Josh
I can feel her heart racing as I press her against the window.
Her breath hitches as I trail my fingers up her thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath my touch.
"Josh," she whispers, her eyes darkening with desire.
I smirk, my hand slipping beneath her shirt to cup her breast, feeling her nipple harden against my palm. "Let , Hailey," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. I feel her heat radiating from her body and I know she won’t try to stop .
With a swift motion, I unbuttoned her jeans, the sound of the zipper echoing in the silent room. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down her legs.
I kneel before her, my hands on her hips. I smile to myself as I feel her anticipation. Her body is trembling under my touch, and I fucking love it.
"Josh...you don’t have to..." she starts, but I cut her off. I swing her legs over my shoulders, my face between her legs. My tongue flicks out to taste her. She gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders tightly, her fingers digging into my skin.
I can feel her body responding to , her hips arching slightly, trying to get closer to . I hold her hips firmly, controlling her movents as I explore her with my tongue. I circle her clit slowly, then flick it quickly, changing my rhythm, keeping her guessing.
Her whispers turn into soft moans, and she’s begging not to stop. "Don’t stop, Josh. Please don’t stop," she pleads, and I’m fucking thrilled that I have this effect on her.
I continue to tease and taste, enjoying the power I have over her pleasure. Her legs begin to tremble, and I can feel her body tensing as she gets closer to her climax. I grip her hips tighter, holding her against my mouth as she rides out her orgasm, her cries of pleasure filling the room, echoing around us.
I look up at her, a satisfied smirk on my face, as she looks down at , her chest heaving, a flush spread across her cheeks, her eyes glazed over with pleasure.
"How about you take a nap and we go get so crepes after?" I say casually.
She blinks. "Um...yeah, okay," she murmurs.
~-~
The little café is tucked away on a quiet corner of the street, a cozy place with warm lighting and the scent of sugar and cinnamon floating through the air.
Hailey sits across from in a booth by the window, a soft blush still lingering on her cheeks. She’s wearing a simple hoodie now, her legs curled under her as she flips through the nu.
I watch her in silence, sipping my coffee, enjoying the way she bites her lip when she’s thinking. "You’re really considering the Nutella-stuffed crepe?" I ask with a grin.
She shoots a look, but it’s playful. "Excuse , after the week we had, I think I deserve Nutella. And strawberries. And maybe a scoop of vanilla ice cream."
I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. "You can have the whole nu if you want. I’ll even let you lick the plate."
She snorts into her water, trying not to laugh. "Thanks."
"Maybe we will take so back to the apartnt so I can lick it off your body," I say, straight faced.
She gives a horrified look. "Josh!"
"Or do you prefer licking it off your pussy?" I grin as I watch her go a deeper shade of red.
"We are in public," she hisses.
I raise my coffee cup and take a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. "So? It’s not like I said it loud enough for the old couple behind you to hear."
Her eyes widen, and she glances over her shoulder quickly, then glares at . "You are such an asshole."
I shrug, unapologetic. "Maybe. But I’m your asshole."
That earns a begrudging smile, and she shakes her head, cheeks still flushed. "You have no filter."
"And you love that about ."
She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch like she’s trying not to laugh. "I love that you know how to make everything weird."
"Sexy," I correct. "I make everything sexy."
She gives a look, then raises her eyebrows as the waiter returns with our plates. He slides the crepes in front of us—hers oozing with Nutella and strawberries, mine with eggs, spinach, and cheese—and gives a polite smile before leaving us alone again.
I wait until he’s gone before leaning in again. "Tell the truth—do you want to use the spoon or my fingers?"
She stares at , torn between mortification and laughter. "You are not turning my crepe into foreplay."
"Too late." I casually drag my fork through the lted chocolate on her plate, scoop a bit, and raise it to my mouth, making a show of licking it slow. "Mmm. Tastes even better when I imagine it on your skin."
She stares at , then abruptly grabs her fork and stabs a strawberry like it personally offended her. "I swear to god, you’re going to get us banned from this café."
"I’ll wear it as a badge of honor."
She mutters sothing under her breath and takes a big bite of her crepe. I watch her chew, enjoying the way her jaw tightens to hide the smirk creeping across her face.
After a few monts of quiet, she looks up at . "Matthew was right about you. You are trouble."
I grin. "Maybe it’s your job to keep in line."
"Yeah," she says softly, "I guess it is."
I lean back. "So what’s on the agenda tomorrow?" I ask, changing the subject.
She swallows, dabs at the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and gives a look that’s half professional, half sothing else entirely. "Call ti is eight. Hair and makeup at the studio by seven-thirty. We’ll shoot the streetwear line in the morning—rooftop terrace, skyline backdrop. Then location change around noon. Afternoon is couture, near the Seine."
I whistle low. "Ambitious."
She nods, already flipping ntal pages in her planner. "Marcus wants drama. Editorial, not comrcial. I need you focused."
I raise a brow. "You doubting already?"
"I’m reminding you," she says, eyes sharp. "This campaign could make or break everything. For both of us."
"I know." I hold her gaze for a beat. "And I’m in it. All the way."
That earns a small nod, a flicker of sothing in her eyes—relief, maybe. Trust.
But then I smirk. "Still doesn’t an I won’t flirt with you between takes."
She sighs. "Just try not to make the stylist blush."
"No promises," I say, raising my coffee cup in a mock toast. "To crepes, couture, and controlled chaos."
She clinks her mug against mine, the edges of her mouth curving just slightly.
"To surviving Paris," she says.
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