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Warm and cloying, my t-shirt stained with her tears; the gamble failed.

Her snivels broke the silence, the mournful spasms of distress: a heart-wrenching sound. I did this; I was responsible, convinced this was the beginning of the end. The burden so intense, I dared not look. Forcing myself, Elodie sat perched on the edge of the sofa. Body crunched up with a distant sorrowful expression. She clenched that talismanic handkerchief in her hand.

Caught in a loop of guilt and regret, too many distended thoughts paralysed my mind. The teaspoon jangled in the mug; it called time on the distance between us. Walking, my hand trembled, and the liquid sloshed with each short step.

“Strong sweet tea, it will help.”

Lost, still gazing at the opposing wall, “Merci.”

Softly spoken, distant, not a glimmer of the woman I knew. I took an adjacent chair.

Two empty eyes gazed into mine, “You know what happened, oui?”

I nodded, “Anne-Pierre,” and Elodie nodded too.

The hurt written on her face transferred its agony to me. Fingers extended, palms together, my hands in prayer over my lips. It had to come out, the truth, all of it.

“We had a few liaisons since the house-warming party, nothing serious. I ended it a few weeks ago.”

Two separate worlds collided into one crushing reality. Elodie remained unmoved; the awkward silence had to be appeased.

“She started to behave strangely when she found out about our rendezvous’.” I paused, “We argued, I found out she did some terrible things and they disgusted me. That was it, it was finished, and I warned her to leave you alone.”

She nodded her head without a flicker of emotion.

Still focussed on the opposing wall, “You always tell the truth.”

“Always.”

She toyed with the monogram on the handkerchief, “At yoga, I was talking to a friend about our weekend… about us.” She swallowed, perhaps an effort to keep her emotions in check, “Anne-Pierre overheard me. She wanted to tell me something so we went into an office.”

Her voice cracked, again, she fought back, “I need start from the beginning,” and her delivery wavered.

“Take your time.”

That look, austere, she did not need my concern or permission. I conceded instantly and broke eye contact.

“At the weekend, we shared the stories of our phone calls, Gare Du Nord, and our rendezvous’.”

“Yes.”

“And how we were attracted to each other?”

“Yes.”

She clutched the handkerchief tight, “We did not talk about the flat-warming party.”

Crestfallen, I met her eyes again and shook my head, “No, we did not.”

“And there is a reason for this, oui?”

“Yes.”

I expected recrimination, a perverse sign she cared. Instead, aloof calm and measured words delivered in a flat monotone. Elodie’s invitation to the house warming party was no accident, her intention, a rendezvous. My self-doubt convinced me otherwise. The following Monday, at yoga, she told Anne-Pierre everything: her excitement and my nickname.

“Elodie, I was always attracted to you but my head was a mess. I was here alone, and could not risk losing my only friend.” I sighed, “So I hid how you made me feel, I kept my distance.”

“And I did not expect Gaspar at the party,” Elodie reflected quietly, “I asked who invited him, it was Anne-Pierre.”

My suspicions were correct: Anne-Pierre set us up. The injustice rose up and I stifled it. Telling her now, I would be pounding on the wrong side of thick plate glass. Unheard, misunderstood, my words unable to break through, deaf on arrival.

Calmly, she took a sip of tea, “We say c'est comme ça. Accept it and move on. I found that difficult when it ended with Gaspar. At the party, he was very motivated and very charming. He knew the right things to say to me.” Stifling her upset, she caught her breath, “You saw me kissing him, I was so foolish.”

“I understand. I came to Paris because I could not move on. You thought the party was a rendezvous and I did not. I thought Gaspar was someone you liked. We were friends then, it is okay.”

“It is not okay,” her delivery terse, “I had sex with him, you know that. Anne-Pierre told me tonight.”

Silent tears ran down her face. I wanted to console her, yet this uneasy truth reinforced the barrier between us. My unease met with her empty stare.

