disclaimer-I do not claim Michael or any of the other characters in my work, as my own, they are owned by LFN, WB, Fireworks Productions, and I promise to put them back when I'm done borrowing them.
By Lady Sukh
Ah Paris, the city of Lights, the city of romance. Perhaps for others, it is but for you this is not the romantic trip you planned on. For one, the weasel you love left you at the alter, and then he tried to take your ticket in and have your maid of honor’s name put on it. Well you showed him by foiling his plans and sitting in the seat next to him on the plane for eight hours instead of killing him on sight.
You sip your wine and stare into the fire, nodding at the waiter as he removes your soup bowl and sets down some fruit and cheese. You twirl a lock of flame red hair around your finger as another patron is seated across the fire from you. Tall, black clad, this man gets your attention. Then he turns to look at you and your breath catches. Green-blue eyes and a face to make an angel cry; all this framed by shoulder length dark brown-red hair with a hint of curl at the ends.
His gaze meet yours from across the fire, golden licks of flame reflected in the pale eyes of the unknown man. His mouth tilts up a fraction at the corner, a phantom smile, as he motions to the waiter and stands. He walks around the open hearth with the stride of man in command, steady and sure, to stand before you.
“Pardon moi?” His voice is like plush dark velvet, the accent soft.
“In English is fine,” You can’t help but smile at this mystery man and the soft smile at your request.
“As you wish.” He motions to the empty chair. “May I join you?”
You resist the urge to pinch yourself and nod. “Of course.”You motion to the cheese and such on the table. “Help yourself.”
He takes a grape and pops it in his mouth, then orders a glass of wine. He cuts some cheese and offers it to you. You accept, popping the thin slice of Gouda into your mouth. He watches you as you chew and then sip from your wine.
“I was wondering what a pretty lady like you was doing sitting alone, looking so gloomy?” He sips at the glass the waiter set in font of him, and eats another grape.
“The story is pretty standard.”
Those green eyes drill into your blue ones. “Tell me,” his voice is low and a bit rough.
“My honeymoon. Unfortunately, I seem to be without a husband.”
“Where is he?” The man’s full lips tighten with something like anger.
“Elsewhere in Paris, I stole the hotel room out from under the weasel.” Your voice betrays not just anger, but hurt.
“A lovers spat?”
“More like he left me at the altar and dared show up at the airport with my best friend in tow.” You take a big drink of wine and shrug. “Of course I was there so he couldn’t change the name on the tickets.”
He smiles at that. “I see.” He whispers something to the waiter and the waiter nods, taking the cheese and fruit away. “I have just the thing to mend a broken heart.”
“Really?” You smile at the mishevious glint of his eyes.
“Yes. A secret passion of mine. I would be delighted to share it with you.” His voice wraps around you like a warm (faux) fur stole.
“I’d love to.” You know it beats going back upstairs alone to the honeymoon suite and the cold bed there.
The waiter arrives with a decadent looking slice of rich, deep chocolate cake. It is dark and moist and makes your mouth water. He laughs at the look of bliss on your face and dips into it with a fork. “Try this,” he murmurs as he holds the fork to your mouth.You open and let him slide the cake onto your tongue, closing your eyes and moaning at the burst of chocolate in your mouth. You open your eyes to find an amused tilt of his lips and a flame of interest in his verdant gaze. “Better?”
“Mmm…yes.” You manage as he leans over and touches the corner of your mouth with a fingertip. He shows the chocolate smear he recovered to you, and you lean over to lick the sweet treat off his finger, drawing the digit into you mouth. His mouth relaxes as his pupils dilate and he sucks in a suprised breath at the flicker of your tongue against the pad of his finger.
Music starts nearby, and he takes your hand, leading you to the dance floor. He tugs you into his arms and against his taut body, swaying with the rhythm. His breath caresses your ear as he whispers softly into it. “One man’s foolishness is another’s fortune.” His stubble roughened cheek slides across yours as one of his hands slide down your back, hot against the bare skin of the low backed dress to rest in the small arch above your buttocks. The other hand feathers up your neck, sending small shivers of pleasure shimmering through you. You arch into his touch, this stranger’s hand skimming your cheek as he nips at your earlobe. “Such a beauty,” he breathes as his lips find the pulse of your neck and traces it with the tip of his tongue.
Your knees weaken; you grab onto his rock hard arms as his mouth draws out pleasure you never thought you could feel. He runs one hand down your thigh, pulling your leg to entwine around his. Every solid inch of this enigmatic man presses against you as his tilts your face to him. His lips touch yours in a teasing brush, then they capture them in a soul searing kiss. You stay like that as the music fades, his hot mouth exploring yours, fire consuming you as his tongue tangles with yours. He breaks the kiss to drag his moist mouth down your neck. “Come with me,” he whispers in a rough, accented plea. “I want you.”
