you can have amazing, guilt-free sex because there are no expectations. It means no one cares if this is just a rebound fuck fling, so enjoy it while it lasts and then go home and move on with your real life.

Yes. I could do that. I could totally do that.

Couldn’t I?

It had stopped raining, and Lucas wanted to take me to dinner in Montmartre. “The food’s not amazing, but I want you to hear something.”

“I’m up for anything,” I said, pulling on my jeans. “Although I wish I had new clothes. These are a little bit damp.”

“This place is totally casual, I promise.” He came up behind me and kissed my shoulder. “And I love the little top you have on, anyway.”

“Thanks. But what I
really
wish I had are my hair products. Yours are sadly lacking.” I slipped my feet into my flats. Ugh, those were soaked too.

“Sorry. Would it help if I told you I think you’re gorgeous no matter how crazy your hair gets?” Lucas pulled a clean shirt from his closet and began to button it up. It gave me a warm little bloom of pleasure in my belly to watch him dress…it seemed personal and intimate. Like we’d known each other for much longer than we had.

I smiled. “Some. But would it be too much to ask to run by the Plaza?”

“Nothing you ask of me is too much.”

My heart stopped beating to balloon in my chest, and then galloped furiously ahead, as if to make up for the lost time.

Quit saying things like that. I’m getting confused.

I thanked him and picked up my jacket, looking away on purpose. It was dangerous to let emotion into this.
I’ll have to work harder to control it, keep reminding myself what we are, and more importantly, what we are not.

To save time, we took a cab to the Plaza, and I invited Lucas to come up to my room while I changed.

“Wow. Pretty fancy,” he said, taking in the opulent suite.

I felt embarrassed for some reason, and I didn’t want him to think I was spoiled and always traveled this way. “It’s way more than I need, really. I’d have been happy with something smaller, but this was already paid for.”

“I remember.” Lucas eyed the roses and the bed before wandering into the sitting area. Lowering himself onto the couch, he glanced at the newspaper I’d left on the coffee table this morning.

I stripped off my jacket and kicked my shoes into the closet. “I’ll just be a minute or two.”

“Take your time.”

Although I couldn’t see him from where I stood, his voice sounded a little funny to me. Was it because of the reference to Tucker?
I shouldn’t have brought him up here. He’s probably uncomfortable being in a suite my ex-fiance booked for our honeymoon.
But what could I do besides hurry up?

I hung my damp clothing up in the closet to dry out, threw my underwear in my laundry bag, and went to the dresser to choose something dry.

When I opened the top drawer, the Aubade lingerie peeked out at me. I was tempted to put it on, but I didn’t want Lucas to see me do it. It would be better if he discovered it underneath clothes, or somehow came home to find me wearing it.

Came home to find you wearing it! Have you lost your mind?

We were not a couple. There was no home. I’d best remember that.

Scowling a little, I pushed the beautiful bra and panties aside and took out something more basic. From the lower drawers I picked out a clean pair of jeans and dug around for a new top. Hmm, what would Lucas like to see me in? He said he’d liked the little cami I’d had on today, but I was guessing that was mostly because it showed some skin. I didn’t have another cami like that, but I did have a black off-the-shoulder top I thought he’d like. I kept my strapless bra on and shimmied into a pair of skinny black pants and the top. My flats were too wet to wear again, so I decided to go for heels—black and strappy with little gold studs. If I had to walk a lot, so be it.
Sometimes, beautiful hurts.

In the bathroom, I threw my hair up in a messy bun and touched up my face.

“OK, ready,” I said, coming out of the bathroom. From the closet I grabbed my little black clutch and switched a few things to it.

“Really? God, you’re quick.” Lucas came around the corner from the sitting area. “And fuck, you’re hot.”

Smiling, I faced him. “Thank you.”

“I can’t believe how fast you get ready to go, and you look this good.” His eyes swept over my hair, my bare shoulder, my fitted pants.

