The echo of designer heels clicking across polished granite tiles pierced the silence of the building lobby. It was the confident stride of a young woman who to look at her, exuded contemporary class and an urban sophistication. She stepped into the elevator as the doors slid open and with a perfectly manicured finger, pushed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
Everyone in the open plan office greeted her as she sauntered past countless bays of fashionably clad employees. Amy in turn wished each of them a good morning, never once forgetting any of their names. The women wore skirts and heels, the men, shirts and brogues. Looking good wasn’t a requirement here, but it was expected of them.
“Good morning, Clarissa,” said Amy as she arrived at the imposing oak door of the corner office.
“Good morning, Miss Faye,” chirped Clarissa. “You can go straight in, she’s expecting you.”
Emelia looked up from her laptop as the door to her office opened and Amy slipped inside. She raised her hand and motioned for her to come in and sit down as she continued her phone call.
"No, he didn’t get an invite. He's a pompous, opinionated prick who doesn't know the difference between couture and cardigan."
Amy loved the sassy attitude of her boss, there was a reason why everyone in the fashion industry both loved, and at the same time feared her. She smiled to herself as she placed her sky blue Saint Laurent handbag on a chair next to a samples clothing rack. Working at Moda had its perks, the samples alone were worth more than a Fifth Avenue condo.
“Listen, I have to go, darling, someone important has just walked in,” replied Emelia in a dismissive tone into the handset. An amused Amy raised an eyebrow as she settled into the seat. Her boss sighed as she replaced the phone and slumped back into her plush office chair.
A smirk spread across Amy’s lips as the most impressive list of curse words she’d ever heard, flowed effortlessly from Emelia’s mouth. She was astonished at the truly magnificent feat of verbal filth. Experience had taught her that Em only swore when she was really angry, or particularly stressed out about something.
“I think you might have missed one,” Amy said quietly to try and lighten the mood. “Bad morning?”
“Oh, don’t get me started,” Emelia replied, as she held up a finger.
“Clarissa, sweetie,” she said into the intercom unit on her desk. “Could you bring us two espressos, please? Thank you.” She turned back to her assistant editor and just smiled.
“You okay, Em?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. How are you?” she replied cheerfully. “How did your date go on Saturday?”
“Who told you about that?” Amy was shocked that her boss was privy to that particular piece of information, but she shouldn’t really be surprised. Every scrap of gossip made its way through this office at some point.
“Grapevine, darling. You know how it is.” Emelia picked up her Mont Blanc pen and started to nibble on the glossy black lid. “Well? Did you do the deed of darkness?”
“Jesus, Em,” Amy mumbled, embarrassed. “If you must know, we didn’t even make it back to my place. He also conveniently forgot to pick up his wallet when he left the house. I feel like a right idiot, I went to a lot of trouble to get a booking for that restaurant.”
“Urgh. Men are pigs!” Emelia spat out, before looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know it’s not been that long since you and Lincoln broke up.”
“It’s fine,” Amy sighed. “I’m giving up on men. I think I’ll just become a lesbian instead.”
Emelia was still laughing when the door to the office flew open and Clarissa tottered in carrying two small coffees on a silver tray.
“Here you go, Miss Lake. I’ll just leave these here for you,” she said cheerfully as she placed the tray down on the mahogany side table and made a sharp exit.
“I’ll have you know that seventy-two percent of men try harder in the bedroom because of small romantic gestures, it’s a fact. Three hundred dollars that meal cost!”
“Amy, that was printed in our magazine, and we made it up.” Emelia took off her rimless glasses and placed them softly on the desk. “Listen, darling, I need to ask you a favour.”
Amy knew that meant trouble. It was probably the reason for the small talk, to try and soften her up. She grimaced in anticipation of the question as she gazed out of the high-rise windows across the corner of 8th Avenue and West 57th Street. The February rain streaked the tall panes of glass and blurred the view of the monochromatic concrete metropolis.
“I’m really not in the mood, Em.”
“Sweetie, it’s a dire emergency. I need you to head home and pack a bag.” As the words sank in, Amy’s eyes widened and she sat bolt up right in her seat.
“Don’t you dare!” she gasped. “This is the first vacation I’ve had in three years, it’s all booked. My mum is expecting me, it’s her birthday. The whole family will be there.”
“I know, I know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. There’s been a major cock-up and Jenny is stuck in Rio. I need you to do the Tom Ford interview.”
“In Paris? Em, don’t do this to me!” she pleaded. “There must be someone else who can do it.”
“There’s not, I’ve tried everyone. Sally is in Fiji on her honeymoon to whatshisface, and Joanna is having her appendix out. Don’t make me beg, sweetie. I’ll get down on my knees.”
“You should be used to it,” Amy mumbled.
“I heard that,” her boss replied. “Come on, it’ll be two days, tops. It’s the feature piece for our spring special edition. We need it.”
Amy huffed dejectedly, before caving into the comically large grin plastered across Emelia’s face. “All right, but I’m flying first class.”
“Fine, fine. Whatever you want, darling.”
“And I’m staying in a posh hotel.”
“I don’t care if you stay in the Palace of Versailles as long as you get the interview done.”
“Fine,” Amy replied as she stood and walked over to collect her handbag from the chair, “but you owe me one.”
Emelia made a ‘mwah’ kissing sound from behind her, “Thank you, sweetie! I’ll email you all the details now.”
Amy stepped out of the office, clicked the door closed behind her and slumped back against it, “My mum’s going to kill me.”
