Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I need a second.
She presses up on her elbows and I have to look away at the movement of her breasts. She sees my struggle and kneels up opposite me. “Let this be about both of us,” she says, her tone soft but determined. She reaches for the wallet discarded on the bed beside us and takes a condom from where I keep them, tearing the foil open. I reach to help her but just a small shake of her head tells me she’s got this.
Tentatively at first, she positions the condom over my crown, lifting her gaze once to reach mine, but I have no notes. She gets back to it, rolling it down my shaft, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation. She shifts onto her bottom and hooks her legs either side of where I’m kneeling and lies back.
“About both of us,” she says. “That means you too.”
“Ellie,” I say. She should know how close I am. Being back near her, this close to her, knowing that we’ve both sacrificed for and committed to each other, is the biggest aphrodisiac I have ever experienced. I feel like I’m trying to stop myself from falling into a cloud of pure joy.
“Me too,” she says in reply.
I growl in gratitude and lean over her, guiding my cock to her entrance. I glance back at her.
“I love you,” she says.
I push inside, feeling her engulf me body and soul. “I love you too.”
I move slowly and surely, drawing out every second, but within minutes we’re both breathless, panting and crying out with pleasure and understanding.
We’re living our futures. Together.
Epilogue
Three months later
Zach
It’s just gone seven. The rattling of the doorknob on our bedroom door as Ellie heads to have a shower is my cue to save my work in progress—the second in the Butler Mysteries—and close my laptop. I’ve written some bloody good words today, as well as all the other stuff I’ve done to prepare for tonight.
We settled into our Paris routine quickly. As soon as Ellie gets home from the school, she hops in the shower and then we meet in the kitchen, share some wine and food, and talk about her day. I don’t ever have much to say. Even though I spend part of each day walking the streets of Paris, my mind is so occupied by plot and characters, I sometimes forget where I’ve been. Ellie, on the other hand, is full of stories about the people in her class, the lack of patience of some of the French tutors, and particularly, Chef Jean-Paul, their main instructor and personal torturer.
“Hey, baby,” Ellie calls into the living area. I open the study door. I may have insisted on a bigger, upgraded flat, given I was working from home each day and we needed two people to live together and not kill each other. The new place is about four times as big as Ellie’s previous accommodations, with a roof terrace overlooking the Seine and the pretty Parisian lead roofs and winding streets.
I lean against the wall, watching her as she busies herself in the kitchen. I think Parisian light must be different to London light. Ellie looks even more beautiful to me in Paris than she did in London or Rum.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say when she looks in my direction.
She grins at the compliment and half skips toward me, jumping into my arms.
“You smell delicious,” I say. “Like lilacs.”
“You are delicious,” she replies as she presses a kiss to my lips. Her legs wrapped around me, her fingers in my hair, I can’t help but growl. This could turn into something more really fast, but I’ll have to pull back. Dinner first.
“I warmed up the duck from yesterday,” I say.
Ellie braces her hands on my shoulders and narrows her eyes. “You did?”
“Yeah, and I made those potatoes you showed me a couple of weekends ago.”
“The Hasselbacks?” she asks.
“Are they the ones that look like hedgehogs? If so, yes, the Hasselbacks.”
“Did I turn you into a cook?” she asks, sliding out of my arms and taking my hand as we walk over to the kitchen.
“Not in any sense. I just thought it would be nice for me to cook for you this once. Although I don’t know what it’s going to taste like.”
She runs a finger over my jaw. “I don’t care what it tastes like. It might be the nicest thing anyone has done for anyone in the entire history of the world.”
“Really? Well, wait until you taste it.” I set about taking the duck from the oven and putting it on plates, while Ellie dishes up the potatoes and the green beans.
“Why do I always associate you with green beans?” she asks.
“I have no idea. Take it up with your therapist,” I say.