Page 34 of Je T'aime, Actually
“What?” she asked with a smile, looking up.
Monroe returned the smile, her eyes soft but determined. “I want you to come home with me…and stay the night.”
Chloé paused, hands still on the bag. “Are you sure?”
Monroe nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I want to feel you touch me before you leave.”
Chloé’s breath hitched, a flush warming her cheeks. The honesty in Monroe’s voice, and the raw need beneath her calm exterior, stirred something deep inside her.
She folded the blanket neatly, then stood, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’d like that,” she whispered, stepping closer until their fingers intertwined.
Monroe’s hand tightened in hers, guiding her down the pebbled path, the sea breeze carrying away any lingering hesitation.
As they walked side by side, the world felt quieter, smaller—just the two of them, drawn together by a promise neither wanted to break.
The train clattered along, a steady background to the quiet buzz between them. Chloé and Monroe sat side by side, close enough their shoulders almost touched. Their hands kept drifting near each other. Every little touch felt electric, but with other people around, they had to hold back.
Monroe fidgeted a bit, her fingers tapping on her lap, while Chloé sneaked quick looks, catching the slightest smile or when Monroe bit her lip. The air between them was thick, full of excitement, but also that careful restraint you have when you can’t just reach out.
Most people were minding their own business—reading or staring out the window—but an older woman nearby had noticed. She gave a little smile, like she was in on the secret.
They didn’t say much, just kept stealing glances and almost touching hands, each moment building up to when they could finally be alone and not have to stop themselves.
Chloé leant in, her breath warm against Monroe’s ear, and whispered softly, “Tu sais, cette femme là-bas, elle sait très bien ce qui va se passer entre nous ce soir.”
Monroe blinked, caught off guard, a flush rising to her cheeks. “What was that?” she murmured, a playful yet curious smile spreading.
Chloé’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she glanced towards the old lady. “She knows exactly what’s about to happen between us tonight,” she translated, her voice low and full of promise.
Monroe’s heart quickened, the tension between them deepening. The words were foreign, but the intent was clear; a delicious anticipation hanging in the air.
“I want you to talk dirty to me…in French,” Monroe stated in hushed tones, and Chloé giggled.
Chloé grinned, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh,tu veux que je sois sale, hein?” she whispered back, the accent wrapping around Monroe like silk.
Monroe’s breath hitched. “I have no idea what you just said, but I think I liked it.”
Chloé leant in again, lips brushing just shy of Monroe’s ear, “Je vais te faire des choses qui vont te faire oublier ton propre prénom…”
A shiver danced down Monroe’s spine. “Still no clue. Still very into it.”
Across the carriage, the old woman gave them another pointed look over the rim of her magazine. Chloé caught Monroe’s eye, barely containing a laugh. “We should behave.”
“We really should,” Monroe agreed, shifting slightly, her knee pressing into Chloé’s. “Later, though?”
twenty-seven
Monroe fumbled with the key in the lock, trembling hands desperate to open the door. They needed to get inside and lock themselves away—to be naked and intimate.
Chloé stepped up behind her and whispered in French,“J’ai besoin de te goûter.”
Monroe had no idea what she'd said, but the words, warm against her ear, sent a shiver racing down her spine—one that only deepened when Chloé repeated in English, “I need to taste you.”
The key finally turned.
Monroe shoved the door open and stumbled slightly as Chloé pressed in behind her, body flush, lips brushing her neck. Monroe dropped the keys somewhere—she didn’t care where—she turned them around and kicked the door closed with her heel.
The lock clicked, and in that instant, something shifted.
