“Wait here,” he said, leaving me perplexed and wanting more of him. He disappeared inside and after a few moments, came back out to collect the wine bottle and the platter of food. “Will you bring the glasses?” he asked.
“Of course.” I followed him back inside. He had moved the sofa so it faced the window. He placed the platter and the wine on a small table in front of the sofa, then opened the window so the fresh breeze wafted into the room.
“Those chairs,” he said. “Too far apart. Now we have the view and we can sit together.”
“Perfect.” I placed the glasses on the table and sat down—much more comfortable than the stupid deckchairs.
Jean-Luc sat beside me, reached for both glasses and handed me mine. “It is better, oui?”
“Oui.” I twisted my body so I faced him and put a throw pillow behind my back. I didn’t know how much longer I could just sit there and make polite conversation. “You know what?”
“No.”
“Look, I’m just going to come out and say this, because you came all this way and we’ve known each other a long time …” My voice trailed off as I watched a frown settle on his face. “It’s not something bad. I—I only want to be honest.”
“Okay.” The frown was still there.
“Here goes. I am madly, I mean madly attracted to you.” As if I had flicked a switch, the frown changed into a grin, and he ran a hand through his hair. “See? That, right there. Every time you do that, I want to do it.”
“Go ahead.” He lifted his chin and raised that single eyebrow, challenging me. It was such a stupid thing to want to do—like out of a romance novel or something—but I lifted my hand and trailed a fingertip over his hairline, then ran my fingers through his hair, resting at the nape of his neck and stroking it softly. He closed his eyes and the softest moan escaped his lips.
My lady parts were on high alert. How could something so simple cause so much of a reaction—in both of us? I pulled my hand away and his eyes opened.
“See what I mean?” I asked quietly. He nodded almost imperceptibly. “And kissing you? I mean, that’s just … next level.”
“Is that not a good thing?” Ah, there it was, the million-pound question. I was at the point where I needed to decide: put a halt to the physical stuff in case it led to unwelcome feelings, or ride it out, so to speak.
My libido won, a victory for the lady parts.
“It is a very good thing,” I answered.
He placed his glass on the table, then leant close and kissed my cheek—not one of those quick taps, the French way of greeting someone, but a sensuous kiss where his lips lingered, and I felt his breath on my ear. Oh, good lord. “I agree,” he whispered.
The kiss trailed under my jaw and I lifted my chin, gently leaning into to him. “So, if the kissing is ‘next level’, just think of what the lovemaking will be like.” I had, Jean-Luc. I had spent many hours thinking about the lovemaking. Those were long coach rides.
The kissing moved to my throat and I reclined as Jean-Luc’s body moved over mine. I had the presence of mind to keep my wine glass upright—just. He saw it and with amusement in his eyes, took it from me and placed it on the floor. He shifted, his body stretching the length of me, the weight of it held by one of his taut, muscular arms.
“Cat-er-ine,” he almost whispered. “Look at me.” I did. He dipped his face to mine and captured my lips with his. This kiss was possessive, hungry, and my arms went around his back, feeling the muscles rigid underneath his T-shirt. His erection pressed against my inner thighs and I lifted a hand to his neck and entwined my fingers in his hair.
I had never been so turned on in my life.
He broke the kiss and I nearly cried out in protest. He pressed his forehead to mine, our heavy breaths mingling in the space between us. “I have something, in my room.”
“I’m on the pill,” I said, understanding instantly.
“Do you want to go to the bedroom?”
“Not this time.” This time? I obviously thought there would be at least one repeat performance, maybe more.
We both reached between us, undoing our own jeans. I shimmied mine down, along with my knickers, and he did the same. When he entered me, his eyes locked with mine and the pleasure was acute.
We fell into a harmonised rhythm, all the while watching each other intensely. I felt the orgasm building inside me, surprising me, and closed my eyes to give myself over to the wondrous cascade as I came. Jean-Luc was still moving inside me and when I opened my eyes a slight smile played on his lips. I gripped him with my legs, pulling him into me and he came with his face buried against my neck.
He lay on me, the full weight of him nearly crushing me, but I didn’t want to let him go. Our breathing slowed, and he must have realised he was resting on me. He pressed himself up with one hand, hovering over me. “Désolé, ma chérie.” I shook my head. He kissed me, lightly, his tongue playing across my lips, and I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be licked and nibbled.
How utterly delightful.
Although we had shared something incredibly intimate, there were nervous chuckles as we reinstated our various pieces of clothing and tidied ourselves up. I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
Closing the door, I leant my head against it. “Holy cow,” I said to myself quietly. I had never had an orgasm just from sex before. Ever. I thought they were a myth perpetuated by Hollywood scripts written by men. I may have just had the best sex of my life.
Whatever it was, my libido was doing a victory lap.
Of my two minds, I was fervently ignoring the one telling me to be kind with Jean-Luc’s heart. If I really didn’t want him falling in love with me again, I was doing a poor job of it. A niggling thought keep popping to the surface. This is not how old friends reconnect.
I walked over to the sink and turned on the cold tap. I splashed some water on my cheeks, careful to avoid my mascara. I looked at myself in the mirror above the sink. My cheeks were still flushed, and I had that post-orgasm glow cosmetics companies the world over have tried to bottle. I met my own eyes. “Do not break his heart. Again.” I said it aloud—in a soft voice, yes—but aloud so I knew I was serious.
I had no intention of falling in love with Jean-Luc—or anyone—and I would have to figure out a way to let him know, before we parted ways again.
I had a quick wee, freshened up my lady parts again and went back out to the living room. Jean-Luc was standing with his back to the room, looking out the window. “Uh, I’ve finished in the bathroom.” Men liked to freshen up after sex, too, right?
He turned, smiling, suddenly a little shy. “Thank you. Oui, just give me a moment.” He almost jogged past me. I guess they do.
I hated this part—the after-sex part. It was why I rarely stayed the night, and I never let him—whoever he was—stay the night. It went: sex, goodnight, blissful sleep all by myself. But it was only 5:00pm. We were hardly going to bed at five o’clock!
Jean-Luc came back into the room and we stood looking at each other like adolescents across a dance floor. “I think if we are to finish the wine and the cheese, we should move back out to the balcony, yes? Otherwise, we will just end up making love again, and although that is a nice way to spend the evening, the wine will get warm.”