Your head spins with the pleasure of this stranger’s need, hard and thick against you. “I—“
“You deserve pleasure on your honeymoon,” He does wicked things with his mouth and tongue, skimming your shoulder to convince you.
“Yes,” you whisper, the truth of his words echoed in the fire burning through your veins. “My room.”
“Show me,” He follows you to the elevators. You stand and wait for the car, he presses up behind you and lifts the hair from your nape to nuzzle the back of your neck. “Tonight is yours,” he breathes as he kneads your shoulders “One night.”
“One night,” You agree, willing to push the pain of spending your first lonely night in a almost marriage bed for the arms of a sensual stranger. “One thing,” you manage to drag your overheating brain out of the fire long enough for one question. “Your name.”
The elevator opens and he pulls you into the plush car, backing you into the corner. “Michael,” he answers as he traps your mouth again and runs his large hands up your waist to tangle in your hair.
“Eight, “ you whisper as he reaches out one hand and presses the numbers with a quick glance. His free hand skims your back, his clipped nails creating a sweet friction as he draws them up and down your spine. His mouth is exploring the nape of your neck, nipping and sucking as your head falls back to allow him better access.
“Here,” he scoops you into his arms as the eighth floor is reached. “The key?”
You hand it over; he unlocks the door and opens it with a foot in a deft move. He carries you into the suite and sets you down. “Where?”
“Second door,” You answer his silent look. Michael's eyes devour you as he takes your hand, the green turning to blue and back to green again like liquid flames in the dim light. He sheds his black wool coat and snags a bottle of champagne. He pulls you into his arms again; his mouth seeking your passion sensitized lips and devours your kiss, melding his moist heat with yours.
You don't remember how you got to the bed, you smile as he pushes you gently into the bed and runs his hands up your stocking clad legs. He finds the edges of the stockings and unclips the garters; you shiver as her rolls them slowly down your limbs, his lips dragging along your skin, following the blazing trail of the silken hose. As he reaches your feet, he nuzzles your slender foot, then takes a toe in his hot mouth. His tongue flutters against your pedicured digit.
You never dreamed toes were such an erogenous zone.
He looks at you as he pulls off the other stocking, his eyes living fire, his mouth swollen with need. Then he creeps up your body, slow feline movements punctuated by the steady glide of his big hot hand bunching up your dress over your hips.
"Michael," you moan as you try to sit up, you need to feel him under your hand, to touch his slick, male flesh.
"Ssshh," he puts a finger to your lips, "My turn, first." His face relaxes into a sensual smile as you do his bidding and he straddles you to pull off his turtleneck. "Better?" He teases as you devour his wide chest and rockhard abs.His muscles are like silk covered steel, rippling with his movements as he pulls off your midnight blue satin dress. You tremble as his gaze caresses every creamy inch of your exposed skin; his hands cover your stomach in a slow burn as he smoothes them down your enflamed body. His mouth lowers to your stomach, a moist sliver of fire as he nibbles and laves to the edges of your lace and gold panties. You arch into his kiss; your world reduced to the burn of his mouth against your liquid flesh. Your eyes close as you drift on a river of hot sensation, your body reduced to shimmering blood and quivering nerves by his erotic touch, his carnal mouth as he works magic on you.
He whispers something to you in French, the meaning lost in the rough caress of his breath against your hip. One hand slides down, touching you, checking for the slick evidence of your want. His hand burns through the gold threaded lace, As he strokes you again one long finger slips under the covering to fondle your slippery folds, brushing the swollen nub of your pleasure. You quiver with the jolt of white-hot excitement, your body bowing under his expert caress. Then he moves up and over you, one finger still rubbing against you, his mouth devouring the sweet moisture that is starting to seep through your pores and gloss your skin with rosy arousal. His hair brushes you as he moves to nuzzle the valley of your breasts, and you tangle your fingers into the dark auburn length of it. He slips an arm under you and lifts you, freeing your breasts to him.
"So beautiful, " He breaths as he brings both hands up to feather across your nipples, they contract, throbbing for his hands, begging for more. He dips his head to one breast, capturing the rosy tip in his mouth and laves his tongue across it before nipping at the sensitized bud. Your moan is breathless, and he takes one hand and runs up your throat to rub your lower lip with a thumb.
