He looks up, his eyes wide. “I forgot a condom,chérie. I’m so sorry. I?—”
“It’s okay.” I put my hand on his mouth. I can see regret in his eyes.This man carries too much on his shoulders, I think—so much responsibility.
“I’m protected. And clean. I promise.”
“I haven’t been with anyone but you for…over…half a year.”
I frown. “And here I thought you found me irresistible! Now I find out you were just horny.”
He looks surprised for a moment that I’m joking. Then, he cracks a laugh, kisses my nose. “You are special,mademoiselle.”
“So are you,le Comte.”
His eyes darken. “It’s sexy when you say that. Like I havedroit du seigneur?*.”
“That was only forius primae noctis?*,” I correct him. “A right for the first night only!”
He rolls onto his back and takes me with him. I lay atop him. His cum is leaking out of me. I guess I’ll have to change the sheets if he’s staying the night.
“Droit du seigneurwas never legal or even real, you know, don’t you?” He strokes my back. “There is no credible historical evidence of it, and historians believe that it’s only a trope used in literature.”
“Wait! Are you saying Mozart made that up inThe Marriage of Figaro?” I gasp, feigning outrage.
He laughs. “You’re a delight, you know that?”
I nuzzle against him. “That’s what they all say.”
He squeezes my hip. “Now may not be a good time to bring up your other lovers,chérie.”
I look up at him. “Are we a little jealous?”
“Not a little.”
I kiss him softly.
And then, maybe it’s the stress, the good loving or just feeling safe, that I find myself dozing off.
I wake up a little when he cleans me with a warm, wet towel, and settles meagainst him.
“Fais de beaux rêves,mon amour?*,” his whispered words comfort me as I slide into a deep sleep.
The bedroom is hushed when I wake up.
I look at the clock. It’s four in the morning. No doubt I woke up because I have Gustave sprawled across my linen sheets, his dark hair rumpled, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.
He looks younger in sleep, less guarded, like a man who doesn’t carry centuries on his shoulders.
I slip out quietly, putting my dress on as I pad barefoot through the apartment until I reach the living room.
I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of cold water. I drink it all, feeling parched.
I set the glass down and unplug my phone from where it’s charging on the island.
I take it with me when I push open the small balcony doors to step into the early morning air.
Paris is luminous at this time—streetlamps glowing, the faint hum of traffic, the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the distance.
Without letting myself think too hard, I hitEstrella Gayarre.
