Je T'aime

He couldn’t believe his luck. Brian had been in Paris for three weeks and, after being shot down half a hundred times, he was now following the most beautiful woman he had ever seen up the sidewalk back to her apartment at four in the morning. To think he almost hadn’t gone out tonight. Only the insistent urging of his best friend Stefan had convinced him to go. Of course, by insistent urging, he meant Stefan had promised to buy him all his drinks. So, he had gone, reluctantly perhaps, but he had gone. He had sat at the bar as the bass-heavy music pounded into his ears, drinking expensive drinks his best friend was paying for. Eventually, he had wandered on to the dance floor to sway alone, as he had all the nights before.

His head had been cloudy with liquor and he had closed his eyes against the flashing lights and lasers, letting the thumping bass echo in his chest, drowning out the beating of his heart. He didn’t notice her when she looked up from her own drink at the bar and saw him. He didn’t feel her eyes roving over his body, tall and lean without being too skinny or over-muscled. His body moving to the changing rhythms between songs. He didn’t notice when she slipped off the stool, the material of her dress bunching up around her hips, showing the crescents of her rear for an instant before falling back in to place as her stilettos touched the floor.

He didn’t notice the way she walked through the crowded dance floor, effortless, as all the people stopped to look at her, parting for her like the Red Sea for Moses. He didn’t notice how her eyes never left him, his face, his moving body. He did not see her step up before him, a smile pulling up the corners of her painted lips. So oblivious was he that he jumped when she placed her hand on the spot where his neck met his shoulders. His eyes had flown open and there she was, a few inches shorter than him even in her heels, her sun-kissed olive skin framed by waves of loosely curled black hair, her features were youthful and spirited, with wide, chestnut-colored eyes, ringed in dark liner, looking up at him through thick, long lashes. Her lips painted a matte crimson smiling into his face.

He blinked down at her in surprise, his swaying halting. Her smile broadened and she stepped closer, pushing the firmness of her body against his, extending her neck, pressing her hair against his cheek, she put her lips to his ear, so close that the movement of her lips tickled his earlobe “Ne t’arrête pas,” she purred into his ear when he didn’t start to dance again. She pulled back to see a bemused expression upon his face. She laughed, the music drowning out the sound, but it lit up her face and Brain could do nothing but marvel at her. She drew herself near again. Her lips back to his ear, her purring voice spilling heavily accented English, “Don’t stop.” She leaned her face back to look at him again and found him with a lopsided grin on his face. She grinned as his body began to move again.

She slid the hand still resting on his neck across his shoulders, draping her arm across him, bringing the other up to do the same on the other side. He put his hands on her hips, the thin fabric of her dress smooth under his hands. She moved with him, her torso pressed against his, the fabric of her dress shifting as her body moved. They had danced like that, pressed close, eyes locked on each other, smiles mirroring each other, foreheads pressed together until the house lights had come on. She had slid her hands down his arms then and taken his hands off her hips. He had stared at her, the sudden silence pounding in his ears. She looked up at him and laced her fingers through his, pivoting fluidly in place, striding purposefully toward the bar. She tapped a fingernail on the bar and the bartender walked over, leaving the queue of people trying to pay behind. He approached and they had exchanged some words in rapid-fire French that Brian couldn’t follow.

The bartender nodded and she led Brian away from the bar toward the door. Brian had a jacket in the coat check but was too afraid she was a dream to stop her. She pushed open the door and pulled him into the crisp autumn air. So here he was, following this apparition up a hill on a Paris street, with only pools of light cast by the streetlamps to guide their way. Her hips swayed as she walked, pulling him by the hand behind her, heels clicking on the pavement. She paused before a doorway and reached into the top of her dress; Brian frowned as he heard the distinct sound of adhesive being pulled away from skin. She turned around holding a key with a strip of electrical tape still clinging to it. Her melodic laugh tinkling out of her smiling mouth, “I hate carrying handbags.” She laughed again, stripping the clinging tape from the key and sliding it into the door of a row house, pushing it open and pulling him inside.

