I Love You Ten Million Times Over

Chapter 2

Chapter 2“So how did it go Friday night?” said Margaux Monday morning at the office. She tried to appear casual, but I knew she wanted details. Usually I gave her all the details she wanted about my little flings, but this time I found I did not want to tell her everything. Like what Jean Claude looked like naked, for example. So I filled her in on what I wanted to share, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity, and hoping she would not notice the details I left out that I usually shared.

“You actually went to the Louvre together? Wow, that’s a first. I don’t ever remember you going to a museum with another man.”

“Well, we found out we were interested in the same exhibit,” I said, not knowing what other response to come up with.

“I see,” said Margaux doubtfully. “And then what?”

“It was time to part. I needed to go home and get into a fresh set of clothes, and I didn’t need another big meal after that breakfast he made.”

“So you actually spent a Saturday night alone?”

“Yes!” I didn’t tell her I was exhausted. “Now get some work done, for God’s sake!”

The truth was that the twenty-four hours spent with Jean Claude had caught me somewhat off-guard. I had expected to have a good time, go home in the morning, and probably never see him again. But I had enjoyed the time with him so much that I found I was actually looking forward to a second time. And I needed some time to sort out my feelings.

He had offered to take me to dinner, but I had declined. He was growing on me too quickly, and I had to slow things down. Was it possible I was falling in love with him? And I was afraid that he might be falling in love with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, either. I liked him way too much to see him hurt if I didn’t feel the same way. Things had to be slowed down. I had told him to call me next week.

But he couldn’t wait that long. He called me Wednesday night.

“It has already been four days since I have seen you,” he said, “and I find I am counting the hours until I see you again. Will you go to dinner with me Friday night? And there is a new exhibit opening at the D’Orsay. Let’s go on Saturday.”

I ignored the insinuation that I would be staying with him on Friday night. We both knew that was a given. The impressionist museum home to Monet and Seurat was my favorite. I needed no further persuasion.

“Yes, I’d like that,” I blurted out way too quickly. But it really didn’t matter. I had had enough time to sort out my feelings. It was clear that I was quite fond of him, maybe even falling in love with him. There was nothing to do but go on down the road and see where it went. And it was clear that he was in love with me. I could see it in his eyes that first night, and when he had carried me to the bedroom after breakfast. For him it was more than just s*x.

He picked me up at work Friday in his black Mercedes and took me to a wonderful restaurant, again in the newer part of Paris, near where he lived. It was wonderfully French, wonderfully intimate, and very attentive to his needs, as it appeared he was a regular there. We lingered over a bottle of wine and filet mignon. I lost all track of time. We must have been there at least three hours before walking the three blocks back to his place. There we fell into each other’s arms and made passionate love, just as passionate as the week before, if not more. But somehow it was different. We both knew we had feelings for one another now, and knowing that made everything from start to finish more intense. Afterward, he nuzzled my face and gave me a thousand gentle kisses until I fell asleep in his arms.

Saturday morning was bright and sunny, and again he made a great breakfast and brought it to me in bed. We had our coffee admiring the view out of his living room windows, then showered and prepared to go to the museum. I had come prepared this time, with a change of clothes more fitting for a relaxed Saturday outing, not to mention a bag full of make-up.

I always enjoyed the D’Orsay, a museum unlike any other, converted from an old train station, with an open floor plan. And going through it with someone to whom I could explain some of my favorite paintings, and he explain his, made it a much richer experience. The time passed quickly, and we went to the café for a coffee to cap off the afternoon.

“Arielle,” said Jean Claude, looking at me earnestly, taking my hand in his, “please come home with me tonight. I do not wish to spend the night without you.”

Yeah, he was in love, all right. Head over heels. And I couldn’t resist. He was such a gentleman, so dashingly handsome, so mature in his love making. He was so different from the average twenty-two-year-old I usually took home for an evening’s entertainment. Had I been missing something all these years?

“You mean you want me to stay for the whole weekend? One night isn’t enough for you?”

“Arielle, one night with you will never be enough for me.” I thought he was going to say more, and I didn’t want him to. I wasn’t ready for more than a night or weekend yet. If he was already thinking of us moving in together, it was ridiculous. It was way too soon. We didn’t know each other near well enough yet. But more than that, I had never seen myself as living with a man, enduring his bad habits, watching him get fat, bald, old, or just take me for granted as one more of his possessions. That was never going to happen. I was going to make sure of that. Any love affair of mine would run its course and be properly ended before it became boring. And no man was ever going to consider me his possession.

Seeing my hesitation, he asked, “Is there something about sleeping with me that you don’t like? Do I snore? Do I pull the covers off you? Do I not leave you enough room on your side of the bed?”

