Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“I see.” There’s a lot more to those two words than meets the ear. I’ve known Andy long enough to read between the lines, decipher his mannerisms. If William and I haven’t discussed his sexuality, what else haven’t we discussed? Do we even know each other? Truly know each other, on the kind of level I should know him if I’m going to trust him with something as important as my heart.
“I know what I’m doing, Andy,” is all I can think of to say, not only to assure him, but because it’s true. The risks don’t matter. The choice to keep seeing William was taken out of my hands the moment I kissed him, and it’s exhilarating. Petrifying. My toes slipped from the cliff the second our lips touched, and whether I soar or plummet is completely up to him.
“I hope so, kid. I hope so.”
Our pilot interrupts, his voice breaking through the cabin speakers to announce we’ll be starting our descent into Paris soon.
If there’s one place to find out what William and I are made of, it’s got to be the city of love itself, right?
Chapter Fourteen
Laurence
I should be taking in the views along the river Seine, which I know from previous visits are spectacular at night, but my eyes refuse to leave William’s face. He’s beside me on our private boat, utterly mesmerised, absorbing the beauty around him. He only looks away when disturbed by the rattle of ice as I pull our bottle of champagne from the bucket in front of us.
“Top up?” I offer.
He holds up his half-full flute. “I’m good,” he says, looking straight past me, over my shoulder as the Louvre comes into view in all its sparkling glory, golden light spilling through the glass and illuminating the sky. “It’s magnificent.”
My gaze follows his briefly, but quickly returns to something more impressive. Him. Instinctively, I reach for his hand.
He pulls away, jaw dropping as he starts to look around…and then remembers. Ned, who is sitting up front, knows. “I forgot. Sorry,” he says, slipping his fingers through mine.
I smile, squeeze his hand, but I’m left feeling oddly hurt by his rejection. By the alarm, the horror of someone seeing my touch land on him. It doesn’t matter that I know why, that I understand…because I do. The ache remains, stabbing away at my stomach.
“Relax, William.” I make sure to look deep into his eyes as I say this. “Here, now, we can be whoever we want to be.”
He breathes out a soft, single chuckle, that morphs into the most magical smile, highlighted by the city lights skirting the river. And then he knocks the air clean from my chest, by resting his forehead on mine, nose to nose. “When we get back to the hotel,” he whispers so softly I can barely hear him above the ripples of the water, “I want to touch you like you touch me. I want…I want to taste you, Laurence.”
Sweet holy fuck. I definitely heard that.
I’m forced to adjust on the padded seat in an effort to relieve the discomfort in my suddenly extremely hard dick. I clamp my champagne flute tighter, half expecting it to shatter between my fingers, and curl my other hand into a fist, anything to prevent myself from reaching out and touching him. If I touch him, I won’t stop until he’s naked, and I’m not sure even Ned’s professionalism and talent for turning a blind eye covers what would follow.
So, I pull back, try to remember how to breathe. I sip champagne every thirty seconds like it’s a ritual, yet my mouth still dries out. We pass the Notre Dame, the Musée d’Orsay and the Conciergerie and they all seem awfully boring and unnecessary knowing the delights that await me back at the hotel. William, however, remains enamoured. This city will do that to a first timer.
Originally, after our river cruise, I’d planned to take William to a small, tucked away brasserie that stays open until the small hours and serves the best food Paris has to offer. After his revelation in front of the Louvre, though, I decide to keep that to myself. I don’t think he’s hungry. For food, anyway. There’s a charge between us as we make our way through the hotel. We stay close, but never quite meet. There’s almost a fear there, like awaiting the shock from static electricity.
When we reach the door of my suite, I’m reminded of Ned’s existence when he asks us to wait by the door while he does a sweep of inside. He walked in with us, rode the same lift, but the only person in my world since I heard I want to touch you like you touch me has been William Walker.
“All clear in here,” Ned says, reappearing. “You know I’m close by if you need anything.”