The hypnotic drone of the engines prevented Amy from sleeping. Even in the luxurious first class of the Boeing 767, the dull rumble was enough to keep her awake. All of the ambient lighting had been dimmed to allow the passengers to sleep, so Amy flicked on the overhead reading light and reached into her bag for her book. The flight had been delayed an hour due to bad weather, and that had given her some time to peruse the shops at the JFK departures lounge. She’d picked up a travel guide to Paris in Borders and was now flicking through the introduction.
“Paris has many nicknames,” she read quietly to herself, “such as ‘The City of Love’, but its most famous is ‘La Ville-Lumière’ meaning ‘The City of Light’.”
Amy had never been to Paris before, so although she felt terrible about having to let her mother down, it was still an exciting adventure. As she skimmed through a section on the best shopping districts in the city, she became distracted by a young honeymoon couple making out on the other side of the isle. The cabin was dimly lit and very quiet, she wondered if anyone else was watching the little show that these two were putting on. Just as they started to get a little too amorous for discretion, they stood up, straightened their clothing, and sheepishly made their way to the bathroom at the front of the galley. Amy puffed her cheeks and blew out a frustrated sigh as she returned to her book. Sometimes it felt like everyone was having sex but her.
The plane landed at Charles de Gaulle airport on time, and she made her way through customs, then luggage collection, and finally out onto the street. Outside the air was biting cold, sharp even. The sky overcast, but flawless. It took her barely a minute to hail a taxi down, and as she settled into the warm back seat of the Mercedes C-Class, the driver loaded her suitcase into the trunk.
“Hotel Le Meurice, s'il vous plait,” she said, as he climbed back into the car. She’d been practicing that line for the last twenty minutes and was pleased with herself for totally nailing it.
“Oui, madame,” replied the driver as they pulled away from the curb.
The quiet tap of keys on a laptop keyboard was the only sound that could be heard, everything else was silent and peaceful. Amy was sat in her hotel room at a large mahogany writing desk, typing up the last section of the article for the magazine. The interview had gone much better than she had expected. Tom had been very receptive to her questions and the material for the feature piece was outstanding. Amy smiled as she glided her finger across the trackpad to the ‘Send’ button and clicked it with relish. She knew Emelia would be pleased, hell, she’d be over the moon with it.
As Amy absentmindedly nibbled on the lid of her pen, she turned in her chair and glanced around the room. To say it was luxurious would be an understatement, this place could put The Plaza to shame. At nearly seven-hundred euros per night, Amy knew she’d pushed it a little, but you have to treat yourself every once in a while. Especially when someone else is paying.
The room looked like the fantasy of an interior decorator with an unlimited budget. Every colour and material used exuded the charm of classic French Louis XVI style. Antique furniture was draped luxuriously with expensive, elegant fabrics. It captured the essence of what she had always perceived to be Parisian luxury at its finest. Even the antique brass wall lanterns were so ornate and elaborate, that she wished she could fit one of them into her suitcase for the flight back. Time just seemed to stop amid the tranquil atmosphere and elegantly muted palette winter colours. Unfortunately, Amy’s daydream of eighteenth century opulence was interrupted by the electronic chirping of her mobile phone sat on the coffee table.
“Madame Faye?” A female voice on the other end of the line asked.
“Yes,” Amy replied.
“This is Nicole, your customer liaison from American Airlines. I’m just ringing to inform you of the cancellation of your flight.”
“Cancellation? What do you mean ‘cancellation’?” This didn’t sound good.
“All flights have been cancelled, madam. The snow is causing disruption on the runways,” she explained. “If you check our website, regular updates will be posted on there.” Whilst the woman was ploughing through a script she would have to repeat hundreds of times today, Amy strolled over to the large window and took her first look outside for several hours. A flurry of big, soft snowflakes were blowing around lazily in the icy cold afternoon air.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Oh. Sorry, yes that’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on the website,” replied Amy before hanging up quickly and sitting back down at her laptop. Flicking through the latest updates on the site as Nicole had suggested, it appeared mother nature had decided to push a cold-core low pressure system over western Europe. Four inches of snow had dropped on Charles de Gaulle airport in the last few of hours.
“Well, that’s just effing brilliant,” she sighed, and slumped back into the plush padded chair.
Dressed in a clingy little black number, a must-have in any woman’s travel case, Amy strolled slowly through the classy marble and tiled mosaic atrium area of the hotel’s inner courtyard. She took in every detail of the opulent building as she made her way across the terrace. The lavish decorations, the eastern mosaics, even the antique scroll-work moldings; the place was more akin to a palace than a hotel.
Large, extraordinarily complex crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling of the bar in a classic touch of French refinement. Rich, crimson brocade drapes with golden tassels framed the tall, Parisian windows. Deep, chestnut coloured leather armchairs sat in front of marble-topped mahogany tables, each sporting a small lamp which created a soft, warm glow around the room. The candles which burned amid the candied dates and figs placed for the guests to indulge themselves, infused the air with a wealthy extravagance she had never before experienced. As Amy sauntered to the bar, she admired the beautifully frescoed walls, framed between dark-wood panels and bevelled glass fleur-de-lis wall sconces. The panorama of scenes from ages past transformed the bar into an art gallery.
She placed her clutch bag on the polished bar-top and settled into a comfy stool. Alone in a bar on Valentine’s Day, it hadn’t even occurred to her that it was the fourteenth until she’d checked her Facebook page earlier. ‘That pretty much sums it up,’ she thought to herself as the impeccably dressed and attentive barman stepped up.
“Bon soir, mademoiselle,” he greeted her with a slight nod of his head.
