Breathtaking.
“You mentioned that you’re a French teacher from Florida,” he said between bites of his sandwich, “and you’ve come to Montmartre to study art?”
She wiped the mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth. “That’s right. For the month of June, I’ll be taking French language and culture courses each morning with other teachers from around the world. There will be excursions to variousateliersin Paris, and we’ll visit some of the museums—le Musée Rodin,le Louvre,le Centre Pompidou—to bring back knowledge and experiences to share with our students.”
She crumpled the paper her sandwich had been wrapped in, tucking it into the empty bag. “I arrived a few days early— to have time to explore Paris a bit before classes begin on Monday. This morning, I met Yelena, a French teacher from Russia who seems really nice. She speaks no English, and I don’t know Russian, so we have to communicate exclusively in French, which is perfect for us to practice our language skills.” She smiled up at him, the afternoon sunlight sparkling in her expressive eyes. “You speak English exceptionally well. You must have studied it in school. Have you ever been to the United States?”
He finished the last bite of his sandwich, placing the trash into the paper bag on the bench at his side. “Mmm, hmm,” he responded, opening the container of pastries and handing her atartelette aux cerises—a single serving custard pie, topped with dark sweet cherries. As she bit into the scrumptious dessert, humming with approval, he told her about his past.
“I lived in New York City for six years—four spent at NYU, where I earned a degree in fine arts. After graduation, I lived in Manhattan with my girlfriend for two years. When we broke up, she moved home to Ohio, and I came back to France.”
He chuckled as Ella moaned in appreciation of the delicioustartelette aux cerises. “My friend Florent—he’s an artist, too— was living in Montmartre at the time, in the same apartment where I live now. He was giving painting lessons, selling a few of his pieces here and there, doing custom portraits in his studio. He invited me to come to Paris and share both the apartment andatelierwith him. I set up a bedroom in a studio downstairs, and we shared the kitchen and living room. It worked well for a couple years, until his girlfriend Yolaine moved in, and then things became awkward. They got married about a year and a half ago and moved to Strasbourg. I had just been approved to share a spot onla Place du Tertrewith another portrait artist, so the extra money I earned from that helped me manage the rent on my own. I get by, but it’s tough on just one income.”
She nodded as she finished the cherry tart, washing it down with a few swigs of bottled Vittel. “It’s the same in Florida. Rent is almost impossibleto afford on your own. I have a small one-bedroom apartment, and I barely make ends meet. When I got divorced—I was married for five years—I moved back home with my parents for a few months. I got hired to teach French in a new district, found an apartment, and I’ve been living there for the past year. But… I don’t know what the future holds. I have what they call an annual contract, and I won’t know until late July or early August if I even have a job next year. It’s really tough for someone who’s new to the county. All the best positions are held by teachers with tenure.”
He tore a few morsels of bread from the uneaten crust of his sandwich and tossed them at several pigeons pecking crumbs on the cobbled stone square. Brushing his hands on his jeans, he leaned back, crossed his long legs, and extended his arm along the bench behind Ella. The sun was warm on his face as he caressed the soft skin at the back of her neck.
She pulled the phone out of her drawstring purse and leaned against him to take a selfie. “I want to always remember this glorious summer in Montmartre— with the handsome artist who sketched my portrait. And made me feel alive again.” She snapped the shot, kissed his lips, and tucked her phone back into her black silky bag. Lifting the bouquet of pink peonies and roses to her nose, she inhaled and savored the heady floral scent. “Thank you again for these gorgeous flowers. I love them.”
They lingered on the bench a while longer, enjoying the fragrant wisteria, the lush shade trees, and the ambiance of the quiet park. Jean-Luc traced the supple skin of Ella’s shoulder, gliding his fingers down her long, slender arm. He leaned forward to brush his lips along the side of her neck. “I love your hair like this,” he whispered into the shell of her delicate ear. “It’s the style ofla Belle Époque, when the Impressionists painted here. Elegant and classy, but with these loose tendrils…” he said, twirling a blonde strand tumbling from her loosepompadouraround his calloused finger, “…it’s bohemian and chic.” He sucked the soft skin of her shoulder, trailing his tongue along her throat. “You’re exquisite, Ella. A beauty to inspire my art. You’re my Muse.Ma belle bohémienne.”