“I’m usually pretty fast, unless I blow out my hair. That takes a lot of time. Otherwise…” I threw up my arms. “What you see is what you get.”

“Lucky for me.” He snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. “Hey, you’re tall.”

I laughed. “I have heels on tonight.”

He looked down and groaned. “Mia, you’re
killing
me. Come on, let’s go before I lose all control.” Glancing over his shoulder, he went on, “And it’s a nice room and all, but being here with you feels a little weird.”

I patted his cheek. “I totally understand. You don’t have to come here again.”

We took the Metro to the base of Montmartre and climbed up hundreds of steep, narrow steps lined with cool old lampposts and iron railings. My feet didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought they would in my heels, probably because I was so taken with the scenery. The winding cobblestone streets and sweeping views were probably charming and picturesque during the day, but tonight, with mist hanging in the air, the ground dark and shiny from the rain, and the lamp lights glowing through the fog, Montmartre seemed straight out of an old-fashioned noir film.

Taking my hand, Lucas led me to a restaurant off the main square and right away I heard the reason he’d brought me here. The sound of guitars filtered out through the open doors, and I squeezed his hand as he led me to a small square table near the back of the large, half-filled room.

When we were seated, I studied the three musicians playing with interest. They sat in a semi-circle, and I’m not sure what I expected a gypsy to look like, but it wasn’t three portly middle-aged guys in jeans and plaid shirts with electric guitars plugged into amplifiers behind them. In front of them was a small table with a stack of CD’s, a little basket of cash, and three glasses of beer. They looked like any regular shmoes busking for tips on the street corner.

But the music.

I’d never heard anything like it before, the way the two rhythm guitars kept up a percussive, driving rhythm with constant strumming on every beat. “My God, their wrists must kill them,” I said to Lucas.

He smiled. “They’re used to it.”

The lead guitarist, the one in the middle, had fingers that flew so quickly over the strings his hands appeared blurry. I’d never seen anything like it.

“Can you play that fast?” I asked.

“Ha. I wish.”

I elbowed him. “I bet you can.”

“Listen, I’m all right. But these guys are the real deal. That guy there?” He pointed to the musician in the center. “As good as any jazz guitarist I’ve met in New York.”

We drank wine and ate steak frites and salads and listened to the music, Lucas occasionally answering my questions about the name of a song or the style of the music. It was so much fun I almost forgot about sex.

Almost.

But sometimes I’d look over at Lucas and catch him watching me, and he’d give me a slow smile that meant
you know what I’m thinking
. And once he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I can’t stop thinking about the shower,” causing my face to get hot and that swooping rush in my core.

At the set break, I was surprised when the lead guitarist wandered over and shook Lucas’s hand. They conversed in French, of course, so I had no idea what they were saying, but I smiled and offered my hand when Lucas introduced me. The guitarist’s name was Stefan; he had black hair, dark eyes, and a warm, gap-toothed smile. After he shook my hand, he said something to Lucas that made him laugh before heading over to the bar.

“What did he say?” I demanded.

“He said he’s never seen me in here with a girl before and figures I must really want to impress you if I brought you to hear him play.”

“Oh.” I hid my satisfied smile in my wine glass.

“So did it work?” Lucas sat back and regarded me with playful eyes.

“Yes.” I
was
impressed, but mostly I was happy to hear that Lucas had never brought a girl here before.

On his way back to the front, Stefan stopped and put a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. He asked a question, and at first Lucas shook his head, but after some prodding, appeared to waver. He looked at me. “Stefan is asking me to sit in.”

I clapped my hands. “Do it! Please?”

“OK. But don’t compare me to this guy.” Lucas tapped Stefan on the shoulder.

“He is very good guitarist,” Stefan said to me in heavily accented English.