“Elodie, it is okay. We went into that bedroom by accident. I chose to be discreet, especially after what you told me the following Monday.”

“It is not okay. She said it gave you an idea, she told me that you made a plan with her that night.”

No longer soft and faint, each word annunciated with a brittle strength.

I frowned, “A plan?”

“To get me to join you both in bed.”

Drenched in a cold panic, instinctively I shook my head, “No, no, that is not right.” Arms outstretched and palms open, “I never said such a thing. That was Anne-Pierre, she was fixated by that.”

Her thousand-yard stare went beyond the opposing wall. Dread squirmed in the pit of my stomach: whatever we had was slipping away.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

One eye open, I awoke, unusual to remember because I smiled. Fresh from the slumber of innocents, Elodie slept alongside me. With no veil of consciousness to hide behind, I admired her angelic beauty.

Sunday morning and our long weekend together. After the meal with our friends, we returned to hers. Awash with wine, full of good food, and tired from two heady days and nights. We chatted in bed until we could no longer keep our eyes open, and drifted off in each other’s arms.

I do not know how long I lay there and gazed at her. Alone with my thoughts, the spectre of the unexpected took me. There were no more reasons to hold back. If it was pride or fear, whatever I vanquished, a humility for the unknown took me.

I was not alone anymore, Elodie understood me. Humbled by this epiphany moment, I made a vow; I would let her into my thoughts, my hopes, and fears.

That prickly secret vandalised the moment, certainly the worst of my fears; I could not keep that vow. I swept that inconvenience aside and bargained quickly. I would keep it like that, a secret, but atone for it every way I could.

Easing the cotton sheet down slowly, it revealed her naked body in profile. Magnetically drawn to her, tender fingertip pressure traced over the curvy profile from torso to waist. I lingered and drew patterns on the flare of her hips to those slender flanks. Inspired by the simpering pout on her half-open lips, I loitered on the swell of her breast and circled its areola.

I submitted to the spark of need. Limp, taken in my arms, she roused slowly, and my kiss brought life to her body. The warmth of her against me, I caressed her arm to torso and onto the springy firmness of her breast. Another soft kiss followed, her sudden grasp of the steel between my legs enflamed me, and she stifled my vocal appreciation with her lips. Slow kisses coaxed her from that soporific haze, and her thighs parted to accept me.

I roused a murmur with each kiss on my descent. I teased until she gasped in anticipation of the next. Closer, closer, tracing along her inner thigh until the tip of my tongue grazed her warm folds.

“Mmm, English…” she purred, “good morning…”

Breeched, it spilled forth, the bittersweet confection of desire. Fidgety hips settled into lazy circles motivated by soft kisses and a mischievous tongue. The accretion of liquid arousal, her sighs capped with a whimper: my actions the epitome of patience.

Her naked body doused in rays of muted light. It leeched through damask curtains and glistened over those fluid movements. A wisp of breeze cooled the febrile air, whispered gasps kept time, and her noise blended with the distant hubbub of life outside.

Stretching out like an awoken feline, she writhed for me. Capitulating at her first groan of frustration, my hands filled with her voluminous breasts, I nurtured their erect nipples. Captured by my lips, her clitoris skidded against my tongue. Elodie slipped from tranquillity into more surly groans. Inspired by the mania that rose from her growing cries, two outstretched arms pressed me there.

“Oui, keep going…”

Snorted gasps matched the faint shudders and trembling legs; she succumbed to an effortless climax. I tasted it and my kisses retreated. Above her, lost in her awakened eyes, her caress raked over a day’s stubble. Exhaled air warm against my face, she took me in hand, and led me there.

“Inside me, please put it inside me.”

My reaction to the wet muscular heat eased a soft smile onto her face.

“Mmm, good morning to you, Elodie.”

A curl on her lips, she pulled me in for a kiss. Impossible to memorise this sensation; I could not resist the need for more. With restraint, I rocked slowly; the apex of each thrust filled her a little deeper. A slow gliding motion relayed my sentiments: to inspire passion, not demand it.

