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“You must miss your own bed.”
He gave her a devilish smile. “I do. In fact, I think we should go and say hello to it right now.” He put his glass down and scooped her up, and she gasped with shock and muttered something about weighing too much for romantic gestures, but he carried her anyway, executing a smooth turn so that he didn’t smack her legs against the door.
He lowered her to the floor, and she saw that his bedroom overlooked the river. Through the windows she could see the slow curves of the Seine, the river stippling under the force of the rain, light bouncing along the surface.
She thought to herself this is romantic, and then he kissed her.
There was nothing tentative about it. Nothing questioning or cautious. This was a kiss that was only ever going to have one ending.
His mouth was hot on hers, and his hands moved straight to the zipper of her dress. The fabric was damp and clung to her, but he peeled it down, leaving her standing in her underwear.
She’d wondered if she might feel self-conscious when the moment came, but as it turned out it was the last thing on her mind. Her blue dress landed on the floor along with his shirt and the rest of his clothes.
He hadn’t opened the windows in this room, and the rain thundered against the glass, increasing the feeling of intimacy. It was just the two of them, cocooned in this room, protected from the weather. From the world.
He kept kissing her, deeper, harder, as if he was determined to make up for all the time they’d missed. The heat of it almost burned her up. He kept one hand behind her head, the other on her lower back, locking her against him. She felt the heat of his skin and the intimate pressure of his body, and then he lowered her to the bed, and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the ripple and flex of muscle as he took his weight on his arms.
Finally, his mouth left hers, but only so that he could kiss her in other places. Her jaw, the curve of her neck, her shoulder. And all the time he was murmuring soft words in French, telling her how much he wanted her, how she was beautiful, how she tasted incredible.
He explored her in so many intimate ways she lost count. She felt the silken stroke of his tongue and the skilled slide of his fingers. She squirmed and shifted, but every movement brought him closer and simply fed her hunger. It was intensely erotic and she suspected that whatever he was doing, playing the piano or making love, he gave it his whole self. He wasn’t someone who dealt in half measures, but it turned out neither was she. Her desperation matched his, and when he finally sank into her she cried out. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust, his breathing unsteady as he held back. She was the one who urged him on, driven by a ferocious need that she didn’t recognize, and then he was kissing her again and thrusting deeper, until sensation made her mind blank. She couldn’t hold on to a single thought, she could only feel. Hard against soft, silk against steel. Her body tightened around his and she heard his raw, fractured groan and felt sensation explode around her. Her orgasm triggered his and they kissed their way through it, sharing each spasm, each thrust, each gasp. It was the most intimate, all-consuming experience, and afterward she lay limp in his arms, listening to the rain splashing onto the roof. He’d left the bedroom door open and a breeze wafted through, cooling her heated skin.
They made love again and again, and finally she drifted off to sleep. When she woke the air felt cooler. The rain had stopped and the sun was out.
Philippe stirred and looked at her, his eyes sleepy. “What time is it?”
She checked. “Just after six.”
He groaned and rolled onto his back. “I have an early rehearsal. But you don’t need to leave.”
“I’ll make you coffee. Can I use your shower?”
“That depends.” He turned to look at her. “Are you going to let me join you?”
“I thought you were in a hurry.”
“Today I’ll be late.” He tugged her out of bed and into the shower.
She closed her eyes as water rained down on her and gasped as he worked his way down her body.
It was another half an hour before he finally left the apartment, and he was back five minutes later because he’d forgotten something. “Being with you has fried my brain.”
“Are you going straight to the concert after your practice?”
“No. I’ll come back here. Will you stay?”
“I have to go to the bookshop. Why don’t you call me later?”
“I will. And maybe tonight you should bring a change of clothes with you, that way if it rains again you won’t have to walk home in a damp dress.”
He wanted her to bring a change of clothes.
The suggestion made her ridiculously happy. She was pleased it wasn’t just one night.
He leaned down and kissed her, taking his time. “I’m sorry to leave. There’s nothing I’d like more than to spend the day with you.”
“It’s not a problem.” And really it wasn’t. She wasn’t used to missing an entire night of sleep and planned to go back to bed the moment he left. “I could cook for you this evening if you like.”
“Do you want to come to the concert again or meet me here afterward?”
