🔥 STEAMY ALERT—mild steaminess in this chapter! 🔥

♫ One little kiss can turn into a thousand
One little touch and I'm gone ♪
(Bebe Rexha—Self Control)

Hair tousled into a messy bun, oversized purse hanging from her shoulder, Coralie dragged her suitcase along the narrow pathways. The Charles de Gaulle Airport fascinated her; filled with luxury boutiques, exotic language-speaking tourists, and flashing French signs.

The farther she was from baggage claim, and from the customs officers, the closer she was to the one who'd brought her there. The one she'd been yearning to see for too long.

Ryan.

He'd bought her a non-stop ticket from San Francisco to Paris and put her up in business class. Business class? Used to the standard end-of-the-wing seats and the crappy tray tables and the incessant disturbances from rowdy families, Coralie had had the best plane-ride of her life. She'd been cozy in her plush seat, sipping on complimentary champagne. She watched silly movies to not to fall asleep—because every time her eyes closed, she pictured Ryan. Dreams of fawning over him in his birthday suit, lounging on a bed of soft satin sheets, tapping the space beside him.

But she wouldn't be caught in her fantasies while inundated by so many passengers; she'd made that mistake last time she was on an aircraft.

Prowling through the throngs of impatient people, desperate to find the glass doors behind which Ryan would stand, she didn't regret the bubbly beverage she'd indulged in, because it eased her nerves. Since the second she'd finished packing her bags and listened to Delilah's long list of do's and don'ts and scampered out the door, she'd been dealing with drunken butterflies in her belly. The amount of winged creatures flapping about had multiplied once she'd received the confirmation number for her flight. It made it all real.

Hours and hours later, having passed customs in a jiffy thanks to her United Kingdom passport, she strolled through the sliding doors, scanning the horizon for—

"Cora!"

There he was, pushing out of the crowd, a bouquet of red roses in his grasp. His usually close-to-buzzed scalp showed hair that had gotten a little longer, and a few curls dashed down his temples as he hurried over to her, his shiny loafers clacking on the tiled floor.

She was too overcome with emotion to pay much attention to his clothes, but she spotted a denim pattern and a collar and buttons undone at the top, as usual.

Eyes sparkling, he immediately took her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth—no shame, no hesitation, not a care in the world that anyone might be watching.

Though shocked at his very public display of affection—were there cameras anywhere that Gemma might somehow hack?—she returned the kiss, letting her purse strap sway down her arm. The bag tumbled to the ground, and though she would usually panic, worried all the contents would spill out, she only had eyes for him.

"RyRy," she said at last, beaming, her fingertips trembling as she grazed his cheek.

He handed her the roses and kissed her forehead, taking hold of her suitcase handle. "I hope you had a safe trip," he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders once she'd fetched her bag from the ground. "I've got an entire evening planned for us, so hopefully you slept on the plane?"

"Um... a little?" She grinned from ear to ear—how could she have slept, even if she'd tried? All she did was think of him and of sniffing below his jawline for a whiff of his delicious cologne. Or of what he'd be wearing when he picked her up. And she had to say, now that her vision had cleared up, and she was no longer shaking in anticipation, she took in his attire—and smiled. The tight jeans and the form-fitting burgundy dress shirt he'd put on almost matched her imagination to a T.

Arm in arm, they meandered through the airport until they reached one of the exits. They whooshed outside to a slightly chilly, cloudy late winter afternoon. Taxis and shuttles cruised by, but Ryan motioned at a sexy black four-door Audi parked off to the side.

Coralie's eyebrows shot up. "That... is yours?" Not that she was a big car fan, but she could recognize a nice vehicle when she saw one.

"Well," he chuckled, opening the back door for her, "it's one of the company's, but being a director I'm allowed to use it at my leisure." He stuffed her luggage in the trunk, then shuffled in with her and glanced at the driver. "Nous sommes prêts."

Coralie's spine tingled from his French voice. It was deeper, hauntingly more seductive than his already delectable British accent.

"Fuck," she whispered under her breath, eyeing the silver bucket on the console—with a bottle of bubbly on hand. "Is that for us?"

