“So are we still doing that thing today? Or are you too mad at me?”
A whisper of a smile traces his lips. “Yeah, we’re still doing it. It’s been planned for over a month. No way I’m canceling. I still want to take you there.”
My heart swells. “Good. That makes me happy.”
He grins, but then his smile fades. “Uh… about last night… I’m sorry.”
“About what?” I ask. I know why he’s sorry, but I want him to say the words.
He smiles. “For… you know, taking advantage of you, and leaving you hanging. I was an ass. I was just so upset.”
I chew on my bottom lip, picturing him naked, over me. “Yeah, you did… leave me hanging.” I throw in a pout, just to make him feel guiltier.
His grin is playful when he says, “I could make it up to you.”
My curiosity is piqued, and so is my sex. “How?”
He grabs my arm softly and pulls me to him. He presses his hot mouth against my ear. “You know what I feel like for breakfast.” His words are ragged. “Your sweet little pussy.”
I close my eyes for a second, imagining him pleasuring me. Without a word, I take his hand and pull him into our bedroom.
* * *
“What should I wear?”I ask Oscar. I have no clue where he’s taking me. On the plus side, I’m giddy with excitement. But on the other hand, I have no clue how to dress. “Will there be a lot of walking?”
Stretched out on our bed, he leans back on his elbows, intently watching me as I rummage through my clothing, completely overwhelmed. “There will be some walking, so I would wear comfortable shoes,” he tells me. "There might even be a little bit of cycling,” he adds with a smirk.
“Cycling?” I ask. “At night? In Paris?”
He grins widely and runs a finger across his lips. “I’m not saying another word.”
I settle on a black turtle neck and long black skirt, and the Doc Martens I’ve brought along. All black — very Paris. I lay the items on the bed. “What do you think?”
“Perfect,” he says. “You’ll want to bring a jacket too,” he tells me. “We’ll probably be spending some time outside.”
I bite my lip, mulling over all the information I have. He hasn’t divulged much so far. All I know is that it’s something in Paris, something he thinks I will really like. There will be walking and possibly some cycling.
“How is your French?” he asks.
“Why?” I ask nervously. “Will I need to speak French?”
He smiles. “You might have to. You will definitely need to understand it. I’ll be completely lost. You’ll need to translate.”
I shake my head. “You’re driving me batty, Oscar. You know that, right?”
He laughs. “Of course I know it. That’s what I love about it.”
“Give me a few hints at least,” I beg. “Just two or three.”
He sits up and leans back on the tall upholstered Victorian headboard. “How ‘bout this? How ‘bout I let you ask me three questions.”
Yes!!! I hop once or twice, completely giddy. I chew on my bottom lip while I think about what to ask. He watches me with a big grin, thoroughly entertained.
“Is it inside or outside?”
He smiles. “Both. But mostly inside.”
What could it possibly be? A museum of some kind? He knows I enjoy art. But I’m not crazy about it or anything. It’s not a garden. It’s not the Père Lachaise cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried. It’s not the catacombs. He’s already been, and he knows I’m not into that ghoulish stuff. Could it be the Eiffel tower? He knows I’ve already been with Matt.
