Full Moon in Florence (2 page)

“Honestly, our encounter was so brief I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize you.” She lifted her gaze to his. “But I would recognize your eyes anywhere.” She purposefully held them for a long moment. Until he blinked and smiled at her boldness.

“I couldn’t have forgotten you, but even if I had, your shoes are like a beacon. They guided me back to you.” He held her gaze now. Laine shivered.

“You’re cold, of course, standing out here waiting for me. Shall we?” He held out his arm. She slipped hers through the crook of his elbow. They left the tourists and the glass pyramid behind.

Colin led her to the rue de Rivoli, to La Maison Angelina, where they drank rich hot chocolate poured from a silver pot.

“It’s beautiful here,” said Laine through sips of thick, creamy chocolate. It was like nothing she’d ever tasted before. And the room was like nothing she’d ever been in before, with its turn-of-the-century luxurious décor of cream and gold crown moldings, chandeliers, and pastoral murals.

Colin had also ordered a dish of whipped cream, or
Chantilly
as the French called it, plus a selection of
macarons
and they were each taking bites of all of them to sample the many divine flavors.

“Who’d think to make a licorice one?” said Colin, amused.

“The pistachio is yummy,” said Laine. “But I think I like the mandarin-passion best.”

“My favorite is the caramel. Tastes like crème brûlée.”

Laine was feeling the sugar-rush. She wondered what would happen next. They’d already covered their job situations. Colin was an independent art broker working for and with several collectors. This brought him to Paris, and other parts of Europe, every couple of months. That’s what his meeting had been about. A Parisian collector was ready to part with a few of his pieces, one an early Matisse, and Colin though he might have a buyer in Ireland.

Between art and traveling, it seemed to Laine they had a lot in common. She had to remind herself this was potentially just meaningless sex and not to get ahead of herself, especially considering the option for sex wasn’t even on the table yet, but she could feel it in the air… Who couldn’t in Paris? The whole city seemed to pulse with Eros.

She stretched out her foot under the table until her toe found Colin’s ankle. In mid-bite of a
macaron
, his eyes flashed to hers. He finished chewing, and said,

“That’s another thing I like about Americans: they know what they want.”

He gestured to the waiter for the check. “Do you want to go back to my hotel, Laine?”

His green eyes challenged her, upping the ante, and making her heart beat faster.

“We could go to my place. It’s not far from here. I’d like to slip out of these shoes and into something more comfortable.”

As the check was delivered, he leaned forward and said in a low voice,

“Or you could slip out of everything else
except
those shoes. I think I’d like that.”

“Would you?” She leaned forward, accentuating her cleavage beneath her v-necked blouse. As Colin stared at the reveal she whispered, “And then what would you like after that?”

She stood and gathered her coat and purse. She was slightly stunned with her own brazenness, and yet her body buzzed with the excitement of it.

Colin threw some bills on the table, shaking his head when she reached for her purse. “My treat.”

“Thank you,” said Laine, ready to head toward the door and whatever might lie ahead.

“Give me a minute,” said Colin. He glanced down at his lap.

She smiled. That was a good sign. She took her time slipping into her coat while Colin fussed with his napkin, slowly arranged his scarf, and then leisurely donned his navy peacoat.

“What are you doing to me, you American Beauty?” said Colin when they stepped out into the brisk air.

She gave him a sly look. He took her in his arms and they kissed right there under the arcade of the rue Rivoli. His lips were warm, soft, and roving. Once he’d claimed her lips, he kissed his way across her cheek, behind her ear, and down her throat, until her winter clothes barred his path. He had one hand on the back of her head, pressing her face to his, and his other hand on the small of her back, guiding her hips to his.

“How far is your flat?” he said in a husky voice.

“This way.” She pulled him down the street, still embracing, clinging, kissing.

People passed by, curious, appreciative of their expressed passion. Laine felt she was the subject of a Parisian postcard. Only a few glared with disapproval. The faces began to blur as Laine was swept up by her own—and Colin’s—desires. She forgot her feet hurt as she seemed to float down the street and up the narrow lane to her rented flat, a three floor walk up accessed through a courtyard with a small fountain that ran all year.