Lost in her azure eyes, they scanned my own. She surveyed the pleasure I took from this moment. Both hands traced along the valley of my spine, one to rest on my back, the other pressed at my behind to set the tempo.

Sunday morning sex, penitence for the times I considered her as a mere physical object. A foolish injustice and I moved with tenderness. Quiet echoes of pleasure reverberated through my servile body. The undulating rhythm of her hips sought to provoke me, symbiotically, we responded in kind. A hint of need, she pulled on me, and took it to the hilt. Softened features betrayed her requirements. What started as individual spontaneity transformed into a mutual instinct. Hands, lips, the choreography of body and limbs, the variations and muscle memory.

Engulfed in a blanket of heat, warmed by her embrace, my tender kiss grazed those expectant lips.

“Ma copine,” she gasped, it was more than I deserved.

Airy faint moans took on a new urgency, her languid caress grasped tighter. Fully awake, her calf stroked mine, then another until she locked me in place. Eager hands clasped my body, last night’s perfume suddenly vivid as we writhed together. As she looked upon me through heavy eyelids, I stifled her groans with soul-searching kisses. Wandering hands ranged over my back, quicker hips rose, fell, and her back arched. I met her challenge as those insistent heels pressed into me commanded.

Her breasts mashed against my torso, she flexed to meet each thrust. My earlobe, into her mouth, and the crackles of electricity rippled through me for more. The first clatter tightened her embrace and more slaps of her nubile skin against my loins. Heady with lust, the force of my actions shook her body. Pushing with her hands, I rose and smiled into those welcoming eyes.

Lips pouting, “Plus fort…” she gasped and bit her lip. “Harder… mon dieu… plus fort…”

Braced against my forearms, more whispered words pleaded. I knew what I needed to do.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The interminable silence, deafening, and each second added to the crushing pressure.

“Elodie?”

Jarred from deep thought, haunted eyes gazed into mine, “There is something you do not know and it was not important until tonight.”

“What is it?”

Calmly, she described the phone call from Gaspar, the Sunday after the party.

“At lunch with you the next day,” her head down, “I was upset and said I failed.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“When Gaspar and I were together, he lost interest in me, and I tried and tried. I asked him what he wanted and one day he told me. It is something I have not shared with anyone.”

“What?”

“He wanted an open relationship. He said it would put a spark into ours.”

I recoiled, “Some spark!”

“English,” she interjected, “we are more accepting of this in France, it happens and I was desperate to keep what we had.” She paused and sighed, long and slowly, “I said I would think about it and we talked about it. In the end, I did not want to do it and that is why we broke up.”

“And you think I want the same? I do not.”

It provoked no emotional response, “After the party, when he called, Gaspar wanted us to get back together. He had one condition.”

“An open relationship?”

“Oui, and more. He thought I accepted what he wanted because of what happened at the party. He wanted a ménage à trois, two women. He knew someone who wanted to join us.”

“Jesus…” I gasped, “and what made him think you would accept it this time?”

Elodie looked down, “It was, erm, in the heat of the moment. Too much wine.”

Her sheepishness and the insinuation revealed a lot more than ‘in the heat of the moment’.

“Ah… I know that feeling,” and we shared the awkwardness, “That is one way of putting it.”

“Gaspar was very persuasive and he used my words against me. He knew someone and told me it would be so simple. I refused, we argued, and he got angry. He admitted he cheated on me, he did not say who and the call ended.”

“Oh, Elodie…”

She cut in quickly, “There is more.”

“More?”

“At the yoga studio, when we got into the office, she…” Elodie stopped suddenly. Clutching the handkerchief, her hand trembled.

“Elodie?”

“Anne-Pierre got too close and made a pass at me...” Elodie faltered.

“Fuck!”

“She said she liked me. She knew everything and what I really wanted. I pushed her away and said no. She got angry.”

“Angry?”

