There it is again, that unsettling accuracy. I don’t know how she does it, but Jo sees me more clearly than anyone I’ve ever known.
The waiter clears our now empty dessert plates, but neither of us moves to leave. Halfway through dinner, another couple came in, but even they have left. Even the city outside seems dimmer, more private.
Jo laughs at something I say, head tipping back slightly, and I find myself leaning in without thinking. Drawn to her. Every time she reaches for her glass, her fingers graze mine. Every time she makes a point, she touches my wrist as if anchoring herself. None of it feels accidental.
I find myself memorizing the cadence of her voice.
“You’re very intense when you’re listening,” she says suddenly.
“Is that a complaint?”
“No.” Her eyes soften. “It makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.”
I don’t break eye contact. “You are.”
The words hang there unpolished. True. For a man who builds structures to avoid unpredictability, I’m leaning dangerously far into something I can’t model or forecast.
But I don’t step back.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
AXEL
https://www.youtube.com/watch" morinfos="?v=GOJk0HW_hJw
-is this love-
Finally, Jo and I agree it’s time to leave the restaurant. Jo takes my arm as we leave the dining room and walk across the foyer towards the old-fashioned elevator. I reach out and press the call button, and the elevator starts making cranking noises. Jo looks up at me and smiles. Even that cranking sound is perfect. The doors groan open, and we get inside the tiny enclosure. I press the button marked six. The doors begin to slide shut, then stop.
Jo laughs. “Tell it to close,” she whispers.
“Close, Mr. Elevator,” I order with mock seriousness.
But the door stays stuck.
“Maybe it only speaks French,” Jo suggests, eyes glittering cheekily.
My throbbing cock says, ‘indulge her. Consult your language app’. I open my app and growl, “Close the damn doors.”
Jo giggles as the robotic female voice of my app says, “Ferme ces putain de portes!”
To my amused astonishment, the door closes obediently.
“See, I told you. You can talk to paintings and elevators,” Jo says smugly.
The elevator makes a grinding sound then starts moving.
I step behind her, my hands sliding around her waist in a possessive hold. She leans back into me instinctively, her breath hitching as I nuzzle her neck.
Her soft moan hits me like a live wire. Instantly, every rational thought deserts me, and I feel the familiar surge of desire, the hardening of my cock, the need to be inside of this woman. She tilts her head back onto my shoulder, and I can feel her soft skin against my cheek. Then she leans further back into me, pressing against my chest, and I resist the urge to devour her there in the elevator, clinging to the last vestige of control. She grinds her ass against me, and the control vanishes as my cock rubs against her.
My cock is so hard it’s actually painful. She brings a hand down and slides it between us. Deliberately, she runs her palm across my erection and gives it a tight squeeze. Then she moves forward and hits the red stop button with her palm.
“There’s probably a surveillance camera in here,” I begin to croak.
But she places a finger on my lips, smiles, and shakes her head. “It doesn’t. I checked, and even if it did, so what? The French are not prudish. They are very understanding in matters relating to sex. There isn’t much time. How fast can you come?”