Page 75 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
A moment later, the mattress shifted and I felt soft lips on my shoulder. Resting there, sending chills down my spine. A hand crept onto my stomach. A warm body cradled mine from behind, and I closed my eyes in bliss.
A hand brushed the hair from my neck and the lips swept up and pressed kisses below my ear. The hand on my belly slid under my tank top and closed over one breast. My nipple responded to his touch, and he caressed it lightly. Then the other. I felt his erection stiffen and swell on my lower back, and my hand moved to it automatically, stroking it through his boxers. When his breathing grew ragged, I rolled onto my back and looked up at him.
The room was so dark I couldn’t read his eyes, but I sensed his sadness as well as his desire, and I knew exactly how he felt, how one could feed the other. “Lucas. What are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered, brushing the hair off my forehead. “I told myself not to touch you, I know it isn’t fair. But I’m lying over there and I can smell your skin. And just like that I could taste you.”
“I want you to touch me.” I reached for the hem of my tank top and drew it over my head, and he put his mouth on my breasts. Flinging my arms over my head, I arched beneath him, wanting to offer him every inch of my skin to taste.
He kissed his way down my belly and pulled my underwear off. “Should I get a condom?”
“No.” I reached for him and pulled him up on top of me. “I want to feel you. Closer.”
We went slow this time, savoring every kiss, every touch, every hushed word and breath. We ran our hands and mouths over each other’s bodies, committing to memory the curve of a shoulder or hip. The arc of a back or neck. The lines of muscle and bone.
Finally, with our eyes locked on each other, our hands clasped above my shoulders, he slid inside me and moved in deep, unhurried strokes until I was breathless and trembling, torn between trying to make it last and telling him to fuck me hard and fast, to make me come, to fill me up. My mind wanted to slow time down while my body longed to race toward release.
Not really a bad problem to have.
Eventually, my body won out and I begged shamelessly for what I wanted.
He gave me everything.
By the time we exhausted ourselves, soft pink light was glowing through the filmy curtains. I fell asleep on a pillow damp with tears, begging the sun not to rise.
#
Lucas and I spoke very little on the way back to Paris. I fell asleep on the train, waking up only once or twice to see Lucas staring out the window, a grave expression on his face. I knew he didn’t want to say goodbye today, but I think he understood why I had to. In fact, I was debating putting in a call to Erin and seeing if her mom would help me change my ticket so I could go home tomorrow. Staying here three more days knowing that Lucas was nearby would be too difficult—I didn’t trust myself to stay away from him.
Several times I had to squeeze my eyes shut to combat the tears that were constantly threatening to undo me. Just wait until you get to your room. You can hole up, drink wine, and eat pain au chocolat until it’s time to go. Or until you burst, whatever comes first.
When the train pulled into the Paris station, I congratulated myself on making it back to the city without breaking down. See? You got this. Now you just have to stay strong for twenty more minutes.
If only that twenty minutes didn’t include saying goodbye.
“You don’t have to see me back to the Plaza,” I told Lucas once we got off the TGV at the Gare de Lyon. “I know which Metro to take and I can find my way.” I pulled up the handle on my suitcase and looked around for a sign to the line I needed, but really I was just trying to avoid looking at him, and he knew it.
“Mia, please. Look at me.”
Reluctantly I met his eyes, and felt my resolve weaken. I looked away. “I can’t, Lucas. It’s too hard.”
He sighed. “So this is it? I can’t even see you again before you leave?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“I want to tell you what you want to hear so badly.”
“But you can’t.” It was a dare.
“I just don’t want to lie to you. Goddammit, will you please just look at me?” He put his hand under my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. They were angry and sad. “You can walk away. I won’t stop you. But I’m telling you now that I have feelings for you and I don’t want you to go. I know a relationship wouldn’t be easy, I know we’re different, and I know long distance isn’t much fun. But Jesus, Mia.” His dark eyes glittered. “Can’t we at least try?”
My throat was so tight, I thought my voice would come out in a squeak. “I want to say yes, Lucas. But I’m scared. I pinned all my hopes on one person before, and he let me down. I’m not saying you’re anything like him,” I said when I saw his eyes flash in outrage, “I’m just telling the truth. And you know what?” I took a deep breath. “You are too, and I’m grateful for that. I have no desire to make you say anything that you don’t want to, or make any promise you can’t keep. And maybe I still have some healing to do.” My eyes finally filled, and a few tears spilled over.
His beautiful mouth was set in a straight line as he wiped them away with his thumbs. “I know you do. I’m sure this is too much for you, and I’m sorry.” He took his hands from my cheeks and ran them down over his face. “I really wish I’d have met you under different circumstances, Mia Devine. But I’m not sorry about anything we’ve done. Only that this is hurting you.”
“I’m not sorry, either,” I whispered. People rushed by us and maybe they even looked at us with pity—what’s sadder than a train station farewell?—but I didn’t care. I threw my arms around Lucas and held him tight, breathing in the scent of lavender and the olive grove, which still clung to his clothing and skin. My stomach was churning. Was I making the right decision?
“You know my number.” His voice was shaky but his arms around
