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The brutal reality of the entire trip hit me like a punch in the gut, as the lights on the tower slowly cut out, one by one, from the top down. I watched them with an increasing feeling of dread. It was over. Our wild Parisian fling would end, and we would have to return to the real world, where Neil had cancer and could be dying.
The final light went out, and the entire tower seemed to glitter with pops of illumination like flashbulbs. People cheered from their balconies, and the roar of the crowd assembled across the river reached out to us, making us a part of the celebration. When I turned in Neil’s arms and saw his grinning face, I felt guilty for my dark thoughts. He was happy. Well and truly happy.
He’d needed this. He’d needed this trip as a last, fleeting refuge from a reality in which he had no control. There would be time to break down when we got back to England. Tonight, I resolved I would banish any thought of death or worry from my head.
He smiled down at me, his hands stroking my back and pulling me tighter to him. “You know, Sophie, sometimes I look at you, and I can’t believe my luck.”
I was glad that he kissed me then, because I wasn’t sure I would be able to think of any response that would touch the simple romance of that statement. I kissed him back, opening my mouth under his as I rose up on my toes to reach him. I knew how he felt. None of this seemed real. A year ago, I had celebrated New Year’s Eve at a party in a SoHo loft, sipping champagne and listening to a boring guy try to talk me into bed by boasting about his master’s degree. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that the man I’d become convinced was a figment of my imagination would somehow come back into my life and sweep me off my feet.
Or that I would allow myself to get swept away like I did. I regretted none of it. If this was the time I had with Neil, if this was all the time we were going to have, I could let it be perfect without brutal self-examination.
He lifted his head, and I smiled at the smear of my lipstick on his mouth. His arms still locked around me, he lifted me off my feet and spun me around. “Let’s go inside. I want to give you a proper New Year’s kiss.”
“That was a pretty good one,” I teased, laughing as we moved back into the sitting room. He turned off the lamp in the corner and caught the overhead chandelier’s switch on our way to the bedroom.
“But that was only your mouth,” he said, pulling my hand to his lips briefly, before raising my arm up over my head and walking me in a little twirl. “I can think of at least sixty other places on your body I haven’t kissed tonight.”
He stopped at the door. “I forgot the champagne. You, get in that bed and wait for me. Leave that gorgeous thing on.”
“I’m not sure I can drink champagne in this.” I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to continue to breathe in it.
While he went to the dining room, I looked at myself in the mirror. Six months ago, if anyone had asked me if I would let a boyfriend put a collar on me, I would have snapped back that I was not a dog. I had learned so much about my sexuality and what turned me on... and Neil continued to be an excellent teacher. The glint of the diamonds at my throat didn’t just remind me that I belonged to him. It was a reminder of how much he belonged to me, too. He was my Sir, and he got his pleasure from my submission.
“You’re not in bed,” Neil scolded when he came back. “What are we going to do about that?”
“Something dirty, probably?” I guessed with a half-smile.
“Get up there on your hands and knees,” he ordered me, and went over to our luggage.
I wondered what naughty implement was in there that he hadn’t shown me yet. The collar was an unusual weight around my neck. It might have been neat to wear the glass plug at the same time, to feel the pull of the dual weights at opposite ends of my body. I shifted on my knees, enjoying the rush of the blood pounding to my clit at my filthy imaginings.
“What are you doing?” I looked over from my place on the bed, quivering with growing need.
Neil sat in the chair, still fully dressed, holding the glass nail file from my cosmetic bag. “Filing my nails.”
