Chapter Five

The world seemed brighter despite the pale winter light this glorious morning. She had seen Avignon, been inspired, and hooked up with a gorgeous, caring man many times in less than twenty-four hours. All the colors of this cheery house glowed, including the tufted pillows they had tossed on the floor in their zeal for each other.

Life couldn’t be sweeter, Genevieve decided. The world, and everyone in it, was fabulous, amazing, and couldn’t get any better. Of course, she knew she only felt this way because of the orgasms she had with Étienne, but she didn’t care. For the moment, she’d enjoy every shining detail of her post-coital happiness.

“You are beautiful.” His voice caressed her as she pulled on her skirt. He still lay naked on the bed with his arms stretched above his head.

“Thank you. Clothes.”

“Why?”

“Armand.” She pointed to the door.

Étienne stretched again, bringing her focus away from getting dressed to spend time with his friend. The lean, tautness of his muscles stretched over his large frame addled her brain. All she wanted was for him to touch her and fuck her and then do it all over again. They shouldn’t spend all their time in this room, though. They had a host downstairs, waiting for them.

In his deep, sexy voice, he said something about Armand understanding, but she couldn’t comprehend the rest. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her toward him.

She braced her hands on his chest. “What did you say?”

Instead of answering her, he put one hand on her ass and brought her face to his. A wicked smile flashed across his face as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth. His fingers bunched her skirt in his palm. “Will you go to bed with me?”

His fingers found her bare flesh, and she could only answer one way. “Yes. Oh my God, yes.”

In a flash, he had her bra off, and she pressed a nipple to his lips. When he pulled it into his mouth, she gasped. The small motion of his tongue swirling about her puckered bud brought wetness between her legs. She reached to unzip her skirt, letting it fall to the ground.

He switched to her other nipple, and she thought she’d come just from his mouth upon her breasts. Not wanting to waste any time on foreplay, she placed his hand upon her swollen pussy lips. Using the words in English she knew he understood, she uttered, “Fuck me, now.”

He pulled away from her nipple with a smack and stood while his hand rubbed along her clit. “Oui, mademoiselle.”

He turned them both so that her legs pressed against the side of the bed. She began to lower herself to the mattress, but he stopped her. With his hands on her waist, he had her face the bed.

She licked her lips. The night before, she’d ridden him. He’d ridden her. They’d fucked face to face on their sides in the wee hours of the night, but he’d not asked to take her from behind. Cum slipped from her wet pussy as she leaned forward with her hands supporting her. She wanted this, to feel his hips upon her ass as he thrust inside her. Oh, how she wanted this.

His hands rubbed along her back to her shoulders and back toward her ass and over her hips leaving prickles of delight and desire. He spread her legs with firm fingers. As she watched from over her shoulder, she bit her lip as he slid a condom over his full cock. He put the tip of his cock at the opening of her pussy. She was sure he could feel her throb with need as he drew circles before pushing slowly inside of her.

Her fingers gripped the covers as he withdrew all the way before slowly guiding his cock inside her again. He kept at this achingly slow rhythm. Her body craved more, something harder and more urgent, yet this careful attention had her panting in anticipation of his next thrust forward. She needed to ask for harder, but she couldn’t remember the words he’d taught her the night before. Uttering the only French that came to mind, she begged, “S’il vous plait, Étienne.”

He bent over her, causing his slow thrusts to come to a standstill. She whined as he mumbled something she didn’t understand. Using the only language they had in common, she pushed with her hands upon the bed so her hips pushed his backward. She did it again, hoping he’d understand.

He stood, pulling his cock halfway out of her pussy. She thrust backward, thinking no. He met her thrust with one of his own, harder, insistent.

“Yes. My God. Yes.”

He understood her body language and increased the pace of his thrusts. He held her hips with his hands and pulsed into her. Delicious slapping noises against her backside filled the room. She braced herself for his thrusts, now harder and bringing her tugs of pleasure from her pussy to her nipples that brushed against the covers of the bed.

One of his hands reached around the front of her and pressed upon her swollen clit. As he thrust harder and faster, his fingers vibrated on her sensitive bud. She gasped as the delight built inside her. She was so close to coming that she could barely breathe. Her head bent forward onto the covers as she met his thrusts with ones of her own. His fingers pressed harder, and it was all she needed for the delight to crash over her.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” was all she could say as he kept playing with her clit and thrusting from behind. She couldn’t think. She didn’t want to. She wanted him. Étienne. Only him, forever and ever, fucking like this or any way he would let her fuck him.

His fingers didn’t stop circling her clit, and she came again. Renewed sparks of pleasure ignited from her pussy up her belly to her nipples. She arched her back at the sparks flew up her spine. Étienne thrust forward one more time and his cries of pleasure joined hers.

He pulled out of her, lifted her onto the bed, and curled around her. His skin warmed hers as he pulled her back into his chest. He kissed the back of her head and said in slow English, “This I like to do with you. I like very much. Very much.”

She answered in French, “Me, too.” She nestled her hips against his. She could get used to this.

****

A shower had cleared Genevieve’s mind somewhat. The post-coital glow remained in part of her brain, but the section devoted to feeling guilty about abandoning their host after just meeting him was in full gear. Hadn’t they promised to spend time with him last night? Not that she minded the marathon session of sex that ended this morning.

