He had my bra undone and followed up quickly with his mouth over my breasts, his tongue moving gently over my nipples.
“Délicieux,” he said. “You taste like . . . a fresh peach, firm and full of flavor.”
I could feel myself spinning out of control. How, I wondered, did Roxy keep control? Did it only come from experience, or was it in her nature never to lose herself? Was that one of the things she had learned at Mrs. Brittany’s school for escorts? Despite what her life had become and how she had finally wanted to get out from under Mrs. Brittany’s manipulation and supervision of her life, she always raved about the things she had learned at her mansion on Long Island. She never denied that Mrs. Brittany had probably saved her life. It was just the price she had paid for it that finally disturbed her and drove her to do what she was doing now.
Vincent pulled off his jacket and his sweater. He brought his bare chest to mine, whispered my name, and began a slow, sensuous journey with his lips, moving down over my breasts toward my waist and then undoing my pants so he could continue to the small of my stomach, all the while slowly sliding me more and more beneath him.
Was this going to happen?
Did I want it to happen?
How many times had I talked about this with my girlfriends at school? The ones who had already lost their virginity never made that moment seem special to me. In some cases, it was something that they had wanted to get over with so they could move on into that mysterious and supposedly wondrous world of the mature woman, wiser about men and life, independent and supposedly full of self-confidence. Shouldn’t I want that, too?
Incredibly, despite my racing heart and quickened breath, the argument I had first heard between Emile and Didier in the restaurant right after Denise’s birthday cake and candles returned to me. Did a woman remove herself from the image that the man she would come to love wanted of her, or did she prepare herself for him?
Why didn’t my mother and I talk more about this? Why didn’t I ask Roxy more questions?
Vincent raised his head and smiled at me. “You are wonderful,” he said. “A girl like you makes it possible to know the magic of the night.”
Were these tried-and-true lines for him? I wanted to believe them, embrace them, but I also knew Vincent was far from the discerning and very particular boy Denise had claimed he was when it came to women. She wanted to be blind to it, but it didn’t take me long to see it in the way he greeted young women. There was nothing fundamentally wrong with that, I thought. He was a handsome, virile young man. All the boys I had known flashed before my eyes. Weren’t the ones who were like him more attractive and interesting, not to mention exciting? As a parent, what sort of a son would I rather have?
You came up here willingly, Emmie Wilcox, I told myself. What did you really expect when you agreed to have this rendezvous? You didn’t keep it from Denise because you wanted to surprise her later with how much you had learned about Paris, did you?
His fingers gently began to move my pants down, taking my panties along with them. He was at me again, his lips now moving softly over my thighs as he seamlessly moved between my legs, sending the most unexpectedly delicious and exciting feeling surging over my body. It was as if there were dozens of hands now touching me, caressing me. My breasts seemed to lift themselves gently, like mouths longing for a gulp of cool water. The natural tightness and resistance in my legs began to wane. He was moving my pants down to my ankles.
“You’re so sweet, très jolie,” he recited. It was almost like a prayer sung before dinner. How much of it did he really mean? Was it merely a lover’s prescribed ten steps or something? He had my pant leg over my left foot. He was unwrapping me with surgical precision.
You shouldn’t resent this, Emmie, I told myself. Would you rather be with a clumsy, inexperienced man, someone virginal who made it all seem more like blundering into the moment, a moment maybe ruined forever by his crude, inelegant, and animal-like behavior? You can lose your virginity only once, and it will follow you for the rest of your life.
I couldn’t believe I was having this debate with myself in the midst of all this passion. Vincent was gently lifting my legs as he brought his lips back to my thighs. Then he paused to undo his jeans. In that moment, I looked toward the doorway. I knew it was only my imagination, but there she was looking at us with great pain in her face as she shook her head slowly. Roxy.
You’re not ready, she whispered. It’s not your time. Wait.
My body tightened so quickly that it caught his attention.
“Don’t worry. I have what we need. It’s safe. We’re fine. This is good,” he recited. He smiled. “You don’t need any lessons.”
“No!” I cried.
“Quoi?”
“I do need lessons, Vincent.”
He retreated a little, his face looking incredulous. “You are a virgin?”
“I’m sorry you got a different impression,” I said.
I could see the wheels turning in his head. Did he want to make love to an American teenage girl who was a virgin? There was no legal problem, but he didn’t like being fooled about me. Was that right? So he thought I was sophisticated, worldly. Where was it written that in order to be so, a girl had to have lost her virginity?
“I’m not often so surprised,” he said. Was his ego bruised? Actually, he looked more worried than embarrassed. “I’m not making any promises, Emmie. You understand what I mean?”
I looked toward the door, where I had imagined Roxy standing and watching us. I guess I looked so hard that for a moment, he thought someone might really be there. He spun around to look and then looked at me again.
“What?”
“I was hoping it would be something more special for me,” I said.
“It still can be.”