“Of course not,” I laughed. “I always enjoy spending the night with you. You are so adorable when you are sleeping, your long eyelashes just adding to the attractive package. And you always make me a wonderful breakfast.”

He smiled. “Then will you stay with me tonight?”

“Yes, of course I will,” I said, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze. “But it’s only mid-afternoon. What should we do with the rest of the day?”

“I can think of a few things,” he smiled. “But we’ll save that for later. Would you like to do a little shopping? Maybe you would allow me to buy you something.”

“Shopping, yes,” I said. “But we’ll see about any gifts. You are already spoiling me, pampering me with dinners, breakfasts, trips to museums. We like the same things. You’re not dragging me to a football game or making me sit in a bar watching a game with your friends. That is enough for now.”

We wandered out of the museum and walked through a few stores. There was a Versace handbag that I just had to have, but I didn’t allow him to buy it for me. We looked at some things at a very expensive jewelry store. Here the prices were out of my range. He wanted me to try on a necklace, but I shook my head. It was too expensive for me to buy, and I did not want him buying it for me, even though I was quite sure he could afford it.

“Shall we find a good restaurant for the evening?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” I protested. “After last night’s big meal, and your marvelous breakfast this morning, I’m going to be growing out of all my clothes if I keep that up.”

“Then I will buy you new clothes,” he shrugged.

“No, you won’t. I’m not going to start gaining weight. Let’s stop and pick a few things up on the way back to your place and I’ll make you a marvelous salad. It’s time I showed you that I’m not totally helpless in the kitchen. But first I need to powder my nose.” I asked the girl at the counter to point me in the direction of the ladies’ room. All these high-end stores had them, nice clean ones.

“Do you like mushrooms?” I asked him as we made our selections at the grocery.

“Yes, I love them,” he said. “And endive, some red cabbage, and look at these marvelous tomatoes.”

“What kind of dressing is your favorite?”

“You leave that to me. I have one I make from scratch. I have all the ingredients for it. I can throw it together in a few minutes.”

I decided to trust him on that, even though I had no idea what it might be. We carried our bag of fresh vegetables out of the store, unable to resist a loaf of freshly baked French bread on the way out.

As we prepared our light meal, we continued to talk animatedly, as if we had not already spent the whole day together. He helped me slice and dice the vegetables, throwing a few ingredients, along with a few fresh raspberries, in the blender, making the most marvelous raspberry vinaigrette I had ever tasted.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a dressing made with fresh raspberries,” I remarked, as we savored our light supper.

“It’s from the restaurant where we had dinner last night,” he said. “It’s supposed to be a house secret, but I visited the kitchen one evening and talked the chef into giving it to me. But he made me promise not to give it to anyone else!”

“So if I want it, I’ll have to bribe you?” I laughed.

“No,” he said. “I’ll make you all you want.”

We ate our meal slowly, lingering once again over a bottle of wine, this time from his wine rack. Afterward, after putting everything away and tidying up the kitchen—I insisted on helping him with that—we enjoyed coffee while we once again looked down on the lights of Paris. I always enjoyed looking down on all the streets radiating out from the Arc de Triomphe, as if it were the hub of a giant wheel. As a Parisian, that was always very symbolic to me.

I turned to speak to him, and he was standing there smiling at me, admiring me. In fact, he was beaming. He was holding a small box in his hand.

“Arielle,” he said, “I wanted so much to buy you a gift this afternoon, to show you how much you mean to me, but you wouldn’t let me. But when you left my side for a moment, I decided to buy you these.” He held the box out and opened it. Inside was the largest pair of diamond earrings I had ever seen in my life. The label on the box said 1.5 carats.

I was speechless. I wasn’t ready for this sort of thing. That was why I had asked him not to buy me anything. None of my men had ever bought me anything. Most of them didn’t have the money to do that, and I wasn’t even with most of them long enough to give them the chance. They were just play toys to me. I had no feelings for them. They were just entertainment.

Of course, things were different with this man. But how different? I was fond of him, yes, but was he just a play toy that would last a bit longer? I had never felt this way with a man. I had never allowed myself to feel this way with a man.

“Jean Claude,” I said softly, “they’re lovely. Truly stunning. They are truly a wonderful gift. But I can’t accept them.”

He looked downhearted. “Why on earth not? I can’t buy you a gift to show you how much I love you?”

And there it was. The “L” word. Already. I had feared I would have to deal with this at some point, but I was hoping that it wouldn’t be this soon. I needed time to sort out my feelings for him, which clearly weren’t developing nearly as quickly as his feelings for me.

“Jean Claude, you are such a very wonderful man. You are so very good to me. There has never been another man in my life anything like you. But I need time to think about my feelings. This is all so new to me. I would never want to do anything to hurt you. Let’s just slow things down a bit and see where they go, okay?”

