Page 84 of Velvet and Valor
“It looks like the audience is loving it,” Axel whispers in my ear.
I smile and turn to face him. His tie has come undone. I reach up and tie it back into place.
“This is Cannes, Axel,” I say. “The most generous of audiences for this type of project. We’ll just have to see what the general audiences have to say about it.”
“General audiences? I thought you were just a small, struggling art-house studio head. What do you care about general audiences? You want the film critics, the art-house snobs?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I want to make some dollars, too,” I reply, punching him lightly on the arm. “More money means more projects.”
Axel cocks an eyebrow. “You know, our story would make one Hell of a movie.”
I roll my eyes and groan. “Axel,” I hiss in a fierce whisper. “We have been over this and over this. It’s too ludicrous! No one would believe it was a true story.”
“It’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he replies. “You hear some stuff in the trenches.”
I give him a look.
“What?” he asks.
“When was the last time you were in a trench? I mean, an actual trench and not a metaphor?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, and laughs softly.
“Okay, so I’ve never been in an actual trench…but you know what I mean.”
Axel kisses me, slow and sweet. I cup his face with my hands and give as good as I get. The lights go up, and the audience applauds. It takes me a moment to realize the spotlight is on us. Sheepishly, I break off the kiss and look around to take in the accolades.
“That was embarrassing,” I say.
“Nonsense,” Axel replies. “You know you just added to your legend. Besides, the stars and the director are getting most of the attention.”
It’s true. In fact, it looks like we might be able to slip away without being assaulted by the press corps.
“We have little chance of getting a taxi,” I say.
“Our hotel isn't far,” he says. “We can walk.”
I look down at my strappy shoes and sigh.
“In these heels?”
His response is to sweep me off my feet, literally this time, and carry me out of the theater’s side exit. I throw my arms around his neck and laugh, kissing him and pressing my face into the nape of his neck. I inhale deeply of his scent, basking in his masculine aroma.
The chaos of the Cannes Film Festival buzzes outside the hotel window, a cacophony of clinking glasses, laughter, and flashbulbs popping like distant fireworks. Inside, the room is silent except for the sound of our breathing—mine shallow, his deliberate. Axel leans in, his lips crashing against mine with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs. His hand grips the back of my neck, his fingers firm, unyielding, as if he’s staking a claim.
“Mm—Axel—” His name escapes me in a breathless whisper, but he doesn’t pause. His kiss is a command, not a request.
I fumble with his tuxedo, my hands trembling as I yank at the bowtie, the buttons, anything to rid him of the barrier between us. He doesn’t help; he lets me struggle, a small, smug smirk playing on his lips as he watches me unravel.
Before I can respond, he pushes me down onto the bed, my evening gown bunching around my waist as he hikes it up with one swift motion. His hands are warm against my thighs, spreading them apart with an ease that makes me shiver. Axel’s breath comes hot against my skin as he trails kisses along the inside of my leg, each one a slow, deliberate tease.
“Axel—” My voice cracks, and I clutch at the sheets, my knuckles whitening as his lips inch closer to where I need him most.
“Say it again.” His eyes flick up to meet mine, and there’s a glint of something predatory in them.
“Please,” I whimper, my hips arching toward him.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through me.
