Chapter 8

My body is spent. My flesh is pricked, as if pine needles are poked all over my body. It's a good feeling, a perfect feeling…

And I embrace it.

Embrace the fact that I'm alive, that I'm here in this room with a man I'm wildly attracted to. A man I've fantasized about ending up with.

But then I wash that thought away.

I will accept this night for what it is—a long hard fuck between two people who need each other.

I'm lying on my back, and Dave is perpendicular to me, thrusting his cock inside me, thumbing my clit.

He pulls out of me, replaces his cock with two fingers, hooking them around my G-spot.

I gasp, holding my legs open for him as he leans down, removes his fingers, slides his tongue over me, glides his fingers back in, and then skims his tongue over my asshole. He moves forward then, turning until he's facing my pussy. He keeps tugging on my clit and finger fucking me, leading his cock to my mouth.

I take it between my lips gladly. I want to please him the way he's pleasing me. I want to tell him to come, but my mouth is full of his cock.

He continues to finger fuck me, and I cry out once more.

"Mmm, so good." He moves away from me once more, turning again.

I whimper at the loss of his cock from my mouth, but he slides his wet fingers between my lips. I suck on them, relishing my own flavor, but in a flash he flips me over onto my stomach.

He slides his tongue over my asshole before thrusting his cock into me.

This angle is different, and I feel so much fuller.

I cry out as he fucks me. Hard. Fast. Thorough.

I'm not sure how he can last so long, but he's making it, and I love it.

Faster, faster, faster… His balls slap against my pussy.

Then he leans down, his muscles covering my back, and he tugs on my earlobe, slides his tongue into my ear canal.

I shiver all over. It's all so good, so much…

And then somehow, somehow…

He slides one hand between my legs, kissing my shoulders, his cock still embedded in me.

And I?—

I soar to the heavens once more.

I fly over the sights of Paris, beyond the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, past Versailles and the Palais Garnier, into the clanging church bells of Notre-Dame, which reverberate endlessly through my head. When I finally come down, I look over my shoulder, and his lips meet mine.

After a sweeping kiss, he breaks it. "Maddie, Maddie…"

"Yeah?"

"I wish I could give you more orgasms, but I have to come. I have to come."

"God yes, please…"

He thrusts once, twice, three more times, and then stays embedded inside my pussy.

And