Page 112 of Don't Let Me Go
“Is that the matins bell?” Thierry yawns as I slip back into bed beside him. If I cock my head, I can just make out the tolling coming from the Cathedral of Saint-Germain.
“Yes, I’m afraid we’ve been quite wanton. It’s almost dawn.”
“What day is it?”
I laugh. “How much did you have to drink last night?”
“Too much.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Sunday,” he repeats, breaking into a coy smile. “And do you have anything in particular that you’d like to say to me on this day?”
“Such as?”
Thierry fixes me with his languid eyes, the green of his irises now glowing with a mischievous glint. “Felicitations are the traditional custom on the day of one’s birth.”
“Felicitations,” I say, sliding my hand through his luxurious blackhair as I lower my lips to his. Despite the two of us having spent the entire evening in ecstasy together, I find myself wanting nothing more than to forget all the troubles of the world by once again losing myself in the sweet oblivion of his embrace.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope you got me a present?” Thierry teases between kisses.
“I believe I already gave you your present,” I inform him as I climb on top of him. “In fact, I believe I’ve been giving you your present all night.”
“I was hoping for something more original.” He smirks. “You’ve been giving me that gift for years.”
“I’ve never heard any complaints.”
Thierry’s mouth devours mine, but before I can drink my full pleasure, he pulls away.
“How about a song, then?”
“A song?”
“For my birthday.”
“You want me to sing? Now?” I ask, glancing down at our bodies’ rather rigorous declarations of desire.
Thierry shrugs. “Don’t I deserve something exceptional on my special day?”
I sigh and shake my head. “Did you have a particular ballad in mind?”
“Singer’s choice. Surprise me.”
I rack my brains for something suitable and (more to the point) short.
“My lover’s lips are as soft as his kisses,” I sing painfully off-key. Unlike Thierry, I’m incapable of carrying a tune—a fact he perversely enjoys reminding me of whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Still, I have a plan to use this humiliation to my advantage. I slowlytrace a trail of kisses down to his neck, and his laughter melts into quick gasps of pleasure. Silly boy. I learned long ago that there is no part of his body that elicits such passion from him as his sweet and tender neck.
My lover’s skin is as soft as my breast,
My lover is soft in all the right places,
But it’s where he is hard that I like him best.
My right hand slides down his stomach, and Thierry breaks into laughter.
“And where, may I ask, did a well-respected mayor’s son learn a filthy song like that?”