“Bon soir. Je voudrais…”
“I speak English, mademoiselle,” he replied quickly but quietly. Clearly this was to save her the embarrassment of a fumbled translation.
“Oh, great,” Amy said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Can I get a Manhattan with an orange twist please?”
As she watched the older gentleman begin to pour the whiskey, sweet vermouth and Angostura bitters into a cocktail shaker, her phone began to ring in her bag. In the quiet solitude of the spacious room, it sounded much too loud and discourteous. Amy removed it as quickly as she could and pressed it to her ear with an apologetic glance at the bartender.
“You know I’m snowed in, right?” she whispered loudly as she answered Emelia’s call.
“I just heard, darling. I am sorry. Being stuck in Paris, how awful.”
“I’m not laughing, Em. My mum is going to freak out.”
“What can I say, darling? Best to make the most of it. I’m ringing about the article.”
“Yes, yes,” she replied, “I emailed it to you earlier.”
“I know, I’ve read it. It’s absolutely fabulous, sweetie!” she replied. “That’s exactly why I made you assistant editor, you know. You have an eye for this thing. You are a gem.”
“You just remember that,” Amy whispered as the bartender stopped rattling the polished silver cocktail shaker and poured her drink.
“I will, darling. So, what are you up to?”
“Just sat in the bar, having a cocktail,” she replied.
“No, no, no. Amy, you are in Gay Paree!” shouted Emelia enthusiastically over the phone. Amy imagined her sat at her desk, waving her arms around dramatically. “I know it’s covered in snow, but isn’t there something you can do?”
That is when she saw his reflection in the bevelled mirror at the back of the bar. In he walked, ruffling the collar of his coat and disturbing the gentle dusting of white snowflakes from his charcoal jacket. Her eyes were drawn to the tall, dark stranger that had just strolled in from the hotel lobby. Muscular and handsome, he was impeccably dressed in an expensive, charcoal woollen suit jacket. With a quick glance around the room, he looked over to where she was sat and began to walk towards the bar.
“Em, I’ve got to go. Speak later,” Amy hurriedly replied before hanging up and stuffing the phone back into the bag.
“Un verre de Pinot noir, s'il vous plaît,” the stranger said to the bartender. Amy didn’t move a muscle, she just twirled the base of her chilled cocktail glass slowly and kept her eyes aimed at the myriad of exotic spirits lining the back of the bar. He turned to Amy and smiled a hello, “Bon soir, mademoiselle.”
“Bon soir,” she replied, turning and smiling sweetly as he pulled out the stool and sat next to her. Just as he settled into the leather seat, Amy caught him gazing just a little too long at the exposed flesh of her thigh. His eyes seemed to linger there before raking slowly over the rest of her body, as if he was sizing her up. The hem of her short dress had ridden up as she’d sat down. With a subtle cough and a casual wiggle of her bottom, she shimmied the fabric back down.
“C'est calme ici ce soir.”
Amy just smiled as he lent one elbow on the bar. She had no idea what he had just said to her, but she didn’t really care. That accent, she fucking adored that accent. It rolled off his tongue like a droplet of some sweet nectar. It felt like wrapping your naked body in the finest Italian silk, so smooth and sensual.
“Erm, oui?” she replied, but thought better of trying to fake her comprehension. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak much French.”
“Ah, you are American?” Amy nodded an affirmative. “I said that it is quiet in here tonight.”
Amy hadn’t really noticed, but as she twisted in her seat and glanced around the bar, they were in fact the only two people there.
“My name is Michael,” he continued, offering his hand.
“Amy,” she replied, as her small hand became buried in his warm, soft palm, “Nice to meet you.”
His thumb stroked softly over the back of her hand as he smiled. Amy smiled back and gave away no reaction to his obvious flirting. Her exterior was calm and collected with no indication that on the inside, she was as flustered as a schoolgirl who’d just found herself in the same room as her favourite boy band. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. They weren't boyish good looks, but rather a rugged, masculine allure that wound around the taut strands of lust within her chest and squeezed. A hot flutter ran through her pricked skin as he smiled. A cocktail of chemicals surged through her body causing effects she was powerless to prevent. The delicate flush of her cheeks, her rapid heartbeat, a sudden unquenchable thirst. He released her hand and took a sip from the glass of red wine that had been placed in front of him.
“Where are you from, Amy?” Taken aback a little by his forwardness, it took her a moment to compose herself and reply.
“New York. I’m an assistant editor for a fashion magazine called Moda.”
“Ah, so you must be in town for the Spring Fashion Show then.”
“That’s right,” she replied, impressed with his deductive skills, “How did you know?”
“I am also, I’m a fashion photographer. I live in Marseille, but I am stuck here until the snow clears. Fortunately there is no rush.”
Discovering they work in the same industry opened up all sorts of doors, Amy found that they suddenly had much to talk about. Just as they were getting engrossed in work talk, Michael stood up and offered her his hand.
“Would you like to get a table?” he asked. “Join me for something to eat?”
They ordered the most expensive dishes they could find on the Michelin starred menu, and talked for hours until the sun set. Dusk cast a glorious, warm golden glow in the patio atrium that adjoined the bar. Michael smiled when she talked, he laughed at her jokes, she found him utterly charming in every way. Amy even confided in him about Lincoln and their recent parting. She found it sweet that he so animatedly rebuked the man for ever straying from, “such a beautiful creature”.
Her eyes were transfixed on his chiselled jaw line and rough stubble. She watch longingly as he took a sip from a glass of water, letting a half-melted ice cube roll around his tongue until it melted. That's how she felt when he looked at her, as if the heat of his gaze was slowly melting the clothes from her body. Amy knew he had spent the last couple of hours mentally undressing her. As the conversation moved towards modelling and fashion photography, his hand slid slowly across the crisp white table cloth towards hers.
