A peculiar sensation coursed through me, of being touched byhis gesture and wanting him so badly at the same time. That was the problem with River Whitmore—he was eminently fuckable and lovable in equal parts. Instead of keeping the two desires separate, they twined and fused in me, doubling my pathetic desperation.
“Come on,” I said gruffly. “There’s something else I want to show you.”
Before I jam my tongue down your throat in front of the Virgin Mary.
I led River across another footbridge to the other side of the Seine and into the Latin Quarter with its narrow cobblestone walks and medieval churches. We stepped inside Shakespeare and Company, a bookstore that had a small café out front with a view of Notre-Dame.
“Very cool,” River said, strolling the cramped, multilevel store, craning his neck up to the high bookshelves with the same reverence he’d shown at Notre-Dame.
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
River smiled, and we parted ways for a bit, perusing the shelves. I mulled a few titles but mostly watched River from afar as he moved his big body between narrow aisles, his jeans tight around his perfect ass. He was potent virility wrapped in kindness. Masculine perfection with a heart as deep as…
“The Grand Canyon,” I murmured.
I met up with him in a corner of the bookstore where two tall shelves came together, a small table in front. He held a book open, reading intently.
“What’d you find?” I asked. “Anything good?”
I didn’t actually give a shit; when River started to answer, I swooped in, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.
Instantly, every sensation I’d been starving for rocketed through me. The clean taste of him, the roughness of his stubbled cheek, the warm softness of his tongue sliding against mine.
He answered my kiss immediately, as if he’d been waiting for it too. The book tumbled from his hand, and he grunted, gripping me by the lapels of my jacket and pressing me against the bookshelf hard enoughto make it shiver. His mouth invaded mine, another resuscitation after drowning in a lake of alcohol for a year.
My hands went everywhere, over his broad back, into his hair, greedy to touch him. I felt the heavy hardness of an erection grow in his jeans and press against my own.
A store clerk cleared his throat delicately in passing, and River wrenched himself from me.
“Fuck,” he gasped breathlessly, his mouth reddened, his hair askew. His gaze bored into me, frustrated and heated at the same time. Then he bent to retrieve the book off the floor, slammed it on the little table, and stormed toward the exit.
I smoothed my rumpled clothes and followed him through a side door that led to a cobblestoned street.
“I didn’t want to do that,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Your dick told me otherwise,” I said, then flinched at his murderous gaze. “Sorry. Can’t help myself.”
“Neither can I. That’s the problem. I can’t let you go. And I don’t want to. But Christ…” He became still, his eyes hard. “I can’t kiss you when you fucked someone else just last night.”
My arms dropped, and shame rushed through me like a wildfire. The sun was starting to sink, casting shadows over the cobblestone streets.
“Who is he?” River asked, his voice low.
“You really want to talk about him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“He’s no one. A good guy,” I amended. “But he won’t last. Like the others.”
“Others.”
“Yes, others.Lotsof others. Because that’s what I do.”
My words struck River hard, and I hated myself more.
He stared at me, then barked a short laugh. “God, I’m a fucking idiot. I thought maybe you needed me. That it meant something that you sent me your books. But no, nothing’s changed. Except you’re overhere living it up while I’ve been a goddamn monk, jerking off to you every night.”
I sucked in a breath, the truth hitting me as hard as mine had hit him. “No one?” I gritted my teeth. “I never asked you not to see anyone. I’ll never—”
