His lips left mine, a deep moan replacing the sound of our tonges. His cock twitched inside me, and warmth flooded my tights as he slipped out.
Bastian lay beside me, our breaths shallow. But the moment didn’t last long.
I sat on the mattress. He copied my moves, and we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, almost afraid to touch each other again. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. His full lips were reddened and swollen, bearing the faint imprints of my teeth. His well-kept hair was now a wild, dishevelled cascade of curls, each strand defying order and gravity, falling in every direction.
I had never seen Bastian looking so… perfect, as if he had been sculpted in bronze. His gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips, his breath mingling with mine, and this time I didn’t feel any hurry to taste him. Instead, when his lips brushed mine—not for the first time, nor the fifth, nor the tenth, but for a number of times I could no longer count—with such softness, I felt at peace.
There was nothing more. Just us, the silence, the warmth, the fuzziness at the pit of my stomach.
Sometimes, it’s the simplest moments that carry the greatest surprises. In that quiet, shared space, I felt as though I had stumbled upon a new world, and, for a heartbeat, I wished we could stay there forever.
But the weekend hadn’t yet ended, and I knew that nothing about this whole situation was calm or soft. It couldn’t be. Not yet.
Bastian pulled away, stroking my hair with his fingers.
“We should get dressed,” he whispered. “Dinner will be soon.”
I didn’t respond, but I got up, picked up my clothes from the floor, and began to dress.
Bastian never took his eyes off me.
We both stayed silent, fearful of breaking the spell. At least, until I shifted towards the door, the subtle creak of the handle giving me away.
“Wait,” he said, his voice fading away like a dandelion under the spring breeze. He sprang from the bed, and I flinched, his presence beside me almost unexpected. Somewhere in the flurry of moments, he had managed to pull on his pants, but his tawny, chiselled torso stayed visible, the bare skin clashing with the intensity in his eyes.
My breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.
“Before you go…”
His lips found mine again. My body seemed to have learnedthe rhythm of his in the past few minutes with more ease than it should have, and I had to resist the urge to pull away.
His touch was a lightning bolt, and I craved its bite, no matter how dangerous, how wrong all of this was.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine.
“Later,” I said, my voice as trembling as his, “we need to talk about this.”
This.
The fact that we worked together. That we were both keeping secrets from each other. That Enzo and Eloïse were somewhere on the other side of that door.
There was no time forthis, whatever it meant.
Not before Monday, anyway. Maybe not after Monday, either.
Our bodies broke apart, the gravity of what just happened sinking in. He nodded, his gaze falling to the floor and, before I could regret it, I opened the door and left the room.
Chapter 29
I slung my backpack over one shoulder, the fabric still creased from where it had been sitting on the sofa. The hall was quiet, empty, and I was grateful for it. In the mirrors lining the wall, my reflection caught my eye, hair wild, eyes puffy.
I averted my gaze, pushing forward. I looked like I had just had the best sex of my life. Not a bad look at all, don’t get me wrong; it’s just that if anyone had seen me with my cheeks still flushed and my curls dishevelled, well, they could imagine what I had been doing moments before. And I didn’t want anyone to questionwho I had been with.
The dress I’d worn to the charity event looked like it had been through a tornado. I sighed, thinking about how my mother could turn it back into something presentable next week. I changed into the same comfy tracksuit I’d worn on the flight out, dismissing any concern about appearance. Laurent Dubois had said I’d be heading back to London right after dinner, and I had no intention of making any effort beyond what was necessary for the journey home.
The opinions of Enzo, Eloïse, or even the Dubois were the last things on my mind. I had already shared a bed with Bastian, which in my mind left little room for further judgment, and Gina had seen me in far less flattering attire—a Minnie Mouse t-shirt and Twilight pyjamas emblazoned with “Team Edward” on the butt. As for the rest of the Dubois’ guests, their friends, and the staff, their opinions seemed irrelevant. I’d likely never cross paths with them again.
I struggled with the zipper of my overstuffed backpack, pulling at it in frustration as it refused to budge. Gina’s knocks on the door grew louder.