They entered a dimly lit foyer, a thick and ancient rug muffling the sounds of their feet. The foyer gave way to a narrow hallway, with closed doors along the left wall, each with a faded brass number on the door. Brian blinked as the girl, who’s name, he admitted to himself guiltily, he still did not know, bent over and slipped her shoes off, hooking the heels on her fingers before walking up the stairway to the right, the ancient wooden steps creaking beneath her lithe footsteps. After five steps she paused and looked back down the stairs at him, inclining her head toward the top of the stairs. He gawked at her for another moment, the dress, smooth and light, clinging to her body, the fullness of her legs stretching out from below the short hem. She watched him watching her, a smirk curling up her lips, she shook her head and rolled her eyes, stifling a giggle with the back of her free hand, as she continued up the stairs. Brian put his hand on the well-worn banister and began to follow her up.

When he reached the top of the stairs he saw that the woman was leaning against the frame of an open door. She smiled when his eyes met hers and she curled her finger in a beckoning gesture. “Viens,” she purred as he walked across the hallway to her, he raised an eyebrow and her tinkling melodic laugh sounded again before she translated for him, her accent turning the word into the kind of invitation he had dreamed about all his life, “Come to me.” As he neared her, she reached for him, hooking a finger into his belt loop and drew him inside.

The apartment was small and looked as though it has been plucked from a dream. It was a studio, a small kitchen to the left of the door, a small water closet to the right, the vanity in front of the mirror scattered with makeup and lotions, soaps, and hair tools. It should have looked disheveled, but instead it struck Brian as elegant, proof of a life lead outside of the picture of sensuality pulling him into the room. The wooden floor was strewn with large pillows and stacks of books with empty wine glasses perched precariously atop them. The walls were lined with mismatched bookshelves, littered with books and records, plants, and odd little knick-knacks. The center of the room was dominated by a large four-poster bed, curtains of pale pink and white crepe and gossamer flowed in the breeze from the open window, the chill night air unable to take the warmth from the room.

She stepped into the center of the room and leaned against one of the posts of the bed, looking at him with her wide eyes, tucking her lower lip between her teeth, in a picture of feigned demure shyness. A twinkle of laughter shone in her eyes. Brian took a step towards her, but she extended her arm out straight, palming the center of his chest, her accented words pouring out of her mouth smooth as satin, her shining eyes locked on his face, “Such bad manners, you Americans…” she clicked her tongue at him. “You haven’t even asked me my name.” She drew her brows down in a pouty admonishment. Brian laughed incredulously, too shocked that this undeniable goddess was speaking to him at all. Let alone that he was in her apartment, in Paris, after a couple of hours of dancing.

“Um, wh-what’s your name?” He managed to stammer out. Her eyes lit up with delight, but she didn’t answer him. “Um... My name is Brian,” he added when she didn’t say anything. As the silence drew out between them, he awkwardly held his hand out to her, “I-it’s nice to meet you?” He said. She looked down at his proffered hand and then back at her corresponding hand that was still braced on his chest, then back at his face. Color rose fast and hard to his cheeks, and he dropped his hand. “I should probably just go...” he said and started to turn away. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt where her hand had braced against him and spun him back around to face her.

Before he knew what was happening, her lips were pressed against his, soft and warm and hungry. Her tongue pushed past his lips in search of his. She tasted like champagne and fruit and nice things, and he was instantly lost in the hungry depth of the kiss. She kissed him like she was drowning, stepping closer to him, pressing her body, naked beneath the slinky silk dress, the hardness of her nipples pushing against his chest. He lifted his hands to her face, curling his fingers into the inky depths of her loose curls. She released her grip on his shirt, sliding her arms around his back, holding him to her, smiling into the kiss at the press of his excitement against her hip.

