Page 50 of From Paris, with Butter
With maddening patience, Laurent folded it neatly and set it on the coffee table.
“It’d bother me if I left it like that,” he admitted sheepishly.
Somehow, that grin made me want him even more.
I reached for his shirt, but Laurent had already started unbuttoning it. Impatiently, he peeled it and his tight gray undershirt off. His bare stomach was taut, a faint trail of blond hair leading lower.
Lightheaded with desire, I closed the gap between us, my palms flattening over Laurent’s chest. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, and before I could savor it, he was kissing me while his fingers found my zipper. In a breath, my dress was sliding down my arms.
“Margot,” Laurent groaned, his voice turning my name into something urgent and desired.
Suddenly, Laurent scooped me up, holding me close as I rested my head against his chest, safe in the circle of his arms. He had chef arms, hard and muscled, and he balanced my weight easily as he carried me to his bedroom.
I’d glimpsed the space before, but never entered. Even now, flushed and tangled with him, I smirked: not a hair out of place. I bet he ironed his sheets.
But Laurent didn’t seem concerned about the sheets getting wrinkled nowas he tossed me onto the bed. I suppressed a laugh as I imagined him folding our discarded clothes, but he seemed happy enough to let them pile messily on the ground.
As he looked at me, a quiet sound escaped Laurent’s lips, something halfway between a sigh and groan. He swung a leg across my hips, straddling me. Held in place by his thighs, the only thing I could do was try not to drown in his touch. Only the thin lace of my panties separated us.
Laurent kissed me again, more urgently now, sucking my bottom lip and tracing me with his tongue. Before my dizzy, loved-up mind could catch up, Laurent had slid off the bed and knelt on the ground. I felt him slide my panties down my legs. Lifting my head, I saw his mouth curve into a crooked grin. And then all I saw was stars.
I clutched at him, at the sheets, at anything that would hold me together. Laurent paused, smug, grinning up at me, before I dragged at his shoulders in desperation. Obliging, he climbed onto the bed and pressed the full length of his body against mine. He moved against me, and every nerve in my body ignited.
I raked my hands through his hair, along the hard lines of his back.
“Margot,” he groaned into my mouth. The sound alone nearly finished me.
All of Laurent’s smooth self-assurance that had been so prominently on display the first time we’d met was gone. In its place was this sweating, tousled man, undone and entirely mine.
“Margot.”
I will never get tired of hearing that voice speak my name.
“I need to kiss you.”
Laurent looked so desperate I nearly laughed.
“Then kiss me, mon chérie.” I tipped my legs back so that my ankles were roughly in line with my head (Thank you, Yasmine, for suggesting we take that yoga class, which was objectively terrible and full of sweaty, grunting people, but got me into the habit of stretching).
Laurent followed me down, pressing me into the mattress as he pressed his mouth to mine.
I tangled a hand in his damp curls. His low, animal moan rolled throughme, carrying me over the edge until I broke apart beneath him.
When at last he shuddered to stillness, I held him close, both of us gasping.
“Laurent,” I whispered.
He cracked one golden eye.
“Next time,” I murmured, “keep the apron on.”
***
As our breathing quieted, we lay on the bed, Laurent curled around me. Between the Prime Minister’s meal being over (already that dinner seemed so long ago) and finally consummating things with Laurent, I was giddy with happiness. A laugh bubbled out of me, and I buried my head in Laurent’s shoulder, shaking with giggles.
“What’s so funny?” he murmured.
“Nothing,” I whispered as I snuggled closer to him. “You saved me, by finding that cheese.”