Your tongue sneaks out of your mouth and you stroke the pad of his thumb before nipping at it. He rubs his digit across your lips, a lesser kiss, as your head falls back onto the big hotel pillows. You clutch at his broad shoulders, kneading the solid muscles, your hands run down his spine, heat radiates through your hand, his muscles are rigid, his flesh pliant and flushed as he presses your bare chest to his and kisses your mouth again. The material of his pants scrape like sensual sandpaper as he slides his arousal across the lace covered apex of your legs.
"Michael," you whisper between kisses. "I want to touch you." Your hands travel over the material of his pants, kneading his taut butt. "Without clothes," you plead as his silver belt buckle digs into your stomach, and one leg wraps around his denim-clad leg.
"Yes," hisses out of him as he pulls off the bed long enough to strip. He is built like a Greek statue; all planes and marble hard surfaces, sculpted in living flesh. Male beauty like this makes being left at the altar a distant hurt.
"Make me forget," you whisper as his firm, naked body lays across yours.
"With pleasure," he smiles at you. Then he kneels down and strips off your lace panties and the delicate matching garter belt. He runs his long fingers through the fiery thatch of your silken lower hair searching and brushing against your clit then moving away. You take a moment to thank your sister silently for dragging you to the spa for the wax right before the wedding, then gasp at the hot tickle of his breath at the apex of your legs. You tense, savoring the anticipation of his moist tongue on you, and gasp at the first slick stroke of his mouth on you.
All thought of the pain of betrayal, of the humiliation of being alone at the altar waiting for a man that wasn't coming recedes into the realm of pure sensation that this stranger named Michael takes you to. The first climax is a sudden wave of sensual dissipation, you break apart and flow back together into a woman of nothing but sexual power, carnal command.
He moves up your body as the quivers of your culmination subside, his full lips slick with your climax and burrows behind your ear. "There's more," his voice is rough with the control he needs to make your pleasure come first, his soft accent more pronounced. "Much more." His erection burns like a brand into your hip and thigh, a heated proof that he wants you as much as you want him.
You smile as you reach up and nip at his neck, eliciting a short hiss out of him. You use gentle pressure against him, forcing him into the down cover of the huge bed, and straddle his waist. You slide up his slick body, your mouth peppering kisses, taking brief tastes of his skin, hot and slightly salty from his iron control. You stop at his smooth chest, your kisses lingering, taking in the male scent of him, and the steel texture of his flesh, the copper flavor of his male nipples. You circle the flat disks; your tongue and mouth drawing out the most delightful small groans of pleasure from deep in him as he arches into your lips and teeth. You smile against him as you travel up to his collarbone and lave at it, swirling your tongue into the depression there. His hands tangle into your hair, pulling your mouth to his, you can taste not just his need, but yours on his reddened lips. He levers himself up while his lips explore your mouth, until you are sitting in his lap. The pleasure is building higher than before, your senses spin and your body is liquid with the need to have him inside you.
"Cherie, you try my control," he whispers as he runs a hand down your back, forcing you to rock against him. He presses his arousal against you, rubbing, teasing, as he sucks at the skin on your neck. You have your arms wrapped around him, and his fingers dig into your hips as he strokes across your opening, not entering.
"Michael," you groan as he repeats the taunting motions. You want him filling you, entering you and making the last few days of bad into a night of nothing but pleasure. "Michael, wait."
He freezes. "Why?" His body is taut with need to move.
You lean up and whisper into his ear.
A soft laugh. "Is that all? "
You nod and look down; he takes your chin and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he eases you off the bed and looks down at you before padding off to the bathroom. You admire the tight play of muscles in his behind as he ducks into the bathroom. A few moments later he stands silhouetted in the light of the bathroom for a moment before he turns the light off, the need in his eyes burning into you from across the room. Then he is back at your side, his hands burning across your flesh as he lays the box on the bed stand.
"Thank you, " you reach up and press your mouth to one rough cheek.
"It's your night, your pleasure," he responds as he rolls you to face him. He touches a lock of your long hair, drawing it across his swollen lips. "Don't be afraid to ask for what you want." He traces your nose with your hair then trails it across his chest. Together you stroke and caress, exploring and finding carnal zones, bringing the flames burning to an inferno of need. All the other cares recede in the sensuality of fingers, hands, and mouths, skin against skin.
You the need flows through you filing you; you ache for him. A pleasurable pain, you shake against his granite body as he pulls you into his lap and wraps one of your legs around his waist.