“If you ever wish to try it, I think you would make a wonderful model.”
In the time it took his index finger to trace sensuously along the length of her thumb, her cheeks had flushed a bright cerise. Michael stood up and moved over to the chair next to hers. As he sat himself down, his heady cologne drifted across to her. It was sweet yet musky, a scent which had been warmed by his body. It was how a man should smell. Amy salivated at the naughty thoughts tumbling out of control through her mind.
He took her hand in his and she looked around nervously to see if anyone was watching them. Amy just stared as he gently kissed the crevice between her thumb and index finger slowly.
"You are a beautiful woman, Amy," he whispered so as not to be overheard.
She gulped when his mouth travelled to her wrist, pressing his warm lips against her pounding pulse.
“I was thinking of taking a walk. Would you care to join me?”
“Y-Yes,” she stuttered, swallowing as her mouth had gone dry. “Can I meet you in reception in ten minutes?”
“I’ll see you in ten,” he replied with a smile, as he released her wrist.
Amy rode the elevator back up to her floor, impatiently tapping a Christian Louboutin on the carpeted floor. As she entered her room, she slammed the door shut and slumped back against it heavily.
“Jesus,” she whispered to herself after a couple of deep breaths, “he fancies the pants off me.”
In a whirlwind of hurried motion, she quickly retrieved her black winter coat from the wardrobe, then looped and tied the belt around her waist. The clutch bag was discarded on the bed, and her mobile phone stuffed into her pocket. She wrapped a large, fluffy, gold-coloured scarf snuggly around her neck and adjusted her hair in the large, antique-framed mirror on the wall.
“With a little luck,” she said quietly to her reflection before making her way back downstairs.
Amy tugged at the clingy black dress under her coat nervously, and took a deep breath for courage as the elevator doors opened. Her stomach lurched as she saw him stood there, waiting for her. He could so easily swap his life behind a lens, to one in front of it. She tottered across the palatial, columned marble lobby towards him, her high heels clacking across the polished checkered floor.
“Ready?” he asked, as she stood in front of him.
“Oui,” she replied.
“Have you ever been to Paris before?” Michael asked as they stepped into the chill of the night air. It was so cold that it bit into Amy’s skin painfully. It was like a thousand tiny little pin pricks. She glanced up into the grey clouds and royal blue of evening twilight. The heavy snow had stopped and was now but a light dusting on the breeze.
“In that case, you are in for quite a treat.” He offered his arm which she linked, smiling. “Shall we?”
“Where are we going?” She asked.
“It’s a surprise.”
The Champs-Élysées was an ocean of light, shimmering in the dark of night like something from a fairy tale. The street was lined with endless cafes, luxurious boutique shops and antique brass lanterns which bathed everything in a soft glow. They strolled slowly together under the clipped horse-chestnut trees. Amy was in awe of the splendour surrounding her, it was truly a sight to behold.
In the far distance up ahead was the hulking form of the Arc de Triomphe, standing resolute under a sky clouded by a blanket of snow baring white and grey. They stopped for a moment to listen to some street singers who were out. Amy didn’t understand the words, but they were beautiful nonetheless. Each syllable echoed out into the cold night, crisp and clear, as their breath drifted up into the night sky before being snatched away by a gentle breeze. Snow flakes fell softly, lit by the warm glimmer from the old Parisian street lights.
Amy blushed a little as Michael took her hand and interlaced their fingers, his warm palm warming her own. They strolled on together, hand in hand, perusing the brightly lit boutique shops up and down one of the world’s most famous streets. They stayed open late for last minute shoppers and late night romance. The golden light spilling out from so many beautiful window displays and prestigious shop-fronts created the effect of an illuminated sidewalk, as unhurried people strode past, their shadows following. Amy was hypnotised by the beauty of ‘the City of Light’.
“Did you know that Champs-Élysées is French for Elysian fields?” Michael asked her. “It is the Greek conception of the afterlife. A sort of paradise.” Amy smiled, enjoying Michael’s vision of their surroundings.
“No, I didn’t know that,” she replied. “Not just a handsome face, hey?”
“You think I am handsome?”
Amy blushed and guided them across to a shop front in order to avoid having to provide an answer the question. They stopped in front of a chocolatier, the golden caramel display behind the glass, a succulently sweet tease. As Michael stood behind her, she felt him rest his big hands on her shoulders. It seemed like it took an age, but she eventually plucked up the courage to ask him.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
“Chocolate,” he replied.
Amy giggled and leaned back against his body, as he gave her shoulders a playful squeeze.
“Come on, no kidding. What are you really
thinking about?” He paused before replying as she watched his reflection in the glass shop-front.
A shiver of excitement ran down her spine as his fingers absently began to play with the collar on her coat.
“What about me?” she whispered, her throat now dry and scratchy.
“Your body. Your skin. How you would taste,” he replied, leaning in a little closer so he could lower his voice even further. “What it would be like to devour you slowly. Like taking my time to enjoy a ripe, juicy peach.” As the last word passed his lips, Amy let out a little whimper. Despite the cold night air, she could already feel a prickling heat spreading through her body. His fingertips traced along the edge of her scarf and tickled the sensitive skin on the back of her neck.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” There was a pause before she heard him whisper softly in her ear.
“Yes.” There was no hesitation, he knew what he wanted.
