The hum of the jet engines had barely faded from my ears when Paris unfolded before in a sweep of glittering lights.
It was a short flight. Jace and I had been in comfortable silence all through. Whatever it was that was bothering him was deep. I really wanted him to let go and just have fun here.
From the car window, the city shimred like a dream. There were golden street lamps stretching in neat rows,. The sight of the famous Eiffel tower made grin. It was real!
I had seen Paris in movies, on postcards, in picture books I used to flip through as a little girl. But sitting in the backseat of Jace’s sleek car, my hand resting in his, it felt surreal. Like the city had been waiting for .
"Stop staring like that," Jace murmured, his lips brushing my ear as he leaned close.
"I can’t help it," I whispered back, my smile tugging wide despite myself. "It’s Paris."
That earned the faintest smirk, one of those rare monts when his stone-carved expression cracked and sothing softer shone through. His thumb swept over my knuckles once, slow and deliberate. A small gesture, but it left trembling inside. I wanted him.
My husband seed even more attractive to now and I wanted to hump him at every chance I got. I was almost tempted to straddle every ti we took a car ride.
Our driver pulled into a cobblestone street lined with tall Parisian buildings, wrought-iron balconies climbing their façades. At the end of the block, a hotel glowed with golden lights. Not just a hotel. It was the hotel. Jace hadn’t chosen simple or modest. Of course he hadn’t. He was the Jace Romano after all.
Inside, crystal chandeliers dripped light over marble floors. Staff bowed as we passed, wheeling our luggage into the private elevator. Jace had reserved the penthouse, naturally. The mont the doors opened, I was struck breathless.
Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a terrace overlooking the Seine, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower glittered, its lights blinking like stars falling from the sky.
"Jace..." My voice faltered. I pressed a hand to the glass as if touching it might make it more real.
His arm slid around my waist, pulling against him from behind. "I told you," he said, with his voice low and steady against my skin. "I wanted to show you the world."
I turned in his arms, eting his gaze. For a mont, there was nothing dangerous about him—just the man who had fought for , claid , broken , and sohow still held together.
"God, I want you to fuck right now." I said before I could stop myself.
He laughed while my cheeks turned red. Then he reached down and teased my clit with thumb. My mouth opened as a moan tried to escape it.
"Let’s enjoy the city a bit and I’ll give you what you want." He whispered in my ear. Now that was a promise.
We spent the evening walking along the Seine. Couples strolled hand in hand, boats glided under stone bridges lit with lanterns, musicians played violins that echoed in the cool night air. Jace didn’t talk much as usual.
When we returned, dinner had already been arranged on the terrace—a table set with white roses, silver cutlery, and champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. We ate overlooking the tower, the city sprawled below us like a painting.
"You planned this so well," I gushed softly, my fork hovering.
His smirk curved again. "I know,"
"You’re impossible," I whispered, but my chest ached in that way it only did around him, like my heart was too full for my body.
When dessert ca, I couldn’t even taste it. My mind was already spinning with the weight of his gaze on , the way his hand had slipped to my thigh beneath the table.
By the ti we made it back inside, the tension between us was a living thing.
I leaned against the window, watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle on the hour. My reflection showed Jace behind , his jacket already gone, shirt sleeves rolled. He looked dangerous, hungry and utterly mine.
I swallowed. And even though I just ate, I was hungry for his touch.
He closed the distance with deliberate steps. "You love it here?"
"Yes," I breathed, my pulse racing.
"Good," he said, caging against the glass with his arms. "Then let give you sothing to rember it by."
His mouth claid mine before I could answer, fierce and consuming, a kiss that stole the breath from my lungs. My fingers clawed at his shirt, desperate for him, while the hard glass pressed cold at my back.
He lifted effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist, his grip strong at my thighs. "How about we celebrate that?" he rasped against my lips, echoing the words he’d said back in L.A.
Heat surged through , blinding. "We should."
He carried to the bedroom, dropping onto the silk sheets. His gaze swept over , possessive, reverent, like I was both prey and queen.
The rest blurred into sensation. My clothes were stripped in haste, kisses trailing fire down my neck, his hands were everywhere. He took with an intensity that left no room for doubt. Each thrust, each growl against my skin was a reminder: I was his, utterly and irrevocably.
Jace pounded into with so much might, I felt I would collapse after each orgasm. How the hell did he have so much stamina?
The city of love frad us outside the window, but inside, it was sothing darker, fiercer. This wasn’t soft, tentative love. This was Paris in flas. Jace was claiming, owning, marking as his with every movent.
My body arched, broke, remade itself under him. And when his release finally tore through, his forehead pressed to mine, he let out a guttural whisper. "
"Mia cara,"
With that, I shattered all over again.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, sheets damp, skin slick. My chest rose and fell against his, my heart pounding like a trapped bird.
I should have felt tired. Instead, I felt alive.
"Jace..." I murmured, half-asleep already. "Thank you."
"For what?" His voice was low, rough.
"For this. For all of it."
His hand traced lazy circles at my hip. "Don’t thank . You’re my wife and I would do anything for you."
I smiled softly and soon drifted off against him. For the first ti in a long ti, I believed in the possibility of forever.
But even in my sleep, I felt the weight of him being awake. The way his chest stayed tense, the way his breathing never slowed.
And I knew.
Even in Paris, with the world laid at our feet, the war waiting back ho still followed us.
Sothing was off. I could feel it.
Reviews
All reviews (0)