Page 39 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
True. And I’d been rewarded with the best sex of my life, three stellar orgasms, and the promise of another fantastic day with a smart, sexy guy. What more could I ask for?
By the time I rinsed all the soap off, I was totally confident I could enjoy the day—and night—ahead without letting worrisome thoughts about the future get in the way of a good time. After all, Lucas didn’t seem concerned, so why should I?
And Coco was right. I’d been through a lot, and I deserved a couple days of pure, unabashed pleasure.
With the memory of Lucas’s eyes and voice and smell and fingers and tongue and cock overwhelming my senses, I put my hand back between my legs.
Somehow, I knew he would approve.
Lucas came for me at noon, greeting me with his customary kisses on the cheek. This time I kissed his cheeks too, and the touch of my lips on his stubbly skin ignited me. My belly whooshed like a torch catching fire.
Down, girl.
“Good morning.” I wondered if it would be gauche to suggest we skip sightseeing and get straight to the sex.
“Morning.” He brushed a curl back from my forehead. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a baby. You?”
“Same.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Except that I woke up thinking about you and I had a raging hard-on. I had to take care of it myself. I wished you’d stayed over.”
My heart thumped hard as I imagined him jerking himself off thinking about me. Fuck, that was actually really hot. I should have packed extra underwear in my bag. These are already wet. “I woke up thinking about you, too,” I whispered. “And I’m sore as all get-out.”
“Really?” He looked pleased with himself. “I could take you back up to your room and give you a massage. Would that help?”
I shook my head. “Tempting, but it wouldn’t help, because I’m pretty sure that massage would lead to other things.”
“You’re right. We better get going. The longer I stand here looking at you, the more my mind wanders to those other things.” He gestured toward the door. “Paris awaits, princess, and I know how you feel about Paris.”
I was about to say fuck Paris, let’s just get right to the other things when I remembered that this would be my last chance to see the city with him as my guide, and I really did love hearing him talk about the places he took me. “OK. What will we do today?”
With his hand at the small of my back, he walked me through the lobby and out of the hotel. “Well, I thought maybe we’d wander over to Le Marais first. There’s a lot of cool stuff over there, and the shops I wanted to take you to are in that direction as well.”
“Sounds perfect.”
We took the Metro over to the Marais neighborhoods, and on the train I thought about sex. Lucas held my hand as we walked down quaint streets and through charming village squares, and I thought about sex. We admired medieval and Renaissance architecture, ate sandwiches sitting on the grass in the Place des Vosges, and toured the Victor Hugo museum. I thought about sex the entire time.
I tried hard not to show it, but it was difficult, since every time I looked at Lucas my insides fluttered, or my lower body clenched up, or butterflies swirled in my belly en masse. No matter where my eyes would alight—his hair, his hands, his lips, and yes, OK fine, the crotch of his pants—I was assailed with memories of last night.
Jesus, Mia. You’re a fiend. Get a grip.
But I couldn’t help it. Sex had never played a particularly important role in my relationship with Tucker, at least not as far as I was concerned. But today it was all I could think about. And I knew that when I went home, I’d never go back to the way I was before, sublimating my own sexual desires to appease a man. I can’t believe I did that for so long. I never knew what I was missing.
Throughout the early afternoon, I wondered if Lucas was thinking about last night as much as I was. We talked a lot about different things—I learned he was twenty-eight, had only the two half-brothers and no sisters, was allergic to shellfish, and did not, in fact, have any tattoos—but neither of us mentioned sex once we left my hotel.
After leaving the Hugo museum, we decided we’d gone long enough without wine, so we ducked into a little bistro on rue St. Paul. Lucas ordered a bottle while I used the bathroom, and when I returned to our table by the window, he looked so delicious in the natural light I decided to be blunt.
I sat down and propped my chin on my hand. “So I have to ask you. How many times have you thought about sex today?”
“Over a million. Easy.” He didn’t even blink.
I burst out laughing. “Well, I’m glad it’s not only me.” Lowering my voice to a hush, I said, “I was beginning to think I was some kind of perv for thinking about oral sex in Victor Hugo’s apartment.”
He leaned across the table. “Don’t worry. That’s positively tame compared to the things I thought about.”
My stomach jumped. “Like what?”
“Not telling. I’ll just have to surprise you. Or scare you, one of the two.” He brought his lips to mine for a warm, melty kiss that turned my insides to liquid.