Amy tilted her head to gaze up into his eyes. He turned her body to face him as she felt her cheeks redden in an embarrassing flush. Michael smiled disarmingly as he stepped close, placing one hand on her hip. Amy felt an involuntary flutter and rebuked herself for the girlish indulgence. Explicit scenarios flooded into her mind like a tidal surge of lustful promise. Each one a sweeter confection than those behind the glass, a little treat to tantalise her senses.
Every feeling felt new and ungoverned, adolescent in their pure, unadulterated power. As she gazed into his eyes, her body ached for him. Desire for his affection had been smouldering since he’d first shown an interest, and now it seemed when he looked into her eyes, he knew her more completely than she knew herself.
“Vous êtes belle,” he whispered, as he bent down and touched his lips to hers. The words echoed inside of her, ‘you are beautiful’. They kissed passionately as Amy lost herself in the moment, unsure of what it meant yet wishing it to last forever. Her tongue slid into his mouth on a sigh, so deliciously warm and sensual. When they eventually parted, Amy couldn’t bring herself to release Michael’s coat lapels for fear of falling from her unsteady legs. She felt wild and feral, guilty as if their kiss had been a criminal act. His smile tempered her fire and made her smile as well.
“Oh là là,” Amy whispered before giggling to herself. The cold was really starting to bite a little too hard for comfort now. She released his jacket and began to rub her numb hands together.
“Are you cold?” Michael asked, to which Amy nodded. “Let’s head back.”
When the polished brass doors opened, they both stepped into the elegantly decorated elevator. Amy was nervous, they hadn’t discussed taking things further, things just seemed to be happening now of their own accord. As Michael pressed the button for the third floor and the doors slowly closed, the background noise from the hotel lobby died and they were left in silence.
The look on his face turned her insides to mush. He meant what he had said before, the barely restrained lust was now plain to see. Without any hesitation of reaction or complaint, he took one step towards her and pinned Amy’s body roughly against the wall, his hands gripping her wrists. A startled gasp was all Amy managed to eke out before melting into his embrace, as his lips pressed passionately to hers. His hands roamed her body as her chest heaved. She felt light-headed as though all the oxygen was being sucked out of the enclosed space. As he grabbed her thigh firmly and hoisted upwards, the hem of her skirt slipped higher and she wrapped her leg around him.
Time seemed to stop as the heated embrace consumed them both. He was powerful, and full of fire. He manipulated her body as if it were his own. They way he touched her made her pussy ache, grasping at her flesh as though he might die otherwise. Amy’s mind was a blur of motions and emotions as a bell chimed and the doors slid open. They seemed to effortlessly drift across the hallway in each others arms to his hotel door, before falling through it into the shadows.
Michael purposely neglected the polished brass light switch on the wall next to the door, the only ambient light in the room flooding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. Before her eyes could adjust to the gloom, the soft touch of his hands on her hips caused her to shudder. She felt the warmth of his breath a moment before his lips once again pressed to hers. The darkness added another dimension to what was already barrelling out of control. She swallowed nervously and placed her shaking index finger on his lips.
"Give me two minutes?”
He nodded, smiling as she tiptoed through the darkness to the bedroom. Amy slipped off her coat and dropped it onto the floor before entering the en-suite bathroom.
"You don't even know this guy, Amy,” she whispered to herself as the latch clicked shut. She wrung her hands nervously as she paced up and down on the exquisite Italian marble floor, taking deep breaths to try and calm her pounding heart. Even when she was back in college, Amy had never been one to just jump into bed with a guy at the drop of a hat, but something about Michael was just irresistible. She knew before she placed her hand back on the polished chrome door handle how this was going to play out. When she had composed herself, she opened the door slowly and stepped out into his bedroom.
Michael had removed his jacket and unbuttoned his crisp, white shirt before discarding it on the floor. All she could see now was the silhouette of his muscular torso, haloed by the warm, amber glow flowing in through the frost-tinted windows from the streetlights below. Amy just caught the outline of his smile as he turned to her, before his face was lost to shadow.
They ambled towards each other slowly, meeting in the middle of the room. Amy could practically feel the heat radiating from his body as she tentatively lifted her hands to his torso. She traced her fingertips slowly over his sculptured chest, feeling the brush of the soft hairs on his hard pecs. A gasp escaped her lips as she caressed over a rough, jagged scar that ran diagonally across his stomach. Amy instinctively flinched, but he grasped her wrists in his strong hands and held them firm. She felt scared yet strangely at ease in his powerful grip. Michael’s eyes burned with an intangible fire which tightened her stomach, and did little to ease her rapidly fluttering pulse.
“A motorcycle accident,” he said quietly, the French-dappled syllables rolling off his tongue in the most sensual manner.
“May I?” Amy asked, captivated by the glimmering caress of warm amber beams flowing across his upper body. As he nodded, he released his tight grip as her wrists slipped from his fingers. She ran her trembling fingertips down over his chiselled stomach and softly over the scarred flesh, tracing the outline across his defined abs. The slow rise and fall of his bare chest was metronomic in their shadowed seclusion; she felt each minute movement of his muscles under his skin.
Michael bent his head and placed a soft, lingering kiss on her cheek. The heat of her flushed, blushing skin against his lips was the only tell of her tumescent glow concealed by the darkness. Every minute in his arms seemed to last a lifetime, a moment she could lose herself in, but in reality, was but his stubble-roughened face touching hers for one delicious second.
“Vous avez le goût si doux,” he whispered, before tracing his tongue over her teeth. His lips were hot and soft, the moist press of urgent flesh making her heart pound as she ran her fingers through his hair and grasped it in desperate, clenched fists. Her body responded to his affections like the floodgates of passion had been opened and could not be closed.