“Oui, she told me she had many liaisons with Gaspar and said I was not enough for him. She was the third person for that ménage à trois. He must have told her what I said at the party, what I…” and she fought to keep her resolve, “what I said at his apartment in the heat of the moment. Tonight, I knew who Gaspar cheated with.”

“Oh, God.”

“She told you too.”

Soaked by an icy dread, the finality of the awful truth slammed into me: the metaphysical brick wall. Poleaxed by her emotional delivery, I sipped some tea and the mug trembled in my hand.

I looked in her cold eyes, “She admitted to sleeping with him when we argued. I dragged it out of her.”

Elodie huffed.

“What was I supposed to do?” I heard the sorrow and desperation in my voice, “I could not tell you, I would never hurt you. As soon as I found out, I was appalled and never saw her again.”

“I already knew he cheated but not who he cheated with,” her delivery subdued, so fragile.

“I am sorry. I know what it feels like.” The swell of emotion too powerful for more words, I could not let her see me like this, the shame and upset. I stared at the floor.

“You do?”

“My only serious relationship ended that way,” I muttered. “She cheated on me. I was away a lot with work. He was a friend. I wished I did not know but had no choice, I caught them together.”

“I see.”

“That is why I kept my distance from you, that is why…” and I paused to keep those old memories in check, “I came here.”

Maybe it was only a few seconds' silence; it felt a lot longer.

Looking up, I met her eyes, “I did not know what to do….” Little more than a whisper, laced with an air of defeat, “If I told you, I might lose you. If I did not tell you, I might lose you. It was so difficult. In the end, it was none of my business.”

“Maybe,” and her vacant eyes returned to the wall, “Then Anne-Pierre told me about your liaisons with her and your plan. She said I would not be enough for you. She said that you and Gaspar are very alike and well, she would know, oui?”

Dejected, “I am not like him.”

Again, she gave no reaction, “So tonight, I know everything.”

The plausibility of Anne-Pierre’s words condemned me, enough to sow a field with the seeds of doubt.

Shot to pieces, I put my head in my hands, “God, I have been such an idiot.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Every look she gave me, they challenged me to understand her: hidden thoughts and latent desire. Those coy glances drove me to the edge of an elated madness. I would never understand her completely and I accepted the absurdity of the challenge.

Prone on the bed, demure, acquiescent, my next kiss tried to devour her. Full of determination, I seized on the swell of confidence. Slotted perfectly together, she clasped my neck and took me to her quivering bosom. My mouth filled with a hardened nipple, she pulled at my behind.

Another clatter of our bodies drew out her cry, “Oui… more…”

She shook with every thrust, yelped and bucked to meet the next. A day’s abstinence was twenty-four hours’ too long; my eager body physically neglected, and my soul famished. I fizzed with the energy of a refreshed mind and body; we groaned together and writhed together. Alert, inventive, attuned to her movements, her words, and involuntary actions; I exploited it all. Our ardour and exertion, she fought valiantly to match me, yet remained supine in this playful battle.

The squelch of sticky sounds and the rake of her nails, forced air exhaled as gasps and cries. Feverish hands ranged over me. She grasped at the flex of exerted muscles, unsaid words written on her face, juicy feline cheeks prickled with the flush of arousal. Her décolletage blotchy, I writhed against the heft of her breasts. Thighs high, wrapped over my hips, I plundered her sodden sex.

The caress of limbs, they flexed, responded, loosened, and tightened. Looking into her eyes, time lost its relevance, the emotion, sensations, scent and sound; two souls combined as one. The impressions of her fingernails spurred me with a sudden jolt, a groan, and louder slaps of my body against hers.

I sought that rich luxurious heat and pried at her flanks to release her legs. I rose and impaled her fully. This new rhythm yielded profound cries, the rebound of springy flesh, and the pearlescent emulsion of arousal. Nailed into the bed with every wanton thrust, a bead of perspiration fell upon her. She caught the next when she wiped my brow.

