He cracks a smile. “Well, it’s considerably smaller now.”
“I can’t take it. It’s too much.”
“I meant what I said.” He leans closer, and my protests all dry up in my throat. “It’s not a gift. It’s not a favour. It’s a promise. If nothing else, at least let me give you that.”
I stay silent, not trusting myself to speak. I’m sure my eyes must have gone as big and round as a Pixar character’s by now.
“I’m going to rent out the place next door,” Julien continues. “I’ll make sure it goes to someone who won’t be a threat to Taverne Toulouse, and if one day you end up wanting to expand your square footage, maybe we can talk business.”
“But—But your wine bar,” I stutter. “All the money you’ve already put in...”
It’s exactly what I asked him to give up, but the fact that he’s willing to do this much for me just won’t sink in.
“I’ll need a few months to recoup, but with another chunk of the trust fund and what I’m going to be making off rent, I should be back on track by the winter.” He gives me a tentative smile. “Avenue Mont-Royal really wasn’t the place for an upscale wine bar, anyway. I’ve got my eye on a spot in the Old Port now. Maybe this has all saved me from making a terrible oversight.”
I scoff. “It would have to be one hell of an oversight to be worth all this mess.”
“It’s not the bar that’s worth all this mess.”
I didn’t think my heart could pound any harder, but it does. He lets a long moment pass before he says anything else.
“We’ll need to meet up, preferably with lawyers, to get this all finalized and sorted out—if you’re willing to accept, that is.”
“How could I not?” My voice comes out raw, and I have to clear my throat. “This is going to help so many people.”
It’s clearly not the reason he was hoping for, and I know it’s not the only one.
“And me,” I force myself to admit. “This is going to help me. This is...everything.”
“It’s everything to me too.”
In the entire time he’s been sitting here, I still haven’t moved any closer. After a moment of silence, he pushes himself off the couch, leaving me blinking up at him.
“I guess that’s all we, um, have to discuss tonight.” He stares down at his feet, his usual immaculate posture slumped with what I realize is dejection. “You can text me to set up a date for the meeting. I’m sure you’re probably tired from work, so I’ll head out now.”
He thinks I’m rejecting him. How can he not know that my hands are twitching with the memory of his skin, that my mouth is parched with wanting and my arms are as empty as a dry riverbed without him in them? I’m the cup outstretched toward him, and he is everything I need to be filled.
“Julien!” I jump to my feet and close the distance between us, my chest just an inch from his. I tilt my head back to look at him. “Don’t be ahass.”
My arms circle his neck, and my lips haven’t even met his before he’s lifting me into the air. I let my legs wrap around his waist. I don’t worry about being too big or too heavy. I don’t worry about anything at all.
He can carry me. He will carry me whenever I’m unsteady, and I will carry him when his own legs won’t hold him up. There will be days when we both carry each other, when our strides are more of an anguished crawl than steps to take us forward. There will be days when we can’t move at all, but I will be there holding onto him, and he won’t ever give up on me.
It’s a promise, and I taste it on his tongue.
We kiss like it’s our first time and like it’s our last, though I know this embrace is far from either. I dig my hands into his hair, the growl that rumbles in his throat when I tug on the strands sending a quake of longing up my spine. His hands slide from the bottom of my thighs to my ass, squeezing hard. I break the kiss, gasping my desire.
“I missed you,chérie.” His voice is almost menacing with want. “I missed the way you taste.”
“So taste me.”
That earns me another growl. He squeezes me again, hard enough to hurt, and then he’s manoeuvring us both into my bedroom. In a rush of skin and breath and mouths and teeth, he somehow has us both naked and on my mattress in record time. His eyes glint behind his glasses, sharp with hunger, and he sets himself up between my bent knees, spreading them apart as he lowers his lips to my stomach. Our pace has been frantic, but now he goes slow, giving me one drop at a time when I want the whole damn bottle.
“Rien n’est plus parfait que ?a,” he murmurs, the words coming out as hot breath on the part of me that needs him most.
Nothing is as perfect as this.
He teases me for so long and so well that it only takes the breach of his finger and a few flicks of his tongue to make me come. I’m still clawing at the sheets when he pushes himself to his knees and thrusts inside me. My pussy throbs in a mix of protest and pleasure as he pounds into me again and again. I’m so wet I can hear it.