“Oh, God. I wish I knew what you just said,” she moaned into his mouth as she pulled back, breathless and dizzy.
“I was wondering how anyone could taste so sweet.” His words dripped like honey and smothered her consciousness with a warm longing. She ached to taste him once more, to stroke her tongue over his, to consume him.
They lay on the bed kissing, lips and tongues exchanging affection in the dark. Michael reached down and ran his warm hand slowly up the length of her smooth, slender leg. Every inch of calf he touched brought goosebumps to her quivering flesh. With a relaxed calmness, his fingertips crept up, over the bottom of the dress and slowly over her thigh. As Amy watched him, one arm resting languorously above her head on the soft pillow, the dark-haired stranger traced his fingers ever higher over her fabric wrapped body. Deft fingers followed the natural contours of her body, each swell and valley of flesh receiving his gentle touch.
His fingertips slipped under the thin strap at her right shoulder and with a desperate slowness, peeled the soft satin to one side exposing her heaving bosom. The puckered nipple of her right breast, that had been straining against delicate black fabric, was now freed and aching for his touch.
A soft moan escaped her parted lips as he descended and kissed her feminine swells. Tracing the edge of her dress, Michael covered every inch of her exposed flesh in loving affection. Her skin was rich, like double cream, illuminated only by the penetrating glow through the antique windows. The only sound in the room was the moist contact of his lips on her bosom, and the clatter of each heel and she slipped off her shoes and let them drop to the hardwood floor.
She felt a burning warmth as he took her rigid nipple into his mouth. Every stroke of his tongue, each circle around the firm little nub caused her to whimper softly. Amy loved having her nipples played with, they were very sensitive, often becoming tight just from the friction of whatever top she happened to be wearing. As if knowing the exact boundary between pain and pleasure, Michael bit down firmly into her tingling, crinkled flesh. Amy’s skin sizzled with delicious agony as she arched her back, her fingers travelling up the back of his neck and stroking through his soft, dark hair.
He ran his hand up her inner thigh and under her dress. Despite the sexual tension which was creeping through her body, twisting every muscle tight and raking across every single nerve ending, she found herself relaxing into his arms. She felt safe and for the first time in a long while, desired. As Michael’s hand inched ever closer to her now damp panties, she pressed her head back into the soft, fresh pillows and smiled. She trembled under his touch, moaning quietly as his warm hand cupped her aching sex through the scrap of damp lace which covered it.
He grazed his fingertips over her panties and against her clit, keeping the pressure constant and firm. He rolled her swollen nub through the lace fabric until she found herself rolling her hips to grind against him. She was practically panting with need by the time he removed his hand and scooped her up in his arms to a sitting position. Struggling to keep her hands from shaking, Amy managed to quickly unzip the dress. With his assistance it was slipped off silently in the darkness and tossed across the room into a crumpled pool of fabric, no longer required.
A fractured beam of light lay over her abdomen as she lay back into the fluffy pillows. The liquid rays seemed to almost flow over her, accentuating her feminine contours, highlighting her succulent swells and masking the forbidden valleys. Michael took his time searing his hot tongue along the soft curves of her torso. With every inch he travelled lower down her body, the more her chest heaved with anticipation.
Amy gasped as Michael worked his fingers inside her panties and gripped the front of them firmly. He pulled the lace tight as it rode into the sensitive crevices either side of her clitoral hood. She bit into her bottom lip as it forced the swollen, puffy flesh of her labia to bulge around the fabric. It felt like floating on a midnight ocean, as waves of pleasure flowed through her body. His tongue seared her skin, burning deliciously as he stroked it languorously along the smooth, arousal-slicked flesh.
Her whimpered exhalations of a most exquisite torture escaped into the dark room. He teased her mercilessly, licking her sensitive flesh until she was writhing for release. He hooked a finger around the sodden lace before pulling it to one side and exposing her completely. Amy suddenly felt self-conscious, yet even more aroused now that the last barrier between her aching pussy and his mouth was gone.
With a deliberate slowness, he trailed a single finger around her throbbing clit before dipping it into her sopping pussy. Amy clenched around him and bucked her hips, desperate for more. As quickly as he had entered her though, he slipped it free, trailing a tiny strand of sweet, warm arousal to his mouth where he licked his finger clean.
Michael shuffled up onto his knees and lifted her legs. His fingers hooked the waistband of her panties at either hip and he slowly peeled the delicate scrap of expensive lace off. It glossed over her slender legs before he discarded it on the floor next to her dress. With her legs held straight up towards the ceiling, Amy giggled softly as she wiggled her toes, enjoying the playful glimmer of the ‘Parisian Blush’ pink speckled nail polish.
Her pussy was like a swollen peach, ripe, sweet, and aching desperately now for his touch. Amy couldn’t remember ever being so sexually aroused before. This was more intense than even her most sordid of hot fantasies. She felt his hands slide under her firm bottom, as he lay down on the bed between her thighs. He gripped the warm flesh of her buttocks and lifted her effortlessly from the bed. Amy felt utterly exposed as her mound rose up, and her legs splayed either side of his muscular shoulders. All she could see was her neat little landing strip of dark pubic hair, and his hungry, dark eyes. There was no way to escape his mouth. She was offered up to him for his private consumption.
Having her whole sex engulfed by his scorching mouth was almost more than she could bear. She wove her fingers through his soft, dark hair and gripped it tightly, her hips bucking and rolling against his face. The incessant lashing of his hot tongue drove her insane with pleasure, as he devoured her hungrily. Each time his tongue parted her swollen lips and plunged into her depths, she involuntarily squeezed as her pouting hole wrapped tightly around his intrusion. Even the rough scratch of his stubble against the soft skin of her inner thighs drove her wild.