“Continue… ne t'arrête pas…”

Each echo of pleasure collided into the next; I can only describe it as possession, a tunnel vision of intent. My reward, her howls for air, creased lines in the corners of her eyes, eyelids clamped shut when she arched her back. She stuttered through her core, the next breath shallower than the last; she captured me in that tight viscous friction.

“I can feel you,” my voice deep and timbrous. “Take it, Elodie, show me how you orgasm.”

“Putain…”

A base word from my lover invigorated my attentions, “Do it…”

Scooping her up, captured in my bearhug, her fingers outstretched clasped my back and we found that place together. Her endgame revealed, mine, a distant prospect.

“Tu es si belle, prends ton orgasme” rasped in her ear, I swallowed to clear my throat, “Come for me.”

“Putain… putain…”

Lithe muscles tensed; I felt their conflict and waves of rigidity. Damp hands skidded and clasped tight against her flesh. Her teeth bore into my shoulder; she pulled at me for more and more. Each drive delivered as a calculated force, the fine line between assertiveness and aggression. Tightening, engulfed in a muscular vise, my gruff words exorcised her urgent cries.

“Je jouis… oh mon dieu… putain… putain…”

The pinnacle of her cries rose. She shook and trembled, stronger in amplitude and it telegraphed through her legs into her abdomen. Unable to escape my clutches; I would not stop until she expelled it all. Louder cries, ecstasy and the rattling limbs of her release. A swell of pride inspired me; I did that, her little death. Attuned to her, I slowed to match her descent.

“I… I…” she gasped, “It was…”

With random panted gasps, she mumbled more disjointed words.

“Shush...” Still moving, I kissed her softly.

In our hot embrace, distant birdsong mixed with our need for air. Maintaining this leisurely rhythm, her simpering lips demanded another gentle kiss.

“Mmmm, English, you… you can do that every morning.”

“Only every morning?”

She giggled.

My body sheened with exertion, I eased from her and knelt before her. Through weighted eyelids, she stared at the tumult between my legs. On tight sinews, the veiny swollen muscle cooled in the air. I let her look, her arms thrown up with abandon; she reciprocated. Her naked hourglass figure glossy skinned, breasts moulded to her body, each capped with thick hard nubs. From the cinch of her waist, the evocative swell of her hips to her loins. Swollen, scarlet red at the confluence of those shapely thighs, I looked up, and her eyes pleaded.

I adorned every curve with a kiss. The best of me at the forefront of every thought, I traced a direct path with the tip of my tongue. A single flick of its tip against her swollen clit, she melted into the bed.

“Mon dieu…”

A jolt from her prone body, I found the embers of her climax; she would have another soon enough.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I looked at the pallid vanilla of the wall too. For the first time in her presence, there was nothing to say. Condemned, I braced for the worst. Numb, I clutched the fading warmth of my mug.

Elodie finished her tea and placed the mug down. There was no reason to stay now.

“English, at the party, she played the same game with you to double her chances, non?”

Her change of tack confused me, “Her game?”

“Oui, her game. There was one thing Gaspar told me that she did not know.”

“Oh?”

“He told me the ménage à trois was her idea. He bragged about her experience too. He wanted to hurt me and those words did, they stayed with me. Now, I am glad they did. Tonight, everything that happened at the party made sense, they manipulated me.”

“She manipulated me too.” My automatic words heralded a sluggish dawn, deep from within.

“Oui, she did,” and nodded slowly. “If Gaspar could not convince me, Anne-Pierre would convince you to try. She knew I liked you, I told her. It was not your idea, I know that.”

With a deep sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair, “No… no, it was not.”

Our eyes met, the chastened, and chastised. Everything snapped back into focus with such a surge, the emotion threatened to overwhelm me.

“So… so what is this, Elodie, if you already knew?”

“No secrets, English, how I feel about you is too important.”

“Me too, Elodie,” I stopped for a moment, “I did not know how to tell you. C'est comme ça did not seem to cover it.”

“I do not want to be hurt again.”

