Vanished: A Bad Boy Second Chance Romance (11 page)

              This is the man Joey has grown into, and he knows how to handle himself, and he knows how to handle me. As he slides in and out of me, his hips thrusting down against mine, I feel myself cum again.

              “I’m cu-cumming!” I shout in a whisper, feeling my pussy tighten up on him, clenching down with each wave of my orgasm. I toss my head back and scream, but his lips meet mine, and he silences me with a kiss. I push my tongue hungrily into his mouth, feeling like I could devour him right here. His cock is so hard inside me as I cum on him.

              His hand slips behind my head and grips my hair, pulling my head back. He kisses me all down my neck and to my breast, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and sucking gently. I feel his teeth press down, just enough to almost hurt, causing me to quiver helplessly.

              The next thing I know he has me by the hips and is turning me over. My knees on the bench, he moves so he’s standing behind me. His hands caress my ass, then without warning, he spanks me hard. No one’s ever done that to me, and I’m shocked when I realize I like it. He must notice, because he does it again, on the other cheek. I gasp and he slides his cock inside me.

              The new angle is even better, almost too intense, and I’m already on the edge as he begins thrusting. Both hands on my hips, he pounds me powerfully, taking me like he wants me. His hands move to my shoulders, gripping me tightly, pulling me back on him. My whole body shakes with each thrust. It’s so deep. I can feel every sensation as he slides in and out.

              His hand slides around my chest and he grabs my breast, squeezing hard like he’s possessed and can’t help it. I grip his hand with mine, urging him to squeeze harder. He does, and I bend my head down and take his hand into my mouth. I suck on his fingers, pressing them deep into my throat, reminding myself of the feeling of his cock in my mouth. It’s turning him on, and I feel his cock grow even harder within me.

              My mouth opens slightly as another orgasm races through me. I stay silent this time, but I know he knows. My pussy clenches down as my back arches up and down. My toes curl and my right foot almost cramps up.

              “Yeah, baby,” he says quickly behind me, timing his thrusts to match my orgasm. He doesn’t just want to fuck me. He wants to make me feel good, and that makes him feel good.

              I feel him press down against me, laying me flat against the bench. He squeezes my legs together and groans, feeling the extra pressure and tightness around his shaft. His strokes turn slow and passionate, and both of his hands grab my ass and spread it apart. He’s watching his dick go in and out of me.

              I can feel the lust in his movement as he thrusts faster and faster. I can feel his cock swell, growing and growing, passing the point of no return.

              “I want to cum with you,” I tell him. “Fuck me hard.”

              My words inflame him, and his strokes turn wild and fast like an animal. He pounds me so hard I don’t know if I can take it much longer. My orgasm rises within me and I shout.

              “I’m cumming, Joey!”

              His cock twitches, and he cums too. I feel the hot shot of his seed spurt inside me and send me over the edge. I explode, writhing and shaking on his cock as he shoots inside me, over and over, filling me up and marking me as his. We cum together, and it’s the most amazing experience of my entire life.

              He collapses forward on top of me, pinning me down on the bench under his weight, still inside me. I can feel his heartbeat against my back as he lies on top of me, his lips by my ear. Everything inside me feels warm and fuzzy, and as he kisses my ear, and I feel his breath, I get a shiver from my toes to my shoulders. With a giggle, I turn my head and kiss his lips.

              “That was amazing,” I say with a whisper, listening to the soothing spray of the water against the tiled floor. Another soft laugh escapes my lips. I feel like a happy drunk.

              “
You’re
amazing,” he replies. With a kiss to my forehead, he lifts himself up, and I feel him slide out of me.

              “Oh, that’s the worst!” I say, feeling instantly empty and aching again.

              “I know,” he groans in commiseration. He sits beside me on the bench, and I turn and put my head on his lap. I lay there a while, listening to the sound of the water, feeling Joey’s heart beat against my cheek.

              “It doesn’t feel real,” I whisper. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

              “I hope not,” he says with a chuckle. “That’d be bad news for me.”

              He stands and moves into the stream of the water, and I find myself admiring his chiseled body, getting a good look at how well defined he is. This isn’t the body of a man who sits behind a desk. A furniture maker? Maybe. That part of his story may be true, but I know there’s more to him. Furniture doesn’t buy you private jets.

              But there’s time to worry about all that later. Right now, I can only focus on how great I feel, how good he looks, and all the things we’re going to do while we’re here.

              After all.

              I’m in Paris.

             
Hand in hand, we walk to the car, a black sedan that yet again, probably costs more than my entire building. I watch out the window as we make our way through the city. I’ve seen it so many times in pictures and on T.V., but actually being here is entirely different. I crack the window, feeling the warm breeze, smelling the city air.

              As the driver takes a turn, I see something on the corner.

              “Oh, stop! Wait, stop!” I rap on the glass divider, trying to get the driver’s attention.

              “What is it?” Joey says beside me as the car slows.

              “Can we get out here for a second?” I say as I hop out of the car. I turn and rush over to a little stand on the sidewalk. It’s a crepe stand! A crepe is like a pancake, but so much thinner, filled with something and then rolled up to eat. I’ve wanted one since I was a teenager, a real one.

