,VALENTINE
1444 Words
In my wildest dreams, I never could have
imagined being in love in Paris.
Clocks and calendars dont exist. There is
only day and night and Cornell.
When we arrived at the hotel, he
practically had to carry me through the
lobby because I kept stumbling into things
in a daze, unable to believe what I was
seeing. Everything shimmered and
glowed. Chandeliers the size of cars,
indoor fountains, people elegantly
dressed. And our roon was even better.
Cream furniture, artwork on the walls, a
furnished balcony overlooking the magical
city, the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
It took us two days to leave the massive
suite because every time I got dressed in
one of the newoutfits that had been
waiting for me, Cornell felt the need to
take it off. We've made love in every room
of the suite several timnes. Not to mention
on the balcony and once in the private
elevator on the way upstairs after arrival.
True to his word, Cornell has spoiled me
rotten and I’ve given up on trying to
convince him I don’t need the fancy
trappings. He enjoys giving me jewelry,
silk lingerie and feeding me desserts and
I like seeing him happy.
Yes, happy. That’s what he is. Every hour
that we’re in Paris, he grows more
comfortable, smiling, laughing, being
optimistic. I thought he was handsome
before, but now that he constantly wears a
grin, his hair tousled from s*x, I lose my
breath every time he walks into the room.
Okay, so maybe Im partially responsible
for us rennaining in the suite so long.
But we’re outside now, evening has just
fallen and we’re walking along the Seine.
I’m wearing a pastel-pink dress with a
corseted top and a flowing skirt that blows
around my knees and makes me feel
beautiful. Cornell never takes his right
hand off me, resting it on my hip, then my
shoulder, occasionally fisting my loose
hair and forcing me to look him in the eye,
as if reminding me who I belong to.
I don’t need a reminder.
Cornell already has my heart and he’s
quickly capturing my soul. With every
look, every touch, every night that he
holds me. The only thing stopping me
from handing over every part of myselt
completely..is the fact that I haven’t told
him the truth about who I am and how we
met.
In Paris, though, so far from reality, it
becomes easier and easier to forget.
Especially now, when the sun sets and
Paris lights up around us, romantic and
beautiful and full of history, hope, music.
We’ve just had an amazing dinner at a
dark, candlelit restaurant and I’m
delightfully full. Cornell pulls me to a stop
In the nmiddle of an elegant square,
complete with a marble fountain, spilling
with water and red flowers. Twinkling
lights are strung overhead. I’m so far from
my old life that when Cornell picks me up
by the waist and settles me on the edge of
the fountainand pulls out a black velve
ring box-I think I’m dreaming.
“Cornell,” I breathe, hands flying to my
Mouth.
“Valentine.” His throat works with emotion.
But before he can sav another word, a man
appears to his right. An old, hunched-over
man in tattered clothes and no shoes. He’s
holding an ancient violin in his hands, the
neck partially bent.
He says something in quick French.
Neither of us responds and when it
becomes obvious that we didn’t
understand him, the man repeats himself
in English.
“Play music for you and the lady?”
A flash of annoyance crosses Cornell’s
face. He starts to tell the man to leave us
alone, but something in his expression
shifts. And instead of shooing the man
away, Cornell nods. “Yes. Thank you.”
That’s when I can no longer keep my soul
from becoming Cornell’s. Because he
doesn’t merely love me, desire me…he listens. He listened to mne when I asked
him to be more patient with people, cared
enough to try.
His actions are rewarded a moment later
when the old man begins to play… and it’s
quite simply the most incredible sound
I’ve ever heard. The swell of sound, the
delicate romance of the strings being
finessed by the bow, is poetry. The square
is filled with even more life than before,
passersby stopping to appreciate the
music.
Cornell looks at me in wonder, the ring
box still in his hand. “Valentine, vou’ve made
me a better man, made me see the world as
a beautiful place. A place to appreciate
instead of conquer. And I just want to walk
beside you through it forever.” He opens
the ring box as the music drifts around us,
the size of the diamond almost causing me
to fall backwards into the fountain. “Be my
wife, angel.”
“Yes,” I whisper, moisture crowding my
vision. “’Yes, Cornell.”
There is a sheen in his eyes as he slides the
ring onto my finger and pulls me into his
arms, spinning me in a circle in the middle
of the square, laughing. My heart expands
with hope and awe and affection. Our
mouths lock together, as they’re wont to do, and I’m being kissed passionately.
with such growing fervor that my
thoughts begin to cloud, lust tightening
and wetting my flesh.
Barely conscious of our audience, my legs
cinch up around my future husband’s hips
and the kiss changes tempo, growing more
ravenous, Cornell’s shaft hardening
against my mound, a groan emanating
from his throat. His fingers plow into my
hair and he attacks my lips, his tongue
plunging deep inside my mnouth, his hips
tilting forward at the same time and I
whine his name.
“Christ, I know what it means when you
cry my name ike that,” he says hoarsely
against my lips. “Means you need a good,
hard fucking.”
“Please, Daddy,” I whisper, my femininity
clenching.
He glances around us in frustration,
making note of the busy square, the people
seated at the nearby café who watch us
openly.We’re a half a mile from the hotel,
he says, striding out of the light onto the
sidewalk, before hooking left onto a lesser
populated side street paved in
cobblestones. My mouth races up and
down his neck, his hands delving beneath
my dress to palm my buttocks, his fingers
tangling in my lacy thong, tugging, sliding
it back and forth through the valley of my
sex.
Cornell steps into a darkened doorway and
props me against stone.
“Pull up your dress, baby,” he grits out. I
do as I’m told, gathering the hem up to my
waist-and a moment later, I hear his
zipper being jerked down. “God, you look
like a f*****g princess in this dress. And
you are, aren’t you?” He uses his steel
erection to move aside the barrier of my
panties, wedging himself inside me
roughly, groaning, thrusting the
remaining distance and making me
whimper. “Daddy’s tight little princes.”
I can only nod as I’m bounced fastfastfast
on Cornell’s thickness, his groans muffled
by the side of my neck. I tighten and
release the muscles of my womanhood,
the way I’ve learned he loves, the friction
sending ripples of pleasure through me.
Our mouths find one another and mate
frantically, the pace of his hips picking up
even more until the slap of us joining
echoes loudly in the streets, along with
our moans.
“Tell me you want my come,” he growls
into my ear, his fingers biting into the
cheeks of my bottom, one of his palms
cracking down onto my backside, sending
a delicious rippling sting to my core. “Tell
me you need it to live.”
“I’ll die without your come,” I gasp, my
legs beginning to tremble, all my nerve
endings racing around and buzzing,
pulling taut. I seem to reach this point
sooner and sooner every time we make
love, because I know what te do now. I
know how to tilt my hips just right so
Cornell’s s*x will drag up and back against my sensitive nub and oh, oh God. “I’m g-
going to…I’m going to..”
“Ahhhh. f**k, baby. Me too.!”
“I love you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. God, so much.”
We fall apart together there, in the
shadows of Paris, kissing in between
gasps, love thick in the air around us. And I
never imagine for a second that we can be
torn apart..
- Writer