“Me neither.” It was another long sigh of relief, “Was this a test?”

Elodie shrugged, “Peut-etre. She knew too much, she might try to manipulate you or me again. This was a search for the truth.”

“I see.”

“Forgive me.”

I nodded slowly, “There is nothing to forgive,” I surmised. “It is nothing less than I deserve.”

“It is not your fault, English.”

I blew out my cheeks, “I cannot tell you how much of a relief that is.”

Yet, remnants of her troubled expression remained.

“Elodie, what is it?”

“There was a fight.”

“A fight?”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“Elodie?”

She dabbed them away, “I told her what I told you. She was furious and said that she would take you away from me, just like Gaspar. She said she called you last week and left you messages. She was with a friend, a female lover. She said you would be tempted eventually. I called her a sale pute, a dirty whore, and a tricherie chienne, a cheating bitch.”

“Elodie…”

She held up her finger to stop me and more tears welled in her eyes, “I was so angry, she moved closer again, so I slapped her. She looked very shocked. When I left the office, there were people outside. They must have heard it, I could tell.”

“Fuck!” My raised eyebrows stayed there, “That is the Parisian way, is it?”

“I… I…” A tear fell down her cheek, “I have never hit anyone before in my life. It was horrible.”

Her resolve crumbled and streams of tears ran down her cheeks. Her doleful eyes pleaded; I could not bear this any longer.

“Come here.”

Sat together, I gathered her up and felt her tight embrace, “It is okay…”

A squall of tears followed and my consoling hand ran over her hair.

At that time, I only cared about one thing: her welfare. I remember the unwavering sense of responsibility and my acceptance of it. Only when I thought I lost her did I realise I wanted it so much.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Freewheeling thoughts created carefree actions. We arranged each other into postures and positions, moving sculptures of desire. A match for each other, we demanded more, took more, and gave more. Struggling to contain her, we competed for dominance. She lured me with soft whimpers of submission, and then struck to assert herself again.

Prone, I knelt above her, and wiped away the perspiration. A gust flapped the curtains and gave its gift of cooler air. Her leg clutched to my torso, I pressed on. The hard swell of her clit slipped under the pressure from my thumb. Broad shoulders and hips propelled her body to meet mine. Breasts stretched taut capped with hard nipples and they shook. Flushed cheeks, nostrils flared, her once mischievous eyes heavy, they smouldered back.

Clenched bedsheets, she bucked with the tremors that rose, the crack in her voice and rising groans. Convulsions and plosive cries, my hand that clasped her trembling breast, scissored her erect nipple, and spiced her climax.

If it was masterful, I do not know. Chemistry not alchemy, we shared our primal instincts, no more nerves or second-guesses. Friends, lovers, commitment, they fused together. Its deliriousness inspired us; we shared what it meant to each other.

The deep drumbeat, the heavy thumping demanded more air to fill my lungs. The heavy dew of perspiration, labouring; I trembled with lust.

Tilting her head, she took pity on me, “Let me do this for you.”

I followed her instructions, propped up on locked arms behind my body, my legs straight. She straddled my lap, pressed my head to her breasts, and rode me. Grinding with a smearing action or a determined bounce from her haunches, she clattered into me hard.

“I can do it too…” and murmured at my kiss in response.

“Oh, God…”

“Déesse,” she purred with a breathless giggle.

Goddess indeed, I wanted her from behind; she shook her head and pushed me into the bed.

“Open your legs,” I liked the authority in her voice.

Flat on the bed, my legs open, hers tucked under mine; she took me in reverse.

Tight at the waist, the slope of her spine and the glossy valley of muscle flexed. Between her shoulder blades, wisps of blonde hair swung to the rhythm of her brazen exhibition. Her peachy derriere stretched taut, she took me again. From the cleft of her behind, she rose; the two curves revealed her splayed sex. A creamy emulsion coated the tumult of my erection. I could not help but groan.

“You like the view?”

