Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

I laughed and gave him my best alpha stare. “But I’ll be dominating, and you’ll be submitting.”

He snorted and guided us to the table. “On verra, sirène sexy.”

The hostess and chef left as the servers began to set our table. Someone had put the bouquet of pink peonies in a crystal vase and sat it at the center.

One server explained that we would be having a sample of classic French dishes. And then all the food came. Bowls of onion soup. Loaves of bread decorated with melted cheese. Duck confit covered in spicy raisins. Filet Mignon drenched in Béarnaise Sauce. Three different types of souffles.

We gorged.

A few times, Jean-Pierre grabbed his phone and typed, but for the most part I had all of his attention.

This is perfect.

I felt more confident around him. Mainly because he’d come very close to begging me for more time. It made me realize that he valued these past days as much as I did. I just wished that this was more. That his request was not for an extension, but. . .

What? Forever? A relationship? How could he shift it to that anyway? I’m thinking too deeply about all of this. Just enjoy it.

Still, the confidence remained. I continued to get bolder, feeding him by the time we got to the souffles. He admitted to being a bad patient, but I would take care of him regardless.

I like the sound of taking care of him. He’s been spoiling me. I want to spoil him.

The sun finished setting, splashing Paris in dark violets and lusty reds. We continued to dine as the city lit up with nightlife and the sky blazed with stars.

The whole time, his greedy gazes soaked my thighs. I had no idea a look could make me aroused. When dessert came, Jean-Pierre spent his time lifting the whip cream off of his cake with his finger and licking it all away. He watched me as he did it.

God, I missed that tongue.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking of you in these last days.” He lapped at his finger.

Mmmm.

He dipped his cherry into the chocolate sauce and brought it to my lips.

I parted my mouth and sucked it in.

His groan vibrated through my flesh.

Dessert finished. The servers rushed as they cleared the table. He rose, came to me, and guided us to the windows. “How was the meal?”

“Superb.”

“Let’s give them time.”

I glanced over my shoulder as the servers carried the table away. “And then we’ll leave after they clean?”

“No. We’re waiting on them to bring the bed.” He captured me with that solid arm and kissed me for several long delicious seconds. My mind went dizzy with him. My breathing increased to panting. Every cell in my body yearned for him to never stop, to just keep kissing.

There was a smooth rhythm with Jean-Pierre. He rivaled all other men as his tongue danced along mine. Exploring. In and out. Swirling and diving. Triggering more arousal to blaze through me.

When he came up for air, he slipped his face along the side of mine and nibbled my earlobe. “Je vais te baiser tellement fort que tout Paris va entendre tes gémissements.”

I took me time to translate it, but when I did a blush hit me.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that all of Paris will hear your moans.”

“Any questions?” he whispered.

“No,” I murmured, completely intoxicated with him.

“Give me two months.”

“Jean-Pierre.”

He seized my lips and kissed me so hard I thought I would melt into a puddle of lust. Everything that I’ve been trying not to let myself feel or think about with Jean-Pierre rose to the surface. My heart didn’t care that this was a girlfriend experience. It was ready to beat for him at his request.

“They’re taking too long with the bed,” he whispered against my skin.

“We don’t need one.”

That one statement was like uncaging a wild tiger. He lunged forward, devouring my mouth even more. My knees weakened. His free hand went everywhere. I leaned against the glass unable to catch my breath. My skin was on fire.

His erection pressed against me. A powerful, primal need shot through my body. Regardless of reality, in that moment he was all mine. His attention. His cock. His body. All mine. Those facts stroked the wild part of me.

I cupped his bulge through his pants. “Let me take care of you.”

His only response was a dark groan as he walked off, shut the door, and locked it. “Fuck the bed.”

I imagined Louis and Rafael dragging mattresses onto the elevator and rising all those feet up the Eiffel Tower.

I grinned. “Shouldn’t we text someone?”

He stalked my way, snatched the sling off, and gently pushed me against the glass. Our mouths crashed together again, lips and tongue moving like we’d been doing it forever. In between our moans, he snatched at the gown. His injured hand fumbled with the zipper.