              The stand is small, with two circular stove tops to cook the crepes. There’s a French lady in front of me, and I watch as the man behind the stand makes it for her. He dips a small ladle in the creamy, butter colored batter, and with a circular motion, spreads it quickly across the cook top. It cooks so quickly that only seconds later he’s flipping it over.

              He says something to her in French, and I curse myself for not spending more time learning the language. I think he asked her what she wants, but I can’t get much more than that.

              She replies, and he nods and smiles as he flips the crepe with a dramatic flourish. He pierces a knob of butter with a fork and rubs it over the surface of the crepe, then sprinkles it with cinnamon and sugar. Then it’s off onto a plate, rolled up quickly and wrapped in a napkin. He hands it to her, and the smell fills my nostrils, and I instantly realize how hungry I am. The lady walks away and I step up to the stand.

              “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he says, and I can’t stop myself from smiling like an idiot. He asks me something in French, but I can’t understand. Joey steps up behind me.

              “He wants to know what you’d like.”

              I turn to him. “You speak French?”

              He shrugs like it would be silly for me to expect anything less. I twist my lips playfully at him.              

              “Mmhmm, you’re just full of surprises aren’t you? I’d like two crepes,” I say. The shopkeeper immediately starts two cooking. He obviously understands more English than I do French. He looks up at me again and asks me another question.

              “He wants to know what you want on them,” Joey translates. I look about the shop, seeing cinnamon and sugar, strawberries and other fruit, whipped cream, and chocolate.

              “Uhm,” I say, trying to decide.

              “We’ll have one of each,” Joey says, deciding for me. The man working the stand nods happily.

              “Very good, Monsieur,” he says as he makes our crepes. I look at Joey as he smiles back at me.

              “They’re cheap. Might as well try ‘em all.”

              I watch as the man quickly makes our crepes, fills them, rolls them, wraps them and stacks them all in a small cardboard box. I take it from him and inhale the various aromas. My stomach rumbles and Joey points to a low stone bench on a bridge across the river.

              “Let’s have a seat and eat,” he says.

              “What about the car?”

              “He’ll be fine,” Joey says, leading me toward the bridge. “He’ll come get us when we’re done.”

              Holding the box of crepes, I make my way over to the bench on the bridge and look out over the water below. The River Seine, running right through Paris, the banks of the river walled in with stone like a canal. A long boat filled with tourists passes under us as I take a crepe from the box and bite into it.

              “Oh God!” I say with my mouth full of strawberries and cream. “This is literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

              Joey chuckles, his mouth full of crepe as well. We stand there on the bridge, watching the boats of tourists float by, feeling the warm Parisian sun on our faces until we’ve finished the entire box. I feel my lungs inflate with the rush of the scenery—the smells, the sounds, the people, and the flood of happiness I feel makes me realize just how unhappy I’ve been, and how much I was pretending until Joey’s return. He sends a text on his phone, and within minutes the car, or another identical car—I can’t tell—arrives and pulls up beside us.

              We climb in, and I can feel the anticipation growing in my chest as we thread our way through the city, past old buildings and sights I’d only ever hoped to see. And then, as the car takes a turn around a corner, I look out the window and all the breath escapes my lungs.

              There it is.

              The Eiffel Tower.

              “Joey…” I say, barely able to speak.

              I almost can’t believe it. You don’t get a sense of just how big it is until you see it from the ground. Pictures are one thing, real life is another, and even seeing it from the plane couldn’t have prepared me for this. The car stops on the side of the road and we step out. I can’t keep my eyes off it.

              A long park stretches out in front of it, lined with trees and bright with green grass. The cloudless blue sky reflects in several rectangular pools at the center of the park, and as I turn to look at them, I see jets of water shoot up from the hidden fountains within. I’m in awe. It’s just perfect.

              “A little better than a miniature, eh?” Joey jokes. I turn and throw my arms around him, hugging him so tightly he probably can’t breathe. I just can’t help myself.

              “It’s amazing, Joey!”

              We walk up the green grass of the park, passing groups of tourists and locals until we’re at the base of the tower, its four legs stretching up on all sides of us, each the size of an enormous building. I feel so small beneath it. This entire trip has made me feel small.

              “Can we go to the top?” I say, turning to Joey. But my heart sinks as I see an enormous line at the base of one of the legs, waiting for the elevator. Joey sees me sigh, but just smiles. “Or is it just too much of a pain?”

              “I think we can make that happen,” he says confidently.

              I follow him as he walks right past the line and up to the man letting people onto the lift. He simply nods, and the man gestures to us, allowing us to step in, the last people on before the doors close.

              I look up at Joey, my thoughts racing for possible explanations as to how he’s making this all happen, but when the elevator begins to rise, all those thoughts vanish from my mind. I look down, watching as the people below us grow smaller and smaller as we continue upwards. About halfway up, our elevator stops, and we have to change to the one that will take us all the way to the top.