"If you're up for it." Ryan seized the bottle—already opened—and the two flutes wedged next to it. As the car took off, he poured them each a glass. "To toast your arrival in the city of love. Santé."

As their cups clinked, Coralie bit her lip, eager to arrive in the French capital.

For the first few minutes, they sipped on their drinks, close but barely touching, tension building every time they stole a glance at one another. But once their flutes were drained, they no longer had any excuse to pretend to not want to devour each other.

With a flip of a switch, Ryan activated a tinted glass between the driver and the backseat. He then turned to Coralie with his mouth parted, his tongue dancing in excitement.

"Come here, you," he said, pulling her into his lap.

"RyRy! This is dangerous," she said, feigning offense yet not resisting him as she set her thighs on either side of his and lowered onto him.

"I got you." His palms wrapped around her legs as he yanked her closer. His breath—a hint of mint and a swish of champagne—blew over her cheeks and nose, and she shuddered.

The thinly layered leggings she wore offered little separation between their bodies. Within seconds, she felt him growing hard against her as her abdomen filled with bubbles—and not from the champagne.

It didn't take long for the windows to fog up and for Coralie's spine to coat in sweat as they exchanged languorous kisses charged with hunger. The outside world no longer mattered as their hands wandered under shirts and past waistbands, as they rocked back and forth, rubbing against one another with a fervent desire to caress, undress, forget.

But as she unzipped Ryan's jeans, desperate for another glimpse, another feel of that giant member between his legs, he moaned, and begged her to wait.

"Not here," he said, trailing kisses along her temples, her cheekbones, then nibbling on her lip. "We'll be at the hotel soon, and I'm sure you'll want a shower to freshen up, yeah?"

Leaning back to adjust her bra straps and fix her top—and purposely playing with her boobs, showing off in front of him as he groaned—Coralie nodded. "Only if you join me."

The rest of the trip felt like it lasted for hours as they fought their urges, sitting side by side with fidgeting fingers, itching to touch, to tease, to grab. They maintained a steady conversation; Ryan pointed out landmarks, Coralie squirmed at the sights.

Soon they rolled near the Arc de Triomphe and cruised down Avenue Hoche, a few streets away from the Champs-Élysées.

"We're down this way," said Ryan, adjusting his slouched posture and fixing his ruffled collar. He shifted about to ensure his not-quite-calmed down erection didn't show as the vehicle slowed down.

They parked in front of an immense stone arched entrance, and as Coralie got out she lost her breath, gaping at it in admiration. Uniformed men stood outside the doors, and tourists and citizens shuffled past them, stopping to view the building, stuck in the same awe as her.

"Wow."

Ryan tipped the driver, and as a bellboy ran out to retrieve her luggage, they entered the prestigious hotel. In the entrance, sculptures and artwork and modern designs greeted Coralie, and she realized her imagination had deceived her. Reality was a thousand times better.

She steered towards the check-in counter, but Ryan drove her away from it. "We're already checked in," he withdrew a keycard from his pocket, "so let's head on up."

He'd told her the day before that he booked them a Junior Suite, which Coralie knew to be one of their lower-end suites, yet it still cost a fortune. At that point, surrounded by so much luxury and exquisite taste, she was certain she'd be happy sleeping in the mirror-lined elevator.

Once inside the room, she again found it difficult to breathe.

There were polished mirrors and abstract works of art and sleek designs on the bedspread and the sofa. An open window to the left let in a subtle breeze, billowing through thick white curtains. The sound of Parisian traffic whooshed in, and the pristine Queen-sized bed rested in front, with rose petals sprinkled atop the duvet that matched the drapes.

"RyRy, this is... wow." She spun on her heels, drinking in the details, feeling like a Disney princess about to break out in song. And she almost did when she viewed the acoustic guitar near the leather couch. "Shit!" She scampered over to it, and located a door leading to what appeared to be a modern, metallic-style bathroom. "This is even better than in the pictures."

She managed two steps backwards before Ryan swept her off her feet and carried her into said bathroom.

As he deposited her on the pristine white tiles, he kicked off his shoes. "Remove everything." He unbuttoned his shirt, studying her reaction, watching her as her cheeks inflamed and her knees weakened. "I want to shower with you, now."