A few men had gone down on Amy during her life, but this was something else; Michael was relishing the act like his life depended on it. Everything was perfect, the way he sucked her lips into his mouth and tugged on them, the way he flicked his tongue so fast it vibrated across the very tip of her exposed clit. Amy felt as if she was being devoured alive by this man, and she absolutely loved it.
“Oh, sweet Mary mother of fuck, that’s good!”
Her orgasm was close, like the rumbling of distant thunder of the horizon. Before she had the opportunity to savour the sweet taste of bliss, Michael slowed and stopped his savage mauling of her delicate folds. With the grace of a big cat stalking its prey, he crawled up over her body slowly from between her legs. As soon as she could reach, Amy got to work on his belt buckle. Her eager fingers quickly slipped it free and unbuttoned his trousers.
A wicked grin flashed in the dark as he leaned in for a kiss. Amy could taste herself on his lips, a sweet gloss that she found exceptionally arousing. Through the lustful haze of desperate need, she sought to capture each and every feature of his face in the gloom of the shadows. This stranger who had seduced her, this man who now possessed her.
His tongue teased her own, flicking and stroking in a practiced dance of sexual exchange. With a need she never knew existed, Amy couldn’t wait a second longer to get her hands on his cock. She lifted her legs and hooked her big toes into either side of his waistband. Michael lifted his hips from her body as she wriggled his trousers and boxer shorts over his tight arse and down his thighs. He knelt up on the bed to kick off his ankles the last remaining scraps of fabric on his body. Amy crawled onto her knees in front of him.
“Stand up,” she whispered.
Without any hesitation, Michael stood on the bed in front of her. He was like her own personal Adonis. Amy’s eyes widened when she saw the size of his cock. He was impressively big and hard as steel, his rigid length standing straight out towards her. With her left hand she wrapped her fingers around his hot, tight flesh and lifted it to his stomach. She licked along the underside of his length, savouring the moment when she heard him sigh his appreciation. Each stroke of her tongue caused his balls to twitch inside his shaved sack.
A tightness in her stomach only emphasised her condition as she saw a drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip. Amy licked her lips in anticipation of tasting him. She took him in her hand and with an unknown hunger, began to circle his firm head with her tongue. Every crease and ridge of his stiff cock felt the sultry, wet pressure of Amy's affection. A pleasure only exceeded by the mind-blowing thrill of her lips slipping slowly down his shaft, and engulfing him in her deliciously hot mouth.
Amy held him in her mouth as she snaked her slender arms around his waist and wrapped them lazily above his buttocks. Casually worshipping his cock with her mouth, she began to suck as Michael's hips involuntarily rocked back and forth. His delicious manhood glistened in the darkness with the slippery shimmer of her saliva. Each time she leant forward to take a little more of him into her mouth, Amy took in the musky scent of masculinity. It was intoxicating and utterly arousing at the same time.
The rhythmic friction of her mouth and attentive tongue soon had her French provocateur gripping her hair in his fists. Amy had never really been one for rough sex, but at that moment, she couldn't think of anything more thrilling than having her face fucked. To passively resigning her body to his total, and complete sexual gratification.
His strong hand held the back of her head as his cock inched further and further into her mouth with each thrust. Michael threw his head back and grunted as she gripped tightly to his hips. With her tongue stroking along the underside of his thick shaft with each rock forward, she glanced upward over his torso and marvelled at the sight. His muscular abs rippled under his scared skin, as the warm light flooding through the windows caressed him in high contrast. She had to touch him, just to make sure he was real. She felt the course hair under her fingertips and traced it down, under his navel to the trimmed patch of dark pubic hair.
Each time she swallowed his erection, her nose nestled into that rough, curly thatch. Each time he pulled back, she gasped for breath before once again feeling overwhelmed as his cock pressed against the back of her throat. When Amy couldn’t stand to wait any longer for him, she gripped his throbbing shaft and eased him from her mouth.
“Fuck me, Michael!”
Without a single word spoken, Michael pushed her onto her back and knelt down between her legs. Amy watched him anxiously as he teased the head of his cock between her slick folds. With a single thrust, he sank his full length into her hot, aching depths. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, it was a searing fullness and sense of completion. Despite how wet Amy was, taking a cock of his size was still a pleasure on the knife’s-edge of pain. He pulled back almost to the tip before thrusting into her once more. A rhythm started to build as perspiration specked their flushed skin. The heat of his powerful body rolling on top of her was so intense.
It wasn’t long before she adjusted to his length and girth, and as if he knew she was ready, he began to pummel her with vicious strokes. Amy had never been this sexually stimulated before. She never knew anything could be this vivid and utterly fulfilling. Every single muscle in her body contracted and relaxed in time with his punishment. Every single nerve ending sizzled with electric pleasure.
Amy watched breathlessly as Michael lifted himself on his muscular arms, and knelt before her like a moisture-dappled statue. He smiled and ran his fingers through his mop of dark hair before saying quietly, “Turn over.”
He didn’t have to ask twice, whatever he wanted was his. Her muscles already ached but she rolled onto her stomach and rose up onto her knees. Michael's hands caressed the soft skin of her bottom as she arched her back and rested on her elbows. Without him inside of her, she felt empty, incomplete. A feeling quickly dispelled as he unceremoniously speared his way back into her pouting pussy.
