Authors: Alicia Roberts
My walls clenched around him and he pinned me against the wall as he withdrew and thrust into me again. His thrusts grew deeper and longer and I felt mys
elf stretch as his cock slammed
into
me over and over again.
Th
e orgasm I'd tried to coax out
with my fingers came bubbling up to the surface as he plunged into me and I wrapped my arms around him tightly as I f
ound
myself losing control.
I felt Brad's thrusting grow erratic
;
he grunted as he stiffened and orgasmed inside me, even as I felt the wa
ves of pleasure roll through m
y body
. My delayed orgasm sent streams of euphoria coursing through my veins and I clenched my legs around his waist as I felt the pressure escaping me.
We stood still for a few minutes, wrapped around each other, exhausted and thrilled. We disengaged finally, and I hobbled to upstairs on shaky legs, changing and sliding into bed,
happy and spent.
On Sunday morning I woke up
feeling
excited and giddy, like a kid who's been promised a trip to
Disneyland
. I got dressed in a rush, pulling on my new jeans and blouse, applying a bit of makeup and fluffing up my hair. I wanted to wake Brad, but I didn't know if he'd appreciate it or not. Thankfully, by the time I came out of the bathroom he was up and had a gorgeous, sleepy look.
"You look wide awake," he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
I laughed, "Go on, sleepyhead! I'm not wasting a minute in
Paris
." I pulled him o
ff the bed and gave him a gentle
shove towards the bathroom, before I grabbed my bag and went downstairs to wait for him. There were pastries laid out on the table, but I had other hopes for breakfast.
As soon as Brad came downstairs, I dragged him outside with me.
"It's too early for the Louvre to be open," he protested, but I merely
patted
my tummy and he got the hint.
The streets were
less busy at this hour, and we strolled along till we found the perfect café - it had tables lined up outside, two large blackboards displaying the breakfast specials, and was buzzing with patrons. Normally I don't like busy cafes, but this one looked so quaint and popular
,
I knew it was "the one".
We weren't disappointed when we got our food. I
'd
ordered a chocolate croissant and Brad had a regular croissant
; we both had café au lait.
As we sipped and ate, I watched the people strolling by and caught snatches of French conversations.
Once we'd finished our leisurely meal, we walked over to the banks of the
Seine
again.
Holding hands and strolling by the river, I felt like we were one of those couples in love, sharing a romantic escapade in th
e
gorgeous city. I sighed and leaned my head against his shoulder. "It's so beautiful."
I watched a white haired couple strolling
by
hand in hand and thought, if only we were
as
real
as them
. I felt Brad kiss the top of my head and heard him say, "I'm glad you're here. You're a great friend to share all this with."
We were
friends? I felt myself stiffen slightly at the thought. But yes, of course we were. We were in this together, we were sharing secrets and
were
partners in crime - surely that made us friends.
I thought Brad was amazing - he was kind and thoughtful,
and we shared such great physical chemistry. I knew I'd want to be with him if he hadn't been rich, but he
was
rich, and that meant he was
completely
out of my league.
I should be grateful for the contract marriage, I thought - there was no way Brad would've considered being with me otherwise. After all, what did he think of me? I was naïve, excitable and enthusiastic - a far cry from the cool and sophisticated girls he must date all the time. Not to mention, I wasn't as beautiful as them.
I gave myself a mental shake, I was thinking too much. I was in
Paris
, I was with a gorgeous guy and I was going to have fun.
When we got to the Louvre, we
bypassed
the long lines
since
Brad
had pre-purchased
our tickets
through
the
hotel
concierge. Once we were in, we rented headphones for the audio tour of the museum, and set off, hand in hand.
As we listened to the narrator explaining various works of art and
wandered
from one masterpiece to another, Brad and I didn't say a word to each other. Brad was paying attention to the narration, his eyes focused on the art, his fingers interlaced with mine. Occasionally when we stood and admired a picture, he put his arms around my shoulders and drew me close.
I was distracted, and annoyed with myself for feeling that way. Here I was, face to face with the greatest works of art, and in between being awed by their beauty, I was feeling sad that if I signed Brad's contract, I was giving up the option for real love.
It's just for a year, I told myself, and you could never have anything real with Brad anyway
, so don't be silly.
Still, I glanced at him as we walked, and smiled when he caught my eye.
We walked along the various trails marked out by the Louvre. First we saw the major masterpieces - the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, the Oath of Horatio and other works I'd only seen in coffee table books.
Next, we admired
the Dutch 18
th
century masterpieces of still life. Our third trail highlighted masterpieces of the Italian Renaissance,
works by Michelangelo, Verrocchio and Leonardo Da Vinci.
We both felt hungry at the same time, and made our way over to Le Café Mollien. The warmly lit café with its ornate ceiling and amazing views of the courtyard provided the perfect break to our
visit
.