She was unable to take her gaze off him as he stripped, baring his perfect arms and his sculpted abs and his oh-so-phenomenal ass.

So she obeyed, freeing herself from every item of clothing until everything cluttered on the floor and she stood before him in the nude.

He chewed on his lip, tracing a fingertip from her chin to her navel, but lingering a few extra seconds between her breasts. "God, you are gorgeous."

Before she could reply, he hastened to the shower, turned it on, and beckoned her over. She entered first, then he rubbed his hands together as he climbed in with her.

He caressed her upper back as she let the steamy water drizzle down her face.

"You spoil me," she said, her voice trapped in her throat, torn between emotion at such a wonderful gift, and the growing urge to touch him all over. "This is incredible."

"You deserve it," he mumbled, licking her earlobe, unleashing a horde of chills from her head to her toes.

***

The shower lasted much longer than either had expected, as they kept swearing to get out, dry off, get dressed... but they couldn't stop kissing, lathering more soap onto one another, and repeating their foreplay. But eventually, Ryan took the upper hand and dragged her out before she could, once more, drop to her knees and start fondling his penis with her tongue.

"Come on, missy," he laughed, depositing her on the counter as he wrapped a towel over her head. "Hurry and get ready, we have dinner reservations."

She did her best to hasten, rummaging through her suitcase for an appropriate outfit. Based on his brief explanation of where they'd be eating—the gourmet restaurant in the hotel, Il Carpaccio—she picked out a knee-length dress of black and white lace with a low but respectable neckline. She smirked as she slid it on—he'd have a hard time focusing on his food.

A few touches of makeup and a quick blow-dry job later, she was ready.

As he admired her slipping on her black pumps, he whistled. "How did I get so lucky?" Approaching her from behind, he weaved his arms around her waist. "You are stunning, smart, sexy... and everyone will have their eyes on you tonight."

He cleaned up well himself, in the same dark jeans, but with a black shirt and a matching jacket that she had no doubt had cost easily a thousand dollars.

"And you are the hottest guy on the planet, I'm sure of it." She kissed his cheek, and they headed out.

The restaurant wasn't what she'd expected, and yet it delighted her all the same. Despite its renown and popularity, it was understated, simple, and the scents within it were heavenly. Its touches of forest green and cheerful yellow put her in an even better mood, and the wine Ryan ordered melted on her tongue as they shared appetizers.

She recounted the past few weeks for him—skipping her moments of depression while crying over him—and he explained some of the problems he'd been having at work.

They were never bored, the conversation never stopped, and the alcohol flowed until they'd consumed a full bottle, and craved another.

But by the time the dessert menus came out, Coralie couldn't conceal her yawning. She was exhausted, and should have anticipated that she and Ryan would get right to physical business.

She should have slept on that damn plane.

"How are you feeling?" Ryan closed the menu and cocked his head, squinting at her. "We can call it a night. Knowing you, you didn't nap at all because you were too giddy about being in business class, hm?"

"How do you know me so well?" She yawned again, and though the crème brûlée screamed her name, she worried she wouldn't be able to open her mouth to eat it. "But yeah... I'm tired."

He pushed his chair back and dropped his napkin onto the table. "Then bedtime it is!" With a dashing smile, he hurried to help her up, and scribbled the room number on their check. "I have actual plans for us tomorrow, so a good night's sleep would be ideal."

"Real sleep," she said, as they crammed into the elevator, and she sighted her ghastly reflection in the mirrors. Her makeup was still intact, but the bags beneath her eyes refused to stay hidden. "I don't think my legs can take another round of sex."

Smirking, he pressed a finger to her lips. "Real sleep, don't worry. I have some work to do, anyway."

Inside the room, he scooped her up and hauled her to the bed. After removing her shoes and her dress, leaving her in her lacy underwear—that he looked ready to rip off her, but battled not to—he tugged the covers over her and placed a peck on her forehead.

"Rest, darling. Recharge." He backed away, watching her nuzzle into the pillow as she blew him a kiss, and he winked. "I'm so happy you're here."

As she flipped to look out the window at the nighttime Parisian view, she sighed, allowing pleasure to fill her lungs and a steady rhythm to capture her heart and lull her off to dreamland.

Me too, RyRy. Me too.

♥♥♥