“I can’t take it anymore.”
A shiver runs through me at the raw hunger in his tone. His hips snap against mine, each thrust driving me closer to the edge until my body can’t hold back any longer. My climax rushesthrough me in waves, and I cry out, clutching at his shoulders as my walls tighten around him.
He hits the perfect spot, over and over, and I unravel beneath him, my body trembling as I squirt, the juices running down my legs. With one final deep thrust, he lets out a guttural moan, his body tensing as he cums deep inside my walls. The heat of his warm seed fills me, and his trembling grip keeps me pinned beneath him as he rides out his release.
He collapses beside me, both of us struggling to catch our breath. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, pulling me closer until my head rests against his chest. His steady heartbeat soothes the chaos inside me, and I let my eyes close, surrendering to the moment.
As the night deepens, I lie against him with the windows open enough to let the city in. Paris moves below us in softened sounds. A boat on the river. A motorbike somewhere far away. The faint murmur of people walking home late under windows they will never look up at. Damien’s hand rests at my waist, warm and heavy, and for once, I don’t reach for language to fill the space.
I have five days left.
The thought arrives quietly, not with panic, but with recognition. Five days until I return to New York. Five days until the life I built before Paris expects me to step back inside it as if this city has not changed the shape of me.
Leaving is not something I can stop–not yet. But it’s no longer simple.
Damien shifts behind me. “You’re thinking.”
“I’m always thinking.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a warning,” I chime.
His mouth brushes my shoulder. “Noted.”
I stare out at the city, at the gold thinning from the sky, at the reflection of the room in the glass.
“I filed the review.”
His hand stills for only a second, as he takes a deep breath.
“I assumed.”
“I can’t tell you what it says,” I say.
“I know,” he says.
“And you can’t ask.”
“I will not.”
I turn slightly to look at him.
“You trust that?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. It nearly breaks something open in me. I face the window again before he can see too much.
“Diana said it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.”
“It is.” He says the words as a matter-of-fact.
“You haven’t read it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s an arrogant amount of faith.”