“Yes… fuck, yes…”

“You do not have to move, watch me…”

I thought of her as too demure for this. Exhibitionistic, lustful, she backed onto me with a roll of her hips. The unbearable view, sticky sounds, and slick rich heat engulfed me. Determined, the hypnotic rhythm, reliable as a metronome and I dared not blink. Turning her head, nude lips curled, they grew into a contented smile. Flushed cheeks, hair draped as a curtain framed her face and swayed. She pressed back and took it all.

Watching me, she eased forward and pressed back. I had to see it, those fine lips stretched snug around my girth, the tight knot above her sex, so inviting, perhaps unsullied. She purred with amusement and moved faster.

“I want your orgasm…”

“If you keep going, I am going to,” I groaned.

“Oui, then do it into me like this…” Elodie smiled, it bared her bright teeth.

“Like this? Into you?”

“Oui.”

Craning her neck, her sparkling eyes watched avidly. That swell of pressure teetered on the brink of release. She demanded it again and destroyed the last vestiges of self-control. Just like that, beguiled by her confidence and the enjoyment written large on her face. It needed no fury of movement. The outrageous vision before me fused with the realisation she could extract it that easily.

Rocking back and forth, a roll of her hips, she drew her legs in. The increased friction, the same determined pace; I growled. That relentless measured pace, she incanted the same words, the same command. My muscles bound by its intensity, the first deep muscular spasm made her gasp. The swell rushed forth; she felt it.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna…”

“Do it inside me.”

Deep throbbing belts of release gathered pace, the alacrity of its force made me groan loudly. Undaunted, she rose, and fell as my legs shook and back arched.

“Oh fuck!”

Pulsating spasms made her purr; my relief yielded a fascination in her eyes. Rapid lusty belts of heat vented from me; the gruff plosive strains of release bounced off the walls. Her relentless rhythmic undulating hips did not stop until she quietened my cries.

“Mmm… English…”

Reduced to whimpers, saturated in the potent refractory glow, she eased up. Wet, my fading erection slapped back onto my abdomen.

I looked into her eyes helplessly, “Jesus…” I gasped, “that was insane.”

“Wait… look, English, look at what you did.”

A bead of my pearly essence ran from her.

“Elodie! Jesus!”

She giggled as it dripped from her.

So much for the coy and diffident woman; the genie escaped its bottle. There was always that contradiction: how we embraced afterwards, my head on her chest. A tender arm held me, I did not need to ask, she told how much she enjoyed that. More softly spoken words and her fingers through my hair gently coaxed me to doze.

We did, maybe for an hour. We showered together; I could not keep my hands off her. We made love under the fizzing water, the compulsion to do that again too much to resist.

Our lazy day, we walked under the acid blue sky, happy in the warmth and held hands. In-between the nonchalant, funny, or incidental chit-chat, we shared that knowing look. We kissed in the park, sat, and watched the arcs of water in the fountain. A metaphor, too much to ignore, and we knew it. Eating a late lunch, we loafed, lounged, and chatted. Heady on wine, her hand reached for mine and in her eyes, I could almost read her mind.

To her apartment, we never made it to her bedroom; the anticipation smouldered all the way home. Clothes eschewed from the hallway to the lounge. On the edge of the sofa, we took each other in a passionate lotus position. Clinging to me, gasping for air, she drove out her demons and in those frantic muscular convulsions, took mine from me too. It felt so instinctive, so simple compared to that nervous first night.

Staring into space, embraced in a tangle of limbs and breathless, we mumbled our agreement for a truce.

Fulfilled, requited, my best friend, lover, and girlfriend: a potent mixture for someone so young. That kiss on Bastille Day brought us here, a helter-skelter ride of intense feelings, joy, and desire.

I understood for the first time what true happiness felt like.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Maybe it was the emotional fatigue, reclined on the sofa together to enjoy the silence. She lay against me in my arms, safe now; her caress slowly eased up and down my bare arm.

“Elodie, I thought I would lose you over this.”