"Michael, please," You gasp as he trails the tip of his tongue down he side of your neck. Your hand trails down his body, sleek with the sweat of passion, and you wrap your hand around him. He makes a low groan and begins to tremble as you stroke you hand up and down the silken steel of him. "Please, Michael, now,"
He makes another low noise. "Stop." He removes your hand and lays you under him. With one hand he reaches for the box from the bathroom and pulls out a small foil packet. "For you," he tears it open with his teeth and hands it to you. "You do it." He tenses at your touch. "Carefully."
You press the condom on slowly, savoring the leap of his organ, it seems to strain toward your touch, offering itself to you. A man like this, so close to the edge over you, it's a heady, sensual feeling. You finish and lay back, as you tangle your hands into his damp hair. He looks at you, into your eyes, his urgency shining in the green depths, connecting you to him in need. "Put your legs around my waist," He urges in a low voice as he strokes your cheek and hold you closer.
Then he surges to his knees, pulling you forward and entering you with one powerful surge. He fills you, taking your delight to a higher plane with every masterstroke. His hands find your hips as he guides you, and you cling to him, helpless to do more than ride the crest of voluptuous sensation as it washes over you again and again. Your past words, past breathing as he whispers nonsense French love words into your ear. Finally he finds your lips and he makes love to your mouth with his lips and tongue, mimicking the joining of your body and his. He lowers you to the bed as you start to writhe, pleasure sweeps over you, spiraling upwards until you peak in a carnal explosion of passion. He pauses as you climax, taking in your culmination, as it echoes through you a few more glorious times.
"Look at me Cherie," He manages between low pants. His entire body is shaking with the need to climax. You look at him, losing yourself into the endless verdant depths as he strokes into you a few more times. Then you watch as he finds his release, his neck taut, his head thrown back and a low moan of total satisfaction torn from him. He looks back down at you, and gives you a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth as he gathers you into his arms, "Thank you," he whispers before his head drops to your shoulder. You touch his hair, and run your leg up and down his. "I'm too heavy." He moves off you and pulls you to curl around him like a contented cat.
"I should be the one thanking you," You smile as he looks at you.
"For not making this the most miserable night of my life."
"Ahh. I think you will have some good memories of your honeymoon night." He returns your smile with a small grin of his own.
"I don't think he could have done as well as you."
Michael laughs softly at this. "We haven't even begun yet." He presses another mind-bending kiss to you then climbs from the bed. "I'll be back. Why don't you order more champagne?" he suggests as he heads to the bathroom.
You order champagne and strawberries from room service as he cleans up. He emerges from the bathroom in a soft white robe. He returns to the bed, then he finds his pants and slips a cell pone into the pocket. He slips something else into the other pocket and grabs your hand. "Come on," he urges you from the bed into the main room of the suite. There he starts the fire in the fireplace as room service knocks.
"Wait," he stops you as you rise to answer, clad only in a sheet. He moves slowly to the door, a hand in one pocket. "Who is it?"
"Room service." Michael looks to you and you nod. He opens the door and the man comes in with the treats you ordered. Michael is watching the waiter intently as he arranges the fruit and champagne on the cart. The man turns to leave and Michael presses a few francs in the man's hand.
"A bit jumpy?" You comment as you bite into a strawberry.
"One can never be too careful." He pops the cork on the bubbly and pours it into two glasses. He hands one to you. He touches your glass with the rim of his. "To beautiful strangers."
You both drink a sip. "To making a girl feel wanted again." You toast again.
"Have you ever made love in front of a fire?' He asks as he takes the glass out of your hand and leads you to the shearling rug in front of the fireplace. You shake you head, lost in the beauty of the fire playing across his skin.
"Good." He kisses you. " Let me show you." Then he proceeds to make the second time even more glorious than the first.
He feeds you strawberries dipped in champagne after that, and you have a third round of lovemaking, this time on your knees with him over you.
You drift off in his strong arms after this, a light sleep of the physically exhausted. You hear a cell phone ring in your dream.
"Cherie, I have to go," he whispers at your sleepy protest. "Enjoy Paris, and thank you for tonight."
"I'll never forget this Micheal," You open your eyes and find the stranger in black looking over you, regret in his eyes.
"Go back to sleep Cherie," He whispers as he turns to go.
"My name is Natalie," you breathe as he disappears.
The next morning, you wake after hedonistic dreams of the stranger Michael. A single red rose lays across the pillow next to you and a note with your name. You pick up the note and a tape recorder looking thing drops into your lap.
"Natalie," Michael's soft French accent envelopes you as you hit play. "I hope morning finds you well. Last night was not just for you; I enjoyed your company. Never forget your beauty and never let a man walk away from you again. If I could I would try to find you again before you go back to the states."
You clutch the rose and smile, remembering Michael, silently thanking him for letting you forget about the hurt for one glorious night.