es délicieux. You’re delicious. And I’ll take you however I can get you.’ I buck up into her, gently and first, then much less so, her resultant moan a little ragged around the edges. ‘Jouis sur mon visage, Rose,’ I purr, tapping my forefinger to my chin.
‘I’m not asking you to translate.’ I hear the husky sound of her response, her wilful denial. Before I can translate, before I can invite her to come on my face, the image of Venus rises above me, hands sliding into her hair.
I forget everything.
The flare of her hips is an enchantment.
The sway of her breasts a bewitchment.
‘I need you inside me, Remy.’ Pleasure swirls as she wraps my base, my eyes almost glued to her body accepting mine. To where she takes my cock inch by slow inch as our joint moans sound in the air. She’s so hot and tight. The angle so much more this way. And the view . . .
If I last more than a few minutes, it will be a miracle.
‘Tu me prends si bien,’ I whisper again and again. ‘You take me so well.’ Her hands fall to my shoulders, our pace punctuated by long, slow kisses. Moonlight slides through the shutters, dappling her with light and shade like the perfect symbol for my love for her. Moans layer, her tight breaths over my tortured rasps, our eyes watching, our fingers touching, our hearts brimming full.
With a groan, I coax her body upwards, my hands on her hips, my hiss a counterpoint to her cry as I bring her down hard. As our bodies collide, need floods my veins, heady and sweet. My hands cup her ass, rolling her beneath me, the movement as easy as the rolling tides.
Is the feeling in my chest relief? Whatever it is, I’m greedy for it as I kiss her again and again, my cock still seated deep within, our soft sighs and moans an expression of hard need. As I withdraw, we both give a taut moan at the sensation, her thighs pressing my hips as though to hang on to it. But I’m not going anywhere as I anchor myself to her, our fingers twisting, hands pressed into the bed.
‘Je t'adore. Je suis amoureuse de to.’ I begin to build a slow, easy rhythm, lost to the tide of her body pulling me in.
‘Tell me,’ whispers my soft-eyed supplicant.
‘I adore you. I’m in love with you.’ I fuck my promises into her, this thing between us building into something wild and frenetic. My need to possess her is overwhelming. She cries out as I go deep and whimpers when I deliver shallow thrusts, hungry for it all, raising her hips as she meets me thrust for thrust.
My cock throbs with need, her cries reaching a crescendo as I begin to pump and flex, fucking her harder and harder as though I could make her feel my love this way.
In one crystalline, brilliant moment, my mind empties. This moment, the feeling of her around me will be forever burned into my memory and my skin. I’m lost to all but the pound of my heart, the throb of my release, and the latent pulse of hers.
Tu me manques, I type into my new phone, the old now sitting at the bottom of the marina, I suppose. I miss you.
I miss you, too, comes her almost immediate response.
Then you should be here with me. Looking after me. Tending to my fevered brow.
You don’t have a fever.
That’s besides the point.
Or else you’d be back in the hospital. Probably with pneumonia. And a chest drain.
Rose, come home. I can’t help but smile as my thumbs slide over the phone. Home. Come home to me.
I’ve got to work. You know that.
You work for me. Your time would be better spent here with me. For the good of the man you love. For the good of the company.
Bossy AF. Her reply is accompanied by an angry faced emoji.
Tu me manques more properly means you are missing from me. When you’re not with me, it’s like a piece of me is missing.
Sickened by my own neediness, I throw my phone across the sofa, the message unsent. This is the first day since my accident I’ve been left to my own devices. Left to myself. Left to my own thoughts since Rose went to work.
C’est ridicule—it is ridiculous that I’m effectively paying her not to be here with me. But I promised I wouldn’t interfere, and as