She pulled her lips away from his and touched his forehead with her own, and purred out her name her breath tickling his lips, moistened from the kiss, “Asia, my name is Asia.” Her hands slid down his back, grasping handfuls of his shirt, and without bothering to unbutton it, pulled it over his head. He laughed as it slipped off his body, still marveling that he was really here with this woman, who was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. As the fabric fell to the floor, she let her eyes rove down his exposed torso and back up to his face. Before Brian could feel self-conscious, a wide smile split her face and she hooked a hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers, mashing her lips hungrily against his own as she fumbled with his belt with her free hand.

She sighed out happy little moans as she unfastened his belt, unbuttoning his pants with deft fingers, and yanking open the zipper. Before he knew what was happening, his pants were pooled around his ankles, she pulled away from his kiss and ran her eyes down his body. He stood there in his briefs, his erection tenting out the front, his shoes and socks still on under the puddle of his pants around the ankles. He blushed as her eyes roved over him. He felt skinny and minuscule under her gaze. She lifted her eyes back up to his face and a crooked, mischievous grin that made his groin throb was painted on her perfect face. She stepped to the side and he pivoted in place to follow her, shuffling awkwardly. When she had put his back to the bed, she took a step forward, pressing herself against his skin again. She was warm, but the fabric of her dress was cool.

He took a step back, trying not to lose his balance, and that was when she pounced. She reached behind him with one hand, lightning-fast and pushed the hangings around the bed aside, shoving him back on the bed with the other. He toppled with a yelp of surprise and she laughed, the sound as rich as Swiss chocolate. She walked to where his feet were awkwardly splayed with his pants around them, tangled in his shoes, belt buckle clanging against the button of his discarded trousers. She laughed at his panicked expression as he struggled to sit up amongst the tangled snarl of lush blankets and pillows atop her bed. She pulled the knots tying his shoes on free and slid his shoes from his feet, then pulled the trousers free. He was left awkwardly sitting up on his elbows in only his briefs and socks. She looked him over again, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, her hair had fallen like a curtain around her face.

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the bed, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, looking like nothing more to Brian than a beautiful and exotic carnivore with cornered prey. She lifted her chin, in a gesture that left no doubt that he was in for a wild ride. She hooked her index finger into the waistline of his underwear and dragged them down. He shifted his hips allowing her to pull them off. She dragged them down until his erection sprung free, and beyond that, he had no idea, because her mouth was on him.

Her mouth, oh God, her mouth. It was warm and wet and perfect. Her full lips wrapped securely around his shaft just below his glans, he inhaled sharply as her tongue flicked over the bundle of nerves, sucking gently, pulling more of him into her mouth. He lifted his head to watch her devour his length, her curls falling around her face as she lowered herself over him. By the time her nose made contact with his tangle of pubic hair he was lost, eyes rolled back into his head, hands groping the bedspread aimlessly. She was deliberate and slow and sensual and, if he had been the kind of man who believed in God, he would have believed it was her. She would work his length into a frenzy, getting him dizzyingly close to orgasm, then ease back, slow down, in a maddening, exciting, and infinitely infuriating way.

He was lost to his own squirming, and grunting, and moaning. It was a complete surprise to him when her warm slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. He snapped his eyes open to see that his hand had wound its way into her mess of curls. She was hovering just above the slick and wet head of his cock, smiling her tongue teasing at the base of his glans. “Down boy,” she purred and when he released her hair in a panic she laughed, crawling further up his body, the smooth fabric of her dress rustling against his sensitive organ, and sending a wave of gooseflesh over his body. When her face was again hovering over his, her chest pressed into his, she leaned down and kissed him deeply with that same deliberate, maddening, slowness. He could taste the salty bittersweet flavor of his own precum on her tongue and he lifted his hands to her hips.