It was dusk now, the sky indigo, as Laine keyed in the code to the outer door, while Colin held her from behind, pressing impatiently into her backside and making her feel dizzy with lust.

Once through the door, in the dark corridor, she reached for the button to turn on the timed light, but Colin intercepted her hand.

“Don’t,” he whispered, as he turned her toward him and pressed her against the stone wall.

“But we’re almost there,” whispered Laine, heady with the intensity of his appetite. There was nothing more powerful, more intoxicating, than being the source of a handsome man’s desire. She felt sexy, languid,
terribly wet
, standing, legs splayed, in the semi-private corridor.

The fountain gurgled just out of sight. Tenants would be heading out to dinner soon, and they would have to pass through
this
corridor.

“Let’s go up,” she urged.

“In a minute,” he breathed into her collarbone, and then he nipped lightly at her skin. “I can’t wait any longer to touch you.” His hand was up her skirt, but blocked by her winter stockings; he cupped her pussy through the fabric and moaned.

“You’re soaked,” he growled, and then he forced his hand up and under the waistband of her stockings. He navigated his middle finger deep into her folds until he’d slid inside. Laine gasped. She’d never been this wet, this fast, for Richard.

Colin moaned deeply, “Oh, yes. Oh, Laine. I did this to you?” She nodded, squeezing his finger with her inner muscles.

“I’m the luckiest bloke in Paris,” he whispered. “I want to take you right here.”

Her head was swimming. She didn’t think she could refuse him, but she’d never had sex in public before.

“Would you like that?” he said. “Would you like me to take you right here against this wall?”

His other hand went to his slacks, undid his button and fly, and Laine felt the heat of him against her thigh, on the other side of her stockings. He thrust towards her, pretending, while his finger swirled deep inside her. She choked back shallow breaths.

“I could pull these tights down to your ankles, turn you around, and take you from behind. Would you like that?”

She suddenly felt frightened. In part because she didn’t know this man, but more because she was afraid she really
would
like that.

She gulped. “Colin, wait. The shoes. You wanted to see me in my shoes.”

He chuckled, softened his press against her, withdrew his finger just a bit.

“Don’t be frightened, sweet thing. I’m just trying to get you as revved up as you’ve gotten me. A woman who knows what she wants is a powerful turn on. Makes a man want to give her what she wants. And I know you want something. You wouldn’t be wearing those shoes if you had no desires.”

It was true. She hadn’t realized it until this moment. Her red shoes were a symbol of her desire—when she first bought them and then packed them and then wore them. At first they stood for something she wished she had, something she wanted to find, a power and a peace within herself to go after what she really wanted, a fulfillment of her heart’s desire, and now they had brought her to this threshold…

“Take me upstairs,” she said.

He escorted her across the courtyard, kissing her all the way over the cobbled stones and then up the three flights of wooden stairs. At each landing, he took off another item of her clothing. Her coat, her scarf, her blouse. She unlocked the door to the flat wearing only her bra and skirt, stockings and shoes, with Colin kissing her back and running one hand up her inner thigh.

They stumbled through the door, dropped what they were carrying, and groped each other in the dark.

“There are candles,” she murmured. “And I need a second. I’ll be right back.”

She untangled from his embrace, during which he’d managed to slip out of his coat, suit jacket, and shoes. He stood before her in his light blue dress shirt and undone pants. She stared at the open zipper. She had felt him but still not
seen
him. She dropped to her knees, pulled at the waistband of his boxers and withdrew a satisfying specimen of the male anatomy. Pink and veined, with a smooth thick head that seemed to be bursting at the seams. She kissed it, and then took it into her mouth, wondering if it would even fit her lucky charm condom.

His hands found her hair, his fingers weaving through the strands. “Oh, that’s good,” he murmured. “Very nice.”

