Page 34 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Kiss you,” he breathlessly replied. The spaghetti strap thin hold I had on my restraint snapped.

“Then do so,” I whispered then moved in with haste to capture his mouth with mine. The jolt was electrifying. My cock throbbed now, leaking into my briefs as my tongue darted into his mouth. I groaned gruffly. That must have been a sound that he liked for he began returning the kiss in earnest. I moved quickly to crawl into his lap. His fingers wound in my hair; tongue tangling with mine in the time it took for my wild heart to beat just once. I gripped the lapels of his cool wool of his suit jacket. His tongue held the taste of wine and nicotine as it slipped over mine. I met his kiss with a vigor that made him whine and grind into me. His stiff cock rubbed my taint. I nearly came.

Pamplemousse yipped. Claude released my head, his lips leaving mine, to stare at me in the meager dappled moonlight.

“Mon Dieu, tu es irrésistible.”

“Same,” I panted, holding him tightly as his dog bounded over and leaped onto the bench with a vole in his mouth. Claude shoved me aside and leapt up so quickly he was a blur. He darted behind the tree as Pamplemousse dropped the little rodent to the bench. Off it went, back into the dark of night, while I sat there like a dunce with a raging boner and the appealing elixir of the taste of Claude Barrons on my tongue.

“Is it gone?” He softly called from behind the tree.

“Yeah, it’s gone.” I adjusted my cock as he peeked round the trunk of the sycamore then slowly stepped out. His suit was rumpled, his eyes wide, his mouth puffy from our stolen kiss.

“Merci, good, thank you. I hate rodents.” He began to right his clothing, his attention on his lapel. “Perhaps that was for the best, the vole, that is.” He looked up to find me staring at him. His expression softened. “We cannot be doing this again.”

“Ever?”

His eyes closed then his head tipped back. I waited while he searched the sky or the dancing leaves for a reply. When he had one his attention came back to me sitting beside his incredibly proud dog.

“No, not ever. Just until the show is concluded. I cannot endanger this opportunity to add to our coffers no matter how badly I wish to be with you.” He moved closer, sat down beside me, and took my hands in his. “I cannot show partiality. Tell me that you understand?”

“Yeah, of course. I just… how am I supposed to not want to touch you or kiss you again when you’re so close every day?” His lips were right there. Just a quick lean in and I could be lost in his kiss once more.

“It will be difficult but the best things in life are worth waiting for, yes?”

“Ugh, yeah I guess.” I wish someone would explain delayed gratification to my hard dick.”

He chortled. “Mine is unhappy as well. We will do this. We can do this. Just a few more weeks then the winner will be chosen and we will be free to date openly. If that is what you would wish?”

“I’d love to date you. I just…” The thought of staying here in Paris, with Claude as a lover, was beyond anything that I had dared to dream. But reality was right there, ripping at the gossamer dreams to remind me that if I lost I was going home the next day. But that was not what I wanted to bring up. Not now, not here under this magnificent tree in this glorious city staring into the eyes of this incredible man. “I just don’t know how I’ll make it through the next few weeks.”

“Lots of masturbating,” he teased, and we both sadly laughed. I rested my brow to his hands tightly held in his smaller ones and breathed in his scent. Rich wool, tangy cigarette smoke, and his cologne.

“Can we meet here? At midnight? Just to talk?”

I knew I was pushing it but the thought of not having this intimacy with him gutted me. “I promise no kissing just talking. I want to get to know you better.”

Torment oozed off him. “Sorry, I…that’s pushy.”

“No, it’s honest. I can see no harm in meeting to discuss things at the end of a long day. The boughs will shelter us from the harsh glow of the moon.” It was said in jest, I knew that, but I couldn’t help but think that those stately boughs would shield two men meeting in secret as well. The knowledge that we were walking a stupidly fine line was terrifying yet all-consuming. “You should return to your dormitory. Tomorrow will bring another challenge.”

“Can I get one more kiss?” I was being greedy but holy hell he was my first kiss and I wanted more. Tons more.

He pressed his lips to my knuckles then, with a sigh, released my hands. “Off you go. Bonne nuit, mon amour.”

“Bonne nuit,” I whispered as I rose, ran a finger along his bearded jaw, and then shuffled back inside. The walk to my room felt so much longer. Mickey was snoring away when I slipped back in, the window cracked yet, and the aroma of another cigarette being smoked blowing in. The call to go look down at him was strong but I toed off my shoes then crawled into my bed. Turning from the window I pulled my hood up to block the allure of Claude Barrons on the wind. No amount of fleece was going to eradicate the memory of his taste from my mind.

Chapter Fourteen

It was the longest and the shortest seven days of my life.

We’d completed two more assignments, one an optical illusion design that I placed safely in and the second a two day team challenge – ugh – where we had to modernize a historical look. My team of three – myself, Mickey, and Esme – got the highest grade so that was another notch on my win belt. I was feeling damn good about my chances of winning that scholarship as well as the cash prize. So while the days were long and demanding the nights were magical.

Every night I’d work on the beaded skirts for my sisters until Mickey was snoring then I’d turn off the light and creep down to the quad. Claude would always be there with Pamplemousse who was gradually starting to accept me. I’d not go so far as to say like as Claude and Soline seemed to be the only two people he truly cared for, but he no longer curled a lip at me when I sat close to him.

The nights. Oh the nights were the stuff of dreams. No kissing, sadly, but we did dare to hold hands as we talked into the wee hours. Claude telling me about his childhood, his work ethic, his dramatic marriage followed by the crushing divorce. Wine flowed as did conversation. The night before what would be our final assignment to determine the final four contestants had come off damp, with a heavy mist in the air that made my hair soggy and my cheeks dewy.

Claude would pat at my nose with a silk hankie as we touched on the dark night, something that I generally kept under a tight lock and key. Perhaps it was the wine that loosened my rigid control or maybe it simply the man sitting next to me. Claude was slowly wrapping around my heart like the vines of a pink climbing rose weaving its way up a trellis. Every night the twining grew, spiraling upward and round, until the vines had engulfed my heart. Funny how a few weeks in Paris, combined with a man’s first romance, turned even the most rural goof into a French poet. All I needed was a beret and a better grasp of French.