I could admit it now and keep to my vow.

“Non, you told me the truth. I understand your discretion. You could not win when she told you. What you did was private, what happened to me was private. You were right, c'est comme ça.”

I sighed, “Thank you.”

“I am sorry too because I had to tell you all this. It is too much.”

“No, I understand. Why do you think she did it?”

“If she cannot have it, no one can,” Elodie huffed. “I do not know. She is a spoilt brat who lives off Papa’s money and plays at being yoga teacher. Maybe she is used to getting what she wants and you refused her just like I did.”

“I think you are right.”

“But, you are English and this is France. If you warned me, you would be in the middle of something you did not understand. She would have wanted you involved and I would not. This is why I have to tell you the truth so she cannot manipulate us again.”

“She will not do that.”

“She told many lies. The rumours are that her husband left her for the same reason.”

Leaving it there, we picked ourselves up with another cup of tea. We shared thoughtful words and tender moments. Gazing through the window, the weakened sun cast longer shadows and reflected off the opposing windows.

Elodie snorted, “I should not like this, but it is very good.”

She drained her second mug of tea.

“You want to be careful, too many of those and you will turn English.”

It was a playful shove.

“English, can I say something?”

“Sure.”

I felt a little wary.

“What you said at Montmarte surprised me. You asked me for the kiss. This is a bold thing to say. It has a hidden meaning that I do not think you understood. It meant you wanted everything else we did that night.”

“Oh,” I paused, a little stunned, “Well, I did, of course, erm…”

Elodie placed a finger on my lips, “Shush, it is okay, I wanted that too. When you kissed me, you said you waited until you could live up to it. I understand why you said it now, you respect me.”

“I will always respect you.”

She smiled, “I know this, and I know this because you have a guardian angel too.”

Leaning back, I lingered on her impish eyes, “Let me guess. Eva.”

“Oui,” she giggled, “She asked how you felt about me at the Gallery.”

“She told you what I said?”

Elodie tutted, “She is my oldest friend, what do you think?”

“Everything?”

“Oui, everything.” It was a mischievous smile, “English, I should be honest, I wanted you to meet her because she is a very good judge of character.”

“I had a feeling you did.”

“Eva said no man could lie like that, you said some wonderful things.”

“It is all true.”

“Oui, that night, I pretended that you were ‘mon copain’. I held your hand to encourage you, it is not a French thing, it is an English thing, yes?”

“Yes,” I kissed her softly, “And am I? Mon copain?”

She smiled, “Sans doute, English, without a doubt. I really like you.”

I reciprocated easily, “I really like you too.”

Elodie beamed and kissed me quickly. “There is an old proverb: à vaincre sans péril, on triomphe sans gloire. To win without risk is to triumph without glory.”

“I like that.”

“Bon,” it was a pensive expression, “please say it, English…”

“Ma copine.”

We embraced for a long time. Outside, the muffled sound of a moped rattled past. It jarred old memories of doubt and uncertainty. I understood her motivation that night, what we had mattered, I felt it too. I empathised with the hurt she felt. Now, I took comfort in her effort to reconcile the past for our future.

“English, are you hungry, have you eaten yet?”

I shook my head, “No, I would cook you something but I have nothing in. I was going to eat at the café across the road. You could join me?”

It was an apologetic smile, “I am not dressed for the café. Usually, I make a salade niçoise after yoga and have what is left for lunch tomorrow. If you buy me lunch instead, you can eat it with me this evening.”

The playful impudence in her tone made me laugh, “How can I refuse?”

“And you are cooking me a romantic meal tomorrow night too?”

“Extra special romantic.”

She kissed me softly, “Grab some things and stay with me tonight. We will eat, relax in the bath together, and make love. I want to sleep next to you and know I am safe.”

“You will feel very desired.”

She smiled with that coy expression, “I like that thought, English.”

“So we are good then?”

It was a silly question and Elodie knew it too.

“Parfait, English, nous sommes parfaits.”