He smiled now, that beautiful and perfect smile of his. I was relieved to see that I had not hurt his feelings.

“Then I see I will need to work a little harder to win you over,” he smiled. And with that, he picked me up and carried me to the bedroom.

Gently, he lay me on the bed and smiled down at me. One by one he removed my shoes, kissing my feet and toes and running his fingers up and down my legs. When he reached my thighs I literally shivered. He moved up a little farther and slowly unbuttoned my blouse, then he slipped off my pantyhose. Looking at me, smiling at me, and whispering, “Beautiful,” he bent down and kissed me, a long passionate kiss, and then smothered my neck and chest with little kisses. Then, giving his full attention to my breasts, he brought me to full arousal. I longed for him to be inside me.

Taking my arm, he pulled me up and lifted me onto his hips. He pulled off my blouse and I quickly unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it on the floor. I ran my fingers through his ample chest hair, and for the first time noticed how manly his strong arms were, the forearms covered with hair, his large biceps holding me against him. No other man I had ever been with had been like this; they were all very young and perhaps had not yet even fully matured. With one arm he held me close and kissed me, a long deep kiss, his tongue far down my throat. And with the other hand he undid his trousers and dropped them, stepping out of them. I could feel the large bulge in his boxers against my pelvis as he carried me across the room to the wall. There he held me against the closet door, kissing me again as I reached down and dropped his boxers. His firm manhood immediately sprang up against me, begging for attention. It didn’t need to ask twice.

Rising up just a little, I settled onto it and he pushed his way in. Slowly I began to ride up and down on it, as his thrusts pushed upward to meet me. We both began to moan, the sensation so intense that we could not possibly keep quiet. It was difficult to not let passion completely take over, but he knew we would regret everything being over too soon and made me slow down. After ten minutes of this he pushed me hard up against the door, pushing himself deep inside me while he pushed his tongue way down my throat. He held himself there for a full minute, then pulled me away and carried me to the bed, staying inside me the whole time.

He put me down on the bed, and I kept my legs wrapped firmly around his waist. Looking down at me, intensely now, he began to thrust once more, long, deep thrusts. I raised my hips up high to meet him, relishing the sensation of his throbbing manhood inside me. He began a low moan, and I found myself joining him, our moans growing louder in a chorus of passion. Involuntarily, my back arched, and he pushed himself as deep inside me as he possibly could, holding himself there as we both reached a stunning climax together.

Beads of perspiration slowly dripped down from his face onto me. I looked up and noticed that his whole body was shiny and wet from our workout. And so was I, the bedsheets moist beneath me. Bending over, he kissed me again, then continued with the kisses down my neck, chest, and on down my whole body until he reached my toes, where he took each one in his mouth and sucked on it gently.

Finally, he lay down on top of me, hugging me tightly. His manhood was still as hard as a rock, and I reached down and massaged it, hoping for more. And he did not disappoint. Again, he pushed inside me and began slow, teasing thrusts that soon turned into the real thing. In another ten minutes he had me screaming in ecstasy until we both orgasmed again.

Breathless, he looked down at me, gave me a kiss, and then rolled onto his back, pulling me close with one arm and hugging me tightly. I stared for several minutes at his manly body, the hairy chest, the strong arm holding me close, the stiff manhood that had given me such pleasure still pointing up at me. I wondered how many women he had shared this bed with, given this pleasure to, perhaps fallen in love with. But I had no doubt that now, at this point in time, I was that lucky woman.

So why could I not fully return his affection? Surely, I could search my entire life and never find another man like this, secure in his manhood, his self-confidence, his finances. If I were to issue him a report card, he would get an A in every category. What more could I possibly ask for? Perhaps this was where I needed to end my search for a man. If searching for a man was what I had been doing.

No. That was just it. It wasn’t what I had been doing. I was just searching for fun. I had never even considered looking for a life partner. Was I now at a point in my life where I should begin doing that? I could think of a number of my friends who had lived through their wild days, one man after another, but then they finally met the one they settled down with, living in a monogamous relationship, even having children. Was I now at that point in my life?

It was a lot to think about all at once. It seemed very attractive to me at the moment, but I had my doubts about ever being monogamous. I looked at Jean Claude again. He had fallen asleep, his long eyelashes just making him all the more attractive. I still didn’t know if I loved this man enough to marry him, but I did silently promise him one thing. I would not hurt him. We would continue this affair until it reached its logical conclusion. Perhaps that would be a marriage. Perhaps not. But if it was time to part, I would do it as gently as I could, making sure to respect him, spare his feelings. There would be no other men while I was with him, no other men until I was no longer with him.

I reached over and kissed him gently so as not to wake him up, and he smiled in his sleep. Perhaps he was dreaming of me. Dream on, Cherie.

But don’t make any assumptions just yet.