The slight must smell of him turned her on even more. It represented the day, his movements, bumping into her, finding her again, turning her on and being turned on by her. She had been part of the fine workings of his body, and now she tasted and smelled and touched it all.

“This isn’t fair, he said. “I need to taste you, too. Tell me what you want.”

She leaned back on her heels, looked up at his half-lidded pleasure-drunk green eyes.

“Give me a minute.”

She ducked into the bathroom, removed her skirt and stockings, decided to leave on her thong and bra, and then slipped back into her red shoes. They felt even tighter going on, pinching at the toes, but they had guided her this far and she was determined to let them be a part of this experience.

She returned to the combined sitting room-slash-bedroom, with a wrought iron bed against one wall, a small table and chairs near the kitchen nook, a desk and a leather lounging chair in the corner by the window. Colin had lit about a dozen tea lights and now sat in the leather chair basking in the glow.

“There you are,” he whispered, staring at her, drinking her all in, his gaze lingering on her red shoes. He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “They’re a beacon. Even in this light.”

Laine knew the candlelight flattered her figure and hid the small flaws, so she turned confidently, letting him appreciate the view.

When she propped one foot on the desk chair, he leaned forward. He had removed his slacks and she could see his erection poking out above his boxers.

“Take your panties off and do that,” he said.

She obliged and said. “Yours too then.”

He stood, pulled, and a second later had stepped out of his boxers and taken the two strides over to where she posed. His fingers slid between her open legs, dabbling among the slippery folds, and roving purposefully over her clit. She moaned and reached for his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one as they stared into each other’s eyes. After she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, he clasped her to his hard, bare chest. His cock was dangerously close to her pussy and Laine was so aroused she was dangerously close to not caring if she swallowed him up raw.

“You’ll wear a condom?” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell but neither wanting to end up full of questions, or worse.

“Of course,” he said. “But this is okay for a bit?” He was sliding his cock lightly along the length of her slipperiness.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Feels so good skin to skin. But I’m afraid you’ll slip in. I
want
you in.” She kissed him hard on the lips to show the fierceness of her building desire. “I have one,” she said. “In my purse.”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “A woman who knows what she wants
and
comes prepared? Almost too good to be true. But I have some of my own and I know they work for me.”

He backed away from her, reaching for his slacks, his cock quivering in the candlelight.

He returned to her, sheathed, kneeled down in front of her, and licked as if she were made of
Chantilly
. With one hand he held her buttock firm, so his tongue could lap at her pussy with more force. With his other hand, he held her calf, just above the heel of her shoe, and his fingers caressed gently up to the back of her knee and back down to her ankle.

When she felt her climax roiling deep inside, her moans and cries told him she was close. He stood and took her there, standing, one arm against the wall for support.

The feel of Colin inside her felt both foreign and familiar, both dangerous and safe, both liberating and encompassing. He thrust deeply up and into her, drawing her closer to her own private heaven, and then he picked her up and carried her—her legs wrapped around his waist—across the room and splayed her across the arm of the chair, where he plundered her from behind. She savored the deep spearing and the feel of his hands cupping her breasts, his fingers squeezing her nipples. But when she heard his breathing roughen and catch in his throat, when his rhythm sped up, she wriggled out from under him and led him to the bed covered in white linens and laid him down. By now she’d removed her bra and only wore her red shoes.

She straddled Colin, took him deep inside her, and, rocking slowly at first, she worked herself up to a wild bucking, a frenzy of plunging pleasure that made him stare and moan and beg her to come all over him. She gave him what he wanted, after he’d given her what she needed, and watching her coming—her face taut with concentration, wild abandon, and vulnerable receiving—he poured forth his release. She felt his contained pulses deep inside her, the flexing surges of his satisfaction, along with her own tender aftershocks.

Breathing heavily, happily sated, Laine draped her spent body over Colin’s. When she cooled, she curled next to him, drawing the covers up over them both. He spooned her and she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

When Laine woke the next morning she remembered that she was in Paris and for the first time in months, she hadn’t woken thinking of Richard. She smiled. It was Valentine’s Day morning and she finally had her heart back.