“I believe it.” But I was nervous for Lucas, watching him sit in Stefan’s chair and loop the strap of the guitar over his head. He chatted with the rhythm guitarists for a moment, counted off the song in French, and they began strumming that chung-chung-chung-chung pattern with alarming speed. My insides knotted up.
Ugh, I hope he isn’t going to try to show off with something he can’t do.

I shouldn’t have worried. Lucas played with graceful dexterity, his fingers whisking confidently over the strings, embellishing the melody of the tune without filling up all the space with showy runs or a million extra notes.

I was mesmerized.

My favorite part was how happy he looked the entire time, whether smiling at me or at the other guitarists or just watching his hands on the guitar. God, he was so fucking cute. And talented and smart and sweet.

What the hell? There had to be something wrong with him.

He lives in France. That’s what’s wrong with him.

Only sometimes.

Yeah, like right now. And he’s leaving Paris tomorrow.

At the recollection that our time together was running out, my stomach twisted painfully. I pushed back against the unease building in my gut and tried to stay in the moment.

Right here, right now.

But when the song ended, Lucas said something to the other guitarists and counted off another tune. And as soon as he played the opening notes of La Vie En Rose, I sucked in my breath.

In fact, I don’t think I breathed through the entire song. He didn’t sing or anything, but he played the melody so beautifully that it brought tears to my eyes. The room, which had buzzed with noise before, was hushed and still as he played, and when the song finished, everyone there applauded. Lucas lifted the guitar strap over his head, gave it back to Stefan with a nod of thanks, and returned to me at the table.

“Well? What’d you think?”

I had to swallow hard before speaking. “That was beautiful. Thank you for playing the song for me. It…meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll always think of you now when I hear it.”

My mouth opened, but I didn’t know what to say. We stared at each other, and I realized something had changed between us—he’d acknowledged, in a way, that our time together was limited, that goodbye was near. And honestly, he didn’t look too happy about it either.

He sat down and cleared his throat. “Did you get enough to eat? Do you want another glass of wine?”

“No. I mean, yes, I got enough to eat, but no more wine, I guess.” For the first time, I felt tongue-tied around Lucas. I didn’t want the night to end, but I didn’t feel right inviting myself back to his apartment. And I couldn’t invite him back to my room either.

Shit. Is this it?
I looked over one shoulder toward the door in an effort to conceal the tears forming in my eyes.

“Well…I guess we can go, then. Let me just pay the bill.”

“No.” I put my hand over it on the table and dragged it toward me. “This one’s mine. It’s the least I can do for all the time you’ve spent with me.”

“Spent? Are you done with me now?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

I shrugged. “Well, you’re leaving, right? Didn’t you say last night that you had to go out of town tomorrow?”

“Oh, that’s right. Fuck. Tomorrow’s Thursday?” He tugged at a strand of hair that had escaped my bun. “You made me forget what day it was.”

I had to laugh. “Good.”

“I do have to leave Paris tomorrow. I have to go to Vaucluse for my brother’s engagement party. My family is all meeting there.”

“At the Count’s house?”

“Yeah.”

I forced a smile. “That’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.” But he looked glum about it, his brow furrowed.

The music started again and I paid the bill with my credit card. Lucas thanked me for dinner and dropped some cash in Stefan’s basket before taking my hand and leading me out of the restaurant. Neither of us spoke as we started the walk down the hill.

And then halfway down one of the lamp-lit staircases, Lucas stopped. I walked two steps further and turned to look up at him. “What’s wrong?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You should come with me tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Come with me to Vaucluse.”

My heart was beating way too hard. “Lucas, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He came down to my step. “I want you to.”

“But—”

He took his hands from his pockets and placed them on my upper arms. “And I’m not ready to say goodbye to you.”

He kissed me before I could say anything else, silencing with his lips any words of dissent I might have offered. Because there were so many I could think of—
we just met two days ago, who the hell will you say I am, your family will think I’m nuts running off with a guy I just met, and… and I’m scared. I’m feeling too much here. What the hell is this between us?