Amy’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets so tight her fingers went numb. She wanted this to last forever, yet at the same time, to end this very second in an explosion of sexual release. The heat of his hands as they gripped her hips was scalding. As she bit into the fresh linen to keep from bruising her bottom lip, Amy crossed her ankles between his legs and clenched tight around his thick, engorged length. He grunted as he withdrew after each agonisingly delicious thrust into her depths. His moans punctuated his pleasure of her slow massage, the languorous milking of his cock by her most intimate of intimates.
She squeezed tighter as he thrust harder, both of them trembling with the strain of keeping up the pace. Amy was now whimpering unintelligibly as they pleasured each other to the brink of orgasmic oblivion. Before she could grasp and embrace her ever approaching climax, Michael pulled out, enclosed her waist with his arms and flipped her roughly onto her back. All she could do to hold him close was wrap her legs around his waist as he began to fuck her into submission. Her hips lifted from the bed with each retraction, and were savagely slammed back into the mattress with each relentless thrust.
He gripped her wrists firmly and pinned her arms above her head, burying them in the soft pillows. The kiss was unbridled, a passionate mess of gorgeous chaos. He nipped at her lips and bit into her throat as he held her in place. Amy’s body was no longer her own. She bucked and moaned wildly with lust as he punished her body, and she in turn retaliated with hers, consuming as much of him as she could. Her thighs clasped his hips as her heels tried to pull his body even closer.
Her ears were filled with the roaring of the blood, coursing at breakneck speed through her veins. With each second that passed she lost a little more of herself. Edging closer and closer to that moment when the inevitable, would become the unstoppable. Like the beating of a butterfly’s wings which unleashes a hurricane that God himself would be powerless to stop. Her body tensed as euphoria saturated her senses. Her body was now shaking with madness and ecstasy, tiptoeing along the ragged edge of consciousness.
With a final flurry of powerful thrusts signalling the end of the line, Amy grabbed the back of Michael’s head and roughly mashed their mouths together. As she began to come, she bit into his lip, drawing a speck of blood as her fingers dug in and raked across his muscled back. Her escape into blissful sexual oblivion began as his thick, bulging cock pulsed deep within her body. There was no line now between pleasure and pain, just the feeling. She gripped him like a fist of hot liquid velvet, clenching hard each time he withdrew from her, milking every last drop of cum from his quivering body.
With a final ragged sigh of exertion, Michael’s sweat-covered torso collapsed heavily onto her delicate frame. Being pinned to the bed by a dead-weight of naked muscled perfection was the stuff she had dreamed of. Dreams, however, do not require the need to breathe. With the combined total sum of her remaining energy, she managed to roll him off and onto his back. He was smiling and looking directly into her hazy eyes. With a slow flick of his tongue, he licked away the trickle of blood from the split she had bitten into his bottom lip. Amy was utterly spent, not an ounce of strength remained in her broken body. The last thing she remembered before drifting off to a peaceful sleep, was seeing that gorgeous smile upon his face.
The shimmering rays of morning sunlight warmed Amy’s skin, as they lovingly embraced her body in the welcome of a new day. As they travelled slowly across the serene scene of carnal abandon and caressed her cheek, her eyes fluttered open. It took a moment or two for her to realise where she was, what she was doing there, and whose leg was resting against her own.
Every muscle of Amy’s body ached as she crawled towards the headboard and propped herself up against the stack of soft pillows. The warm, white sheet hung lazily below her breasts as she ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Her movement had woken Michael. He stirred from his slumber as he rolled over and lay his arm gently across her waist. Amy smiled as he rested his head on her right arm and softly kissed her bare skin.
“Bonjour, belle fille,” he said sleepily.
“Belle means beautiful, right?”
As if on cue, the ear-shattering screech of her mobile phone broke the silence of the room as it began to ring in her coat pocket. Amy scrambled desperately to retrieve her coat from the floor and answer the call before it ruined the moment.
“Hello?” she whispered into the handset.
“Amy? It’s Emelia, darling. Everything okay?
“Yep. Absolutely fine.”
“Have you seen the weather forecast, sweetie? Looks like you might be getting out of there sooner than you thought.”
As Amy slumped back against the cushioned headboard, Michael sat up on the edge of the bed. She watched as he stood and stretched his arms over his head. Surrounded by the golden glow of dawn, he looked angelic. He was completely naked and twisted slightly from side to side, as every muscle rippled along his back, arse and thighs. The only blemishes on his statuesque physique were the angry red scratch marks across his back.
“Actually, about that. I was thinking I might stay another few days. Maybe a week.”
“A week? That hotel costs a fortune! You have some cheek,” Emelia laughed over the phone. A suitable choice of word as at that moment, cheek was exactly what she was looking at.
“Mmm hmm,” Amy mumbled.
“Well, I’m sure we can stretch to it. I hope you have a nice time, darling,” replied her boss. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
Amy’s eyes followed Michael as he strolled slowly across the room to the en-suite bathroom. His sleek hips and muscular frame like some greek legend carved from finest marble. She listened as the water began to jet from the shower head as he turned on the taps. Amy grinned to herself, a naughty thought suddenly popping into her head.
“Hold on,” Emelia continued over the phone. “Why the sudden change of heart? You couldn’t wait to get out of Paris last night, now all of a sudden you want to stay an extra week. Have you met someone? Have you pulled?! Who is he? Amy? Amy, are you there?”
Emelia’s voice echoed up towards the tall ceiling of the empty hotel room, from where the phone had been discarded and quite forgotten upon on the warm, crumpled sheets.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/seduction/parisian-nights.aspx">Parisian Nights</a>