Yet, she wished she could sneak out the back door instead of facing Étienne’s friend. If she could only summon up some of the nonchalance of the sexy man beside her, she’d be able to make it through breakfast. It wouldn’t even be an early breakfast. The clock showed ten in the morning. They were now squarely in brunch territory.

She tugged on Étienne’s sleeve. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Embarrassed?” His head tilt meant he didn’t know that word yet.

“Ashamed.”

“Shame?” His head shook. “No.” With that, he grabbed her hand, leading her firmly down the stairs to where the clang of cooking implements on pans and the smell of sausage emanated.

“Bon jour.” The two men greeted each other simultaneously.

Armand set the spatula he held on the counter and grabbed her by the shoulders, planting a kiss on each cheek. “Bon jour,” he switched to English, “and welcome again. I am making crêpes, but I have no fresh fruit, only preserves. I do, however, have fresh sausage you will love. If you eat that. I do not know.”

Through her dry mouth, she uttered, “I do, thank you.”

“Étienne will get you coffee, but you sit. I want to hear about you even if you won’t be around long.” Armand turned halfway back to his cooking, rolling the sausage in the pan and tending a crêpe on a large appliance with what looked like a spreader arm.

“Um…” She wasn’t sure how to start, especially after he’d said she wouldn’t be around long. What had Étienne told Armand when making the arrangements for this trip? She began with the basics. “My name is Genevieve.”

“You are American?”

“Yes.” Étienne set a cup of milky smooth coffee in front of her. His hand rested on her shoulder a bit, relaxing her enough that she sat in one of the chairs at a round wood table.

“On holiday?”

“I consider it an exploration trip. I’m working on inspiration for a line of clothing.”

“Ah.” Armand set the plate of crepes, rolled with a reddish preserve in the middle, and a plate of sausages in the middle of the table. Étienne sat beside her with Armand seating himself across from her. “You are a designer? This is what you do in America?”

“I am a seamstress in a costume store. I make custom pieces for Carnival, and I make formal dresses as well. Mostly, I make costumes. It is my goal to be more,” she babbled nervously, telling this stranger more than Étienne knew. It all seemed wrong and made her wriggle in her seat.

Armand nodded. “Ah. You are young with plenty of time. You, of course, know what Étienne does.”

“A little. Um,” she shifted, as a sudden wave of anxiety washed over her. “Enough.” She glanced at Étienne, wishing he understood English better or that she could speak French better. If he could save her from this conversation, she’d feel so much better.

Waving his fork around, Armand said, “The work is hard. He pours himself into it. Leaves little time for women. He throws himself into that, too. Finds one, gives it a try on for size. But, eh, it never lasts with him. Life is too short for that.”

She nodded, too aghast and shocked to say anything. All the beauty of waking up beside her bronze god vanished. Poof! Gone like a puff of smoke on a windy day, never be seen again.

“You agree, eh?” Armand seemed so pleased with himself, as if he’d made her day better by ridding her of the notion of being with Étienne longer than these two days. “I am sure he does.” He waved his hand toward Étienne.

She glanced sideways at Étienne’s furrowed brow, as he attempted to understand their English. How much had he comprehended, and what was he saying now in French to Armand? All she could parse from his snarled words was the word for speak. He was certainly unhappy. His lip curled, and he’d pushed back from the table.

Armand shrugged. “He says I should not speak for him, so I won’t. But you understand, I know. I can tell. Here for a short time. Fuck a Frenchman for the memories, and then you’ll be gone with your stories and inspiration.”

Anger bubbled inside. This man couldn’t know her, and she’d not planned on fucking a Frenchman during her trip. Her journey here had been to fill her mind with visions, shapes, and experiences. Vistas like the sun setting over the Rhone River and the glow of the orange sun on the face of the Palace of the Popes. Or the living wall on the parking garage, growing and changing with the seasons. Even the vision of Étienne as he laughed his way around the market with her, pronouncing each word slowly as if she were a child and making her repeat it each time.

Those were the experiences she’d yearned for. Anything outside of her life in New Orleans was an inspiration. They took her mind to a different place than the Crescent City could. Though it was varied, so much of her home drained her. La Seyne sur Mer gave her a boost, and the entire day in Avignon filled her to the brim. Which she realized right before she was about to berate Armand for his presumptuous words, had included four amazing fucks.

“But,” Armand continued, “let us eat. I know you must be on your way. Étienne will, of course, show you Aix, and I do think you should see Le Castellet. It is very quaint, and the view can be gorgeous this time of year.” He turned to speak to Étienne in French.

She gathered her shattered emotions, piecing them together as the two men chatted in their native language. Her pride demanded she make it through the day without shedding a tear at not being special or shouting out a curse word for falling into the trap of letting a moment rule her night. Since her first Mardi Gras as an adult, she’d resisted the “let it all hang out” influence of events. Now this! No, I will not let this ruin my day. I will not.

Étienne spoke in heavily accented English, “We travel to Aix?”

“Yes.” She swallowed her anger along with her pride. “To Aix, and Le Castellet. I read about it on the plane.”

“Ah, good. To food, friends, and fucks.” Armand lifted his coffee cup and didn’t seem to mind that no one else at the table joined his toast.