Page 82 of One Week in Paris
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FINALLY, I’M ALMOST NAKED, in nothing but my laced undies. I trail a finger slowly along the scalloped edge of my bra, and stroke the swell of my breast.
Oscar closes his eyes.
I decide to tease him further. Just when he thinks I’m about to peel off my bra, I dive my hand down to my panties, and I slip it under the lacy fabric.
“Damn, girl,” he chokes out.
I’m so aroused. I tease myself, rub my fingers over my sweet swollen spot. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation. I get lost in my own touch, and bring myself close. When I open my eyes again, Oscar is still watching me intently, stroking himself slowly. “Make yourself come,” he whispers. “I want to see you get off.”
I bite my lip and slide my fingers down my slippery sex, aching for him. But he wants a show tonight, and a show is what he’s going to get.
I pull my hand out of my panties, still teasing. I turn around and reach for the clasp of my brassiere. I turn my head round and shoot him a flirty wink as I peel off my bra, my heavy breasts drop and it feels so good. When I turn around to face him, my nipples are hard and want to be touched. I stroke them slowly and Oscar growls out loud. “Touch yourself again, baby,” he pleads. “I love it.”
I oblige and explore under the fabric of my panties again. I know it won’t be long now. I’m ready to get lost in it. I start off slowly, and quickly go faster and harder, striving for that peak of pleasure. My breath hitches, and my heart beats faster and faster as I finally get there. I throw my head back, and moan softly — the sound of my cries echoing off the walls of the small quaint room.
Everything seems surreal for a moment, and when I finally come to and open my eyes, Oscar is there, right in front of me. He wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me on top of him on the bed. “I need to fuck you, like, yesterday.”
He flips me over on the bed and I land on all fours. I’m still wearing my panties. With skilled hands, he pulls them down my thighs. I lift my knees to assist him. Despite the fact that I’ve just come, I still want this. I want him inside me so badly.
He reaches into his pocket, and quickly slips on a condom. My panties are hanging around my left ankle when he grabs a hold of my hips and pulls me up against him. When Oscar gets really turned on, he gets a little rough, which I secretly love.
He sinks into me, hard. He wastes no time in pushing into me, long and deep. It hurts, but it also feels so good. I love the sounds he makes when he’s getting close. A mere few seconds later, he loses himself and groans against my back as he gets there. His breath is hot and his beard is prickly. As soon as he settles down, he strokes my breasts softly. “Sorry, I kind of lost control there,” he says, breathless. “You’re just so fucking sexy, baby.”
I turn to him with a smile. “You know I love it.”
He grins. “I do.” He bites his lip and drags a finger to my pussy. “You want me to touch you… have a little taste?”
I smile and pull him to me. “No, I just want to cuddle.”
He wraps his strong arms around me and holds me tight. “That’s my favorite part, you know.”
I laugh out loud. “You’re so full of shit, Cohen.”
He cracks up. “You know me too well, Wilson.”
I’m warm and comfortable in Oscar’s arms. This is where I belong. I’ve had a chance to really reflect these past few weeks. When Matt reappeared in my life, I was brought back to the past, to all those emotions: to the bullying, to my father leaving us, to the feelings of abandonment and worthlessness, and to the idea of not being worthy of love.
I’ve gotten a lot better these past ten years, but I still have a long way to go. All that baggage has been weighing me down, preventing me from committing to anyone. I’ve been afraid of putting my heart on the line, afraid of getting hurt, of getting abandoned and rejected. If you never take a risk, you can never get hurt.
I don’t want to live that way anymore. I want to love and be loved. Oscar is not Matt. He’s not my dad either. He loves me the way I am, and I can count on him. He won’t leave me. I can trust him.
“Were you trying to make me jealous with Sophie?” I ask, wanting to know more about them. “Because if you were, it worked.”
He draws circles along my arm, his gentle touch barely there. A hint of laughter traces his voice when he replies, “Sorta. Guilty. I wanted you to get a little jealous, and finally see what you were taking for granted.”
I turn to him. “Have I been taking you for granted?”
“A little,” he says. “But it’s okay. I don’t mind you using me.”
I gaze out the window. I can barely make out the blue rooftops in the distance. The street noise fades in the background. “You know I’m messed up, Oscar. You know it’s not about you. I realize that more than ever now. With Matt suddenly in my life, all those old insecurities have floated back to the surface.”
“I hate that guy,” he says. “I hate what he did to you.”
“Well, he seems to have changed,” I argue. “For the better.”
“Probably all an act,” he says. “He thinks you’re hot now. He wants to fuck you.”
