Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
A flicker of something, respect, maybe, crosses his face. “I don’t want to spend time with someone who agrees with me all of the time.”
“Good. You’d be bored within a week.”
“Within a day.”
I smile. “I’d stage a protest.”
“I’d invest in it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re something else.”
“And yet,” he murmurs.
And yet …
The music shifts into something slower. Around us, conversations blur. Glasses clink. The world continues, but I’m filled with the quiet realization that this thing between us isn’t accidental. That whatever began between us didn’t just spark and die. It has settled. It has rooted. He lifts my hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
“And now it’s time for me to feed you. My cock is getting impatient,” he says softly.
“Do you always know how to make someone feel a little off balance?” I ask, swirling the last mouthful of my hibiscus cocktail around the glass.
“Are you off balance, Jo?”
I nod slowly. “Yup. I am.”
Chapter
Thirty-Two
JO
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd8jh9QYfEs
-don’t stop the music-
It’s a short taxi ride to Septime, the Michelin-starred restaurant, a sleek, understated gem in the eleventh arrondissement. The outside of the building is modern and unassuming, but the anticipation inside is tangible.
The maître d’ greets us loftily and leads us to a table set with pristine white linen, glinting silverware, and glasses that catch the light in delicate prisms. A hovering waiter slides my chair back for me with the swagger and fanfare you only find in Europe. I catch Axel’s cheeky smile and grin back.
Once seated, we’re presented with menus that promise us a series of tasting courses designed to showcase the kitchen’s artistry. From what I can see on other diners’ tables, the artistry is next level.
The sommelier stops by with effusive smiles, and I let Axel handle him. He says we will take the recommended pairing for each course, and the sommelier goes away happy. Delicate amuse bouche made of seafood, vegetables, and passion fruit arrive. Two glasses of perfectly chilled white wine accompany the plate of tiny, pretty bites. I pop one into my mouth, and a myriad of flavors burst across my tongue.
“Wow,” I murmur. “All the flavors are just so perfectly combined.”
Axel watches me, half amused, half captivated. “I knew you’d appreciate this,” he says softly.
“Damn right. I better warn you. I might forget all restraint.”
He laughs, reaching across the table to brush a hand against mine, the touch brief but electric. “Good. Forget restraint. That’s how all the best moments start.”
Next comes a smoked beet salad with a goat’s cheese mousse, the earthiness and creaminess dancing across my tongue. A new wine appears too. Axel leans over, watching me lift a bite with a fork, his eyes intent.
As each course arrives – a pan-s eared halibut with delicate herbs, a perfectly cooked lamb, lobster salad, seared vegetables, and finally a selection of tiny desserts and exotic fruit—we soak in the experience, the moment.
Between bites, we laugh, exchange subtle touches, and share quiet looks that say more than words ever could. Even in a formal Michelin star setting, the intimacy feels natural, effortless. The night stretches luxuriously, the courses flowing into conversation, the conversation flowing into laughter, and the laughter curling into moments of intense awareness that make my pulse race.
By the time the coffee is served, I lean back, my eyes bright, my stomach full, and my heart happy. Axel mirrors me, his expression soft, yet charged with that same magnetic pull he’s maintained all day.
“You know,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, just above a whisper. “I keep thinking what this trip would have been like if I’d come alone.”
“You would have come here anyway?” I ask curiously.
He nods.
“And there I was thinking you planned all this just to impress me.”
He smiles and gives me that knowing look that I can never quite read but that I can’t resist. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “Maybe a little bit.”
Back at our hotel room, I tell Axel I am going to take a shower. I am reaching for my shower gel when a light knock sounds on the door.
“Jo? I’ve got something for you,” Axel says.
That sounds promising. “You’d better come in then.”
He comes in, and I notice he’s already stripped down to his boxer shorts. He holds his hand out, and I see the artisanal soap he bought me earlier, the one I promised I would use.
I open the screen door a bit and I smile seductively at Axel. “It would be a shame not to share it.”
It’s all the invitation he needs. He kicks his boxer shorts off, and I can see his cock is already hard as he gets into the shower with me. The steam curls around us, caressing us as we kiss. Axel takes the soap from me and wets it. He gets a lather going and then he puts it in the wall-mounted soap dish and begins to run his lathered hands over my body.