When I told Aubert we were getting divorced, his reaction shamed me.
“Finally.”His relief made me realize that staying in an unhealthy marriage for the sake of a child was the most misguided decision a parent could make.
“You and Maman fight all the time. At least now you both have a chance to be happy.”
“We didn’t fightallthe time,” I protested.
“Papa, silence didn’t mean peace in our house.”
It gutted me—and freed me in equal measure.My son understood what I was too stubborn to admit:sometimes a marriage becomes a battlefield, and there is no saving it.
Apparently, my son is more intelligent than both his mother and me. So, at least, we got that right.
Simone and I sucked as a couple, even if we were dedicated parents.
Now, it doesn’t matter. Aubert is an adult, preparing forle bac, the national tests that determine university entry. He’s a good kid. Thoughtful, sharp-witted, kinder than he lets on. He doesn’t resent me or his maman for our marriage—he only wants us to be happy.
In fact, just this morning, he told me, “You have to put yourself out there, Papa. It’s been a year since the divorce was finalized. You both need to move on.”
Which is why I’m entering a plush and decadent suite at my family hotel with the beautiful Tara. I know nothing about her except her name and that she’s probably of Latin descent, as evidenced by her beautiful milk chocolate skin and almond-shaped eyes that resemble those of a Disney princess.
I’ve had sex since Simone and I separated two years ago, but usually only when I’m out of the country. One-night stands are great for scratching the itch—but this one is dangerous because we’re in Paris, and the risk of someone posting a photo somewhere is high.
Then why are you taking a chance, Gustave?
Because I can’t seem towantto resist her.
I close the door of the suite behind us.
I want to show her I have finesse, but I fail when my hands are on her, almost instantly, pulling her into me.
Our mouths meet with desperate precision, my tongue slipping past her lips to taste her—sweet, alive, intoxicating.
She moans and presses her body against mine.
I’ve been hard since she first smiled at me. And I thrust, fully clothed, against the cleft between her legs.
It’s not enough.
I take a moment to remove her dark woolen coat. It doesn’t suit her. She deserves mink. I’ll buy her a beautiful brown coat to match her eyes.
“Tu es magnifique?*,” I growl against her lips, my hands sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her closer still.
Tara whimpers, her hips grinding against me, the friction making my head spin. When I raise my head, I see that her eyes are blazing with lust.
I can’t resist her any longer. All evening, I’ve been thinking about how her pussy will taste.
I hold her gaze as I sink to my knees.
“Oh,” she whispers in surprise.
I slide my hands up her thighs, pushing her dress up, outof the way.
“Mon Dieu?*,” I breathe, gazing up at her as I peel off her panties, the fabric damp with her arousal.
Tara’s breath hitches as I grip her thighs, spreading her wide for me.
“You’re wet,chérie.” I can smell her heat, her arousal, and it’s exciting.