              I feel the air grow cool as we rise, high over the trees, passing all the thousands of steel beams and girders that make up the construction of the tower. Instinctually, I feel my hand wrap around Joey’s. He grips me tightly and pulls me close to him, slipping his arm around my waist. It’s like something out of a movie.

              The elevator slows and the doors open, and we step out onto the observation deck of the top of the Eiffel Tower. It doesn’t even feel real. The wind whips gently at my hair as I look out. The entire city stretches out below us in every direction, the people tiny little dots from this high up.

              “Amazing,” I say softly. I can feel him smiling next to me.

              “Come on,” he says.

              The wind whistles softly as Joey and I make our way around the top of the tower, getting in every angle of the city that we can. All I see are countless places I want to go: the Louvre, the Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe. I realize I don’t even have a camera, but after spending my life looking at pictures of the city, the last thing I want to do is spend my time here looking at it through a lens.

              Those little pictures taped up in my locker could never do this place justice. Just like the memories of Joey could never be as good as the real thing. I guess you never really know what you’ve been missing out until it’s right there in front of you.

              “How about a drink?” Joey says from behind me. I turn to see there is an actual champagne bar behind us. We order two, and Joey raises his to mine in a toast.

              “To new beginnings,” he says quietly. I bite my lip, suddenly feeling nervous and excited, like I’m a teenager again. We clink glasses and both take a sip. My life in Stonehill seems a lifetime away, so much more than a six hour plane trip. I look up at Joey and realize I never want to be apart from him again.

              This time.

              This time he will stay with me.

              And we will be together.

              The sun is starting to go down, and I find myself sitting outside a café with Joey as the waiter brings us two Café Crème—that’s French for coffee with cream. As the twilight comes over the city and the streetlights come on, I can see why they call Paris the City of Love.

              Between the warm air and the coffee, I’m completely comfortable outside without a jacket. The day has been so overwhelming that I find myself staring at Joey like I’m in a daze. He looks back at me with the same smile he’s been giving me all day, and I know I’m not alone in how I’m feeling.

              I take the last bite of my buttered croissant and sip my coffee.

              “So now what?” I ask him.

              “Back to the hotel?” he replies with a wink. My stomach flutters, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to those looks of his.

              “That sounds nice. Can we walk? I’d like to see more of the city.”

              Joey frowns, seemingly not too thrilled with my suggestion. “Or not,” I say quickly.

              “No, no, it’s fine,” he says, but I get the impression it’s not. “We can do that. Let’s go.”

              He stands and quickly pays before returning and taking my hand. We head out through the square, leaving the café behind. The city isn’t busy as we make our way down small side streets on our way back to the hotel. We reach a fork and Joey takes a minute to decide. We turn right down a more secluded street, our feet echoing on the cobblestones, the sounds of the city fading into the background.

              We pass all kinds of stores, from quaint little French bread shops, to cheese shops, then finally we turn into a more expensive part of town filled with designer fashion shops and art galleries.

              I watch our reflection in the various windows of shops as we pass. I stop at one of the stores and move closer, looking in at the display. It’s the most beautiful jewelry shop I’ve ever seen. Everything is so elegant. Nothing too gaudy or ostentatious. I’m not a big jewelry girl, but something about the rings in this shop have me spellbound.

              My eyes land one ring made of brilliant white gold and a single, simple diamond. Very understated. I bend down for a closer look and feel Joey step up behind me. I look up and catch his gaze in the reflection of the window.

              “Sorry,” I say, standing up quickly. “Not trying to freak you out or anything!”

              I joke and move quickly up the street, pulling him along by his hand. “What? You don’t want me to propose to you?” he says. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so I just laugh a non-committal laugh and keep walking.

              The sun has almost gone down as we pass the River Seine, and all the lights have come on, bathing the entire city in a brilliant golden glow. As we turn down a side street, my nostrils are filled with the sweet smell of French bread as a little café closes its doors for the night. Somewhere above us in an apartment someone is practicing piano.

              It’s ridiculous how romantic this is, and I stop in my tracks, feeling Joey’s warmth at my back. I turn around and stare at him. I want to leap on him and kiss him. I want him to take me right here in this side street. But I also want to just stare into his eyes and share this moment. It’s so overwhelming it’s not even real. The best thing about Joey is he knows to wait for me, and he just stares back at me. 

              “Joey,” I finally say, breaking the silence. “I just want you to know. This has been the most amazing few days of my life.” He doesn’t respond, and I see his eyes flick past me over my shoulder, a look of concern coming over his face.

              “Joey?”

              He doesn’t respond. He looks back over his shoulder suspiciously. I hear footsteps approaching from behind.

              “Joey? What’s wrong?”

              Quickly, his hand moves to my arm and grips me tightly. His pace quickens, and I have to break into a jog to keep up with him.

              “Ow! Joey, what’s going on? You’re hurting me?”

              “This way,” he says, taking a quick turn down an alley. There’s a dumpster in the way, but he shoulders it aside like it was nothing and pulls me along behind him. We emerge from the alley into a small street and turn right, but Joey freezes, and I bump into him.