As we nibbled on sandwiches and
sipped
steaming hot tea, I asked Brad how many times he'd come here before.
"Just a couple," he smiled, "Grandpa brought me to visit when I was around 15, and I was pretty bored that time! I've come a few times
since
,
because
I have to come to
Paris
for work. But I've never had as much fun as I've had today."
He placed his hand on mine, and I smiled. "It's always much nicer to come with someone -" I stopped myself and continued, "
Someone
who's a friend."
Had I really been about to say
,
"
Someone
you love"? Why would I
say that?
I felt disgusted at myself. We'd barely
met
each other and he clearly saw me just as a partner in crime.
"Are you ok?" There was concern in his eyes, and I forced myself to smile.
"It's just a bit overwhelming
.
"
He nodded. "I love how enthusiastic
and honest you are. This must be so much more exciting for an art buff."
We finished our sandwiches and went back to
admire
the artworks, following different trails
marked out officially, and then finally browsed
through the different
rooms
at our own pace.
It was almost closing time before I knew it. Brad and I returned our headphones and he led me outside and hailed a cab.
I slid in, feeling sad that the day was over.
I need to do this again
. Brad squeezed my hand, as if reading my thoughts.
We arrived at the airport and sped through security, my
mind
still
dazed at the speed with which the weekend had ended
. Our luggage had been packed and arrived before us, and we climbed up the stairs to Brad's waiting jet.
As the plane taxied down the runway and rose up, I stared down at the lights of
Paris
. "Goodbye for now," I whispered.
"We'll come back again," said Brad, and I wondered if he'd heard me. "Maybe we could honeymoon here?"
I turned and smiled at him, and we both laughed at the possibility. "Maybe," I said, "You're doing a pretty convincing job."
"It's my job to be convincing."
And suddenly I recognized the steel
and determination
under his gentle voice, and I wondered if his niceness was all just an act.
"
Paris
is nice," I nodded, "But maybe I should spend some time with you in
New York
, see how your life really is?"
"Sure," he shrugged, "Call in sick tomorrow. You can spend the day at my house, and I've got an art gala at night. It'll be a tough crowd though."
"I guess I should see for myself." I had no doubt that his crowd would be toug
h - the brief meeting with Anna,
Olga
and the Sheikh
had removed any misconceptions I might have had.
I just needed to know I could survive in Brad's world
, even if it was only for one night
.
We arrived in Teterboro
a few hours
b
efore dawn, the time difference
pushing us back a few hours. I'd slept through most of the flight and proceeded to fall asleep in the limo as well, being roused awake by Brad when we arrived at his house. I staggered up the stairs of his brownstone, and let him lead me
up
to the bedroom, where I kicked off my shoes and stumbled under the soft covers
without changing
.
When I woke up, the sun was streaming
in
through
a slight parting between
the drapes. Brad was nowhere to be seen, and
I
moved the drapes apart so I could inspect the room I was in.
The
bedroom was masculine and
grey
, immaculately cleaned and organized
. The covers were a dark grey, and the drapes were a lighter shade of bluish grey. Even the walls were a shade of
very
light blue-grey, decorated with bright abstract art. There were crystal and gold wall sconces, and an orchid plant with white flowers on the far table. The furniture was dark mahogany, and I spotted a note on
one
of the bedside tables.
I walked over and read it -
"
A
ppointment with Sally at the MAC Bloomingdales counter, 2 pm. Dereck will meet you at home,
3.30pm
, to do your hair. Please be dressed by
5.30
for the gala."
Well, at least there was a note, I thought, remembering the time I'd brought a man home and he'd slipped out
in the
night. I'd never seen or heard from him again. Brad must be at work.
Work! I suddenly remembered Neilson and Sons, and fished out my cell phone. My morning voice was hoarse, but Lisa sounded skeptical when I told her I had a cold.
"We'll see you tomorrow," she said curtly, hanging up on me. I couldn't blame her - I'
d only been there for two weeks.
I padded over to the window again, and looked out. There was a small garden below, and judging from the view, I seemed to be on the fourth or fifth floor
in the
Upper East Side
.
There was a door next to the window, and I wandered through it, finding myself out on a large terrace. There was no-one else around, but I felt disheveled and grungy, and walked back inside.
T
he bathroom
was
on the opposite side of the room. It was modest but elegant, in shades of white marble and gold. I washed up, and changed into a different blouse, wishing I had more comfy shorts - but the designer jeans would have to do, I thought, grinning and admiring the way it
lifted
my butt
and made me look slimmer
.
I
meandered
through the house, padding around on bare feet.
A
winding marble staircase
led me
to
the floor below. There was a library on one side, with wall-to-wall
shelves
loaded with books. A large bedroom was on the other side, larger than the one I'd slept in.
It was decorated in shades of beige and green, and I spied a framed black and white photograph of Brad and an old man. With a shiver, I realized this must've been his Grandpa's room, and went downstairs to the floor below.