She pulled away and laughed, sitting up so she was on her knees, straddling his. As he watched, she gently pulled his hands away dropping them back onto the bedspread and crossed her arms over her torso, grasping the fabric of the slinky dress and pulling it off in one motion over her head. Her body was not perfect, but it was all the more beautiful for it. Her stomach had a softness that reminded him of sculptures of Venus, her breasts were small and pert, her olive skin spattered with unexpected constellations of freckles. He sat up wrapping his arms around her backside, hands gripping her hips, and pressed his mouth to her skin. He had forgotten everything he had ever learned, at that moment all he knew was that she was the only thing he would ever want again in his life.

She breathed out a moan and curled her fingers into his hair, alternating between a gentle caress and dragging her nails across his scalp. He gripped her tighter, his mouth working over the soft flesh of her belly, his tongue dipping into her belly button, kissing and tasting every inch of her flesh that he could reach. She let her head drop back, her loose curls tumbling across her back and tickling the back of her calves as she knelt astride him. This man. This fragile feeble man, who had never seen a woman, not one like her anyway. She worked her fingers through his hair, tugging gently, and exhaling purring moans as his mouth worked across her stomach. After a few moments, she slid her fingers from his hair and tilted his face up, lifting her own head to peer down at him. He looked up at her like he had been blind all his life like she was the first thing he had ever seen.

She smiled down at him and pushed his shoulders down to the bed. He laid down willingly enough, the plush full duvet and blankets holding him gently. She leaned over him again, her hands cupping his face, and kissed him, pushing her tongue past his teeth, tasting him, then drew away. As she sat up, she ran her hand from his face, down his neck, his shoulders, his chest, her fingers pausing to rouse his nipples to attention. She slid her fingers across his belly and letting her fingertips follow the happy trail of hair until she reached the base of his shaft. She let her fingertips run over it, then shifted her position, grasping his erection gently in her hand, she lowered herself until he was pressed up against her entrance, slick with excitement, and radiating the warmth he so desperately wanted to be inside.

He tried to shift his hips up to push inside her and reeled as his head rocked to the side, cheek exploding in stinging hot pain. He looked up at her with shock, his hand inadvertently going to caress the place she had slapped him. She laughed, that sound he couldn’t get enough of. “In this dance, my pet, it is the lady who leads,” she whispered, her lips curled into a mischievous smile. He gawked, but she just leaned over him and pressed her soft lips to the hot stinging spot on his cheek where she had struck him. She smelled like cinnamon and honey and fresh flowers, and her hair was soft against his skin. She sat up and surveyed him through slitted eyelids, one hand holding his length pressed into the slick warmth of her, the other curled around her own breast. She waited as eyes his roved up her body and, when they finally locked on her eyes, she winked and sank down.

For every inch that she lowered herself over him, he sank a mile into oblivion. She was warm, and wet, and soft, and perfect, and he had never experienced anything like this. This slow deliberate teasing was driving him mad, but he wasn’t eager to get slapped again. He put his hands on her thighs, eyes still locked on hers, and groaned, gripping her soft flesh, his nails digging pink little crescents into her freckled skin. She lowered herself until he was hilted inside her, then began to rise again. Always slow, always deliberate, her eyes on his the whole time.

He felt gooseflesh erupt over his skin again, as he watched her enjoying him. At the apex of her stroke, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She grabbed his wrists and slid herself back over him forcefully, he grunted as the curve of her ass connected with his tender balls, he adjusted before she moved again, her pace becoming more insistent, more fervent with every lift of her hips, a chorus of soft lilting moans pouring out of her mouth, her hair tickling his legs. Her breasts bounced in sync with her hips, a fine sheen of sweat making her appear to shine in the soft light filtering in from the street and her open windows.

Brian was lost in sensation, his hips moving without his knowledge, pushing him deeper inside her with every thrust, her hands gripped his wrists, but her arms were loose. He let his hands rove over her hips, her stomach, clutching at her. He sat up and held her to him as she moved, he moved, they moved. She released his wrists and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, curling her fingers into his hair, she pressed her forehead to his, and kissed him deeply. Her moans tickling his face as she exhaled them through her nose. Their mingled breath tangling in the air like their limbs around each other.

They moved against each other, holding tight, kissing, sighing, moaning, pulling, and pushing, pressing, and gazing into each other’s eyes, the pace changing, quickening then slowing, until Brian felt his balls pull up against his body, his cock throbbing as he hovered on the edge of his orgasm. He opened his mouth, but she covered it with her own, drawing back a moment later, and purred, “Tu veins et tu vas” into his mouth. He gripped her tight, as his orgasm overcame him, spilling his seed inside her, he shook and groaned, she held him and trembled as her own climax washed over her. They both tumbled back into the snarl of bedclothes and she lay against him, his twitching, softening cock still nestled inside her, he held her panting against his chest, stroking her hair and her sweaty cheek with his free hand.

Brian didn’t know much French and he had no idea what he had said to him, but like everything Asia did, it sounded sensual and perfect. He had seen some of the world, he had met some pretty girls, but this girl, this woman, was the one. He knew it as deep as his bones, and as he was full of post-orgasm glow, and warmth, and inhaling the smell of her skin, her hair, her weight on top of him, he smiled and kissed her hair. She chuckled, her face buried into his skin, and started to sit up. He released his grip on her and she sat astride him looking down at him a crooked smile on her face. He looked back at her and blurted out the feeling that every nerve in his body buzzed with. “Je t’aime,” he said, and she blinked, the momentary surprise on her face plain before she dropped over him again her nose touching his.

She pressed her lips to his, pushing her tongue into his mouth, kissing him like it was her last chance to kiss anyone before the world ended. She pulled her mouth just a breath away from his, the smile evidenced in the sound of her voice, “Moi non plus.” Before he could move she was off of him, his slick and flaccid penis landing unceremoniously against his thigh. He frowned as he went through his limited lexicon of french. She slid off the bed, pulled a silk robe off one of the posts of the bed, and slid her arms into it. She walked to the tiny kitchen area and put the kettle on before disappearing into the bathroom.

He sat up, the puzzled frown on his face. He saw a box of tissues on her bedside table and reached for one, cleaning himself up as well as he could, and slid off the bed himself. He stood dumbfounded for several minutes. What the hell had she meant by that? Did he say it right? Did she not understand what he meant? He hunted around, locating the trash can, and disposed of the soiled tissues. Just as the kettle sounded it’s cry. He heard the sound of the toilet flush and water running, then she stepped out of the bathroom, her makeup touched up and perfect again. She walked to the stove and began to make tea with the hot water. He just watched her.

Eventually, she sat with her cup of tea on the one overstuffed chair in the room, tucking her legs beneath her and picked up a book from the stack closest. She produced a pack of cigarettes from the cushion of the chair and shook one out. She slipped it between her lips and lit it, exhaling a perfect stream of smoke before opening the book. She groped around on the stack next to her and found a pair of half-moon reading spectacles and slid them up her nose. Brian watched this little dance in shocked amazement. “Uh,” he said and she looked up at him with eyebrows raised.

“Oh, you’re still here?” She asked

“I’m sorry what?” He said still perplexed.

“I thought you understood,” she cooed at him and set her book and teacup down, standing from the chair, the cigarette tucked between her index and middle fingers. “We had our fun and now it’s time you left.” She inclined her head toward the door.

“But,” he stammered, looking between her and the door.

“No buts, my sweet, it is late and I would like to relax before I sleep.” She answered back patiently.

“But we just had incredible sex, and I told you I love you, and…” He trailed off. She laughed and stepped forward pressing herself against him.

“The sex was pretty good, oui, and you did tell me you love me, and I answered you, with exactly how I feel.” She winked and stepped away from him bending to pick up his things, she handed him a bundle of his clothing and started pushing him to the door. He was so dazed he walked right into the hallway, stark naked holding his possessions in a tangled ball before him. He caught the door as she was pressing it closed.

“But, all you said was ‘me neither,” he said, still dazed.

“Exactly,” she said and snicked the door closed.