seven a.m.
On a workday!
And ducking my smile into Remy’s shirt only makes me smile harder because it just smells so heavenly.
I take care of business in a bathroom fit for a five-star hotel. Marble and chrome, dark cabinetry. The tub is matt black and big enough for a family, the double shower unencumbered by such trivialities as glass. It’s the kind of bathroom that has never once been offended by the sight of a greying washed-out towel, let alone run out of toilet tissue. I wash my face, then spread a little paste on Remy’s toothbrush, figuring I’ve had more intimate possessions of his in my mouth over the past eighteen hours. My own toothbrush isn’t too far away—just a few floors below—but I can’t wait that long. I give my hair a quick finger brush before deciding it’s too painful and giving up. Then I give my reflection a silent pep talk.
I resolve to take this experience for what it is; to stay in the moment and let the future take care of itself. I’m in Monaco, in a hot man’s apartment—a hot man who has the hots for me. So. Much. Hot!
Because for the first time in a long time, I have no prickling urge to creep out before my gentleman caller (ahem) awakes. Though I suppose I’m the “caller” in this scenario. A caller who isn’t ready to leave, let alone run far, far away.
As I run the toothbrush over my molars, my mind slips to the day before and Remy’s description of how he’d tried to reach me, along with his sensitivity in the task—the way he’d considered how it might look to my new colleagues, and my reluctance to become the topic of any kind of office gossip. Colour me a little moved and impressed. Seriously, I find myself touched by his care and thoughtfulness.
As I rinse, I realised I’m content, that my psyche isn’t preparing for any kind of internal freak-out. Our differences in station, income, or background don’t seem to matter right now. I mean, I’m not about to choose flowers for my bouquet, but I feel content in enjoying what this is, for however long it might last.
It’s enough for now.
Or so I tell myself as I make my way back to bed, avoiding the crushed cookies and strawberry stems discarded from our midnight feast. An empty bottle of champagne lies on its side, a small sticky puddle forming under it from where it’d been knocked over, not during the throes of passion, but when he’d begun to tickle me in retaliation for something snarky I’d said. I find myself blushing at the memory of how, as I’d laid back against the pillows to catch my breath, he’d reached for his glass, splashing the cool liquid between my breasts. I’d gasped in shock, everything inside me drawing tight as Remy bent forward, his tongue following the trail of the liquid . . . until he wasn’t following it anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how, with his mouth pressed low on my stomach, his eyes rolled up my body to meet mine, daring me to stop him. Even now, just thinking of it, I almost melt into a needy puddle.
In the mirror, my cheeks appear flushed. My cheeks aren’t the only place blood has pooled to. But I have to work today, so I don’t have time to indulge myself in these memories. I also don’t have time to indulge myself in the real thing either, I consider, as I tiptoe back into the bedroom, hoping Remy is still asleep. Yeah, okay, that’s what I should be hoping for because I really do have to make it back to my apartment to get changed.
I realise as I open the door that Remy isn’t still sleeping, hearing his voice before my eyes feast on him lounged across the bed. One hand mindlessly traverses the prominent ladder of his abdominals as the other holds his phone to his ear. His smile is almost infectious as he turns to me.
‘Who are you calling?’ He holds up his index finger, beginning to speak again, this time in English.
‘Ah, yes. Bonjour. Am I speaking to Olga?’
My heart plummets, despite the worst rendition of an American accent I’ve ever heard. ‘What are you doing?’ I’m not sure if it’s my question or the frantic manner it’s delivered in that he finds amusing, though it’s not so hard to tell that he appreciates the sight of me wearing