He curved a finger under her chin and gently turned her face toward his. Swallowing her soft pink lips with his own, he groaned when she slipped her tongue into his mouth and curved an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. As she melted into him, his body stiffened at the thought of the moist lips between her thighs, so like her alluring, inviting mouth. “Let’s go back to the apartment,” he said huskily, rising to his feet and adjusting his clothing with a sly grin.God, I want to bury myself into her.He took her hand, kissed it, and raised her to a stand. “We have all afternoon…”
Ella’s eyes blazed like fiery emeralds. She grabbed her purse and the bouquet of flowers while Jean-Luc tossed their trash into a nearby receptacle. Then, hand in hand, he led her through the fragrant wisteria. Along the cobbled stone streets. Back to theAtelier des Lumières.
****
Jean-Luc opened the blue wooden door, escorted Ella into his workshop, and locked the entrance behind him. He lowered the blinds and placed theFermésign on the window so that they would not be disturbed.
Ella was admiring some of the paintings on the wall, but his body throbbed with longing as his eyes roved over her silken skin and the alluring curve of her hips. Walking up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, coaxing both of her nipples into stiff peaks with strokes of his thumbs. He pressed his hardened length into her rounded butt, aching to plunge into her welcoming warmth. He did want to show her his art, but he needed to relieve the painful ache in his loins first. There would be plenty of time for art appreciation after he worshipped her beautiful body.
And emptied himself into her.
She leaned back against him, rubbing her soft rump on the iron rod in his tight jeans, lifting her pert little nipples to receive the firm caresses of his fingers.
He traced his tongue along the side of her neck, cupping and stroking her breasts as he ground himself into her backside. He glanced at the nearby table and imagined laying her over it, lifting her skirt, and plunging into her right here. But the condoms were in the drawer of his bedside table.
“Let’s go upstairs. I need younow.” Jean-Luc stepped back away from her delicious body, took her hand, and led her up to the bedroom.
The afternoon sun streamed through the high arched window, gilding the sumptuous bed in golden light. Jean-Luc turned Ella to face him, sliding her camisole top up over her shoulders. He lowered his lips to suckle the irresistible pink peaks that poked at his face, clamoring for oral adoration.
He rolled alternate nipples between his lips, tugging, lapping, and sucking as Ella moaned and swooned. Jean-Luc pulled her long gypsy skirt down over her hips, then tugged her black lace panties to her ankles, helping her to step out of her clothes and recline on the edge of the bed.
Kneeling between her trembling thighs, he greedily pushed her legs apart, exposing the glistening tender pink flesh. “Mon Dieu, you are beautiful…” he groaned, spreading her luscious lips open, probing the wetness inside, and sucking the succulent cream off his gleaming fingers. “And you taste delicious.”
He plunged three fingers deep inside, lowering his hungry mouth to her warm, wet folds. With slow, rhythmic thrusts, he penetrated her soft flesh, worshipping her engorged clit with reverent lips as she writhed and moaned under his skilled tongue.
As Jean-Luc sensed the tension mounting in her thighs and lower stomach, Ella tipped her pelvis up to meet his pulsing hand, her plush warmth tightly clenching his long fingers. He increased the pace of his thrusts, inundating her sensitive little bud with a hard, insistent tongue. He pumped her mercilessly until she convulsed in spasms, clamping and contracting on his fingers.
Breathless, her legs splayed wide, she lay under him, enticingly open and impossibly irresistible. He jumped to his feet, peeled off his jeans and t-shirt, his erection throbbing as it bobbed in the air. Reaching into the drawer of the nightstand, he grabbed a condom, slipped it on, and knelt on the bed between Ella’s quivering legs.
He leaned down to suckle her breasts, nudged her thighs apart, and slipped his hands under her receptive hips. Tilting her pelvis up, he rubbed the hard ridge of his cock along her slick flesh, probing the entrance and spreading her wetness over his thick, swollen head.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him toward her. “I want you inside me…please,” she whimpered, emitting a guttural moan as he plunged in deep. Ella’s arms folded around his shoulders and her ankles enlaced his hips, drawing him deeper inside as she rose up to meet his fierce, urgent thrusts.
Her slick, tight grip squeezed him like a delicious vice. He pounded her relentlessly, his engorged flesh ready to burst as the fiery liquid within rose with increasing pressure and throbbing tension. When the delicious fountain spewed forth at last, he thrust in deep, shuddering as waves of ecstasy flowed from him in exquisite, profound relief.
Savoring a few moments of physical bliss, he shifted his weight onto one elbow so as to not crush her. He grinned down at Ella and exhaled, “You drive me wild.” Her full lips beckoned, so he plundered them softly with his own before rolling onto his back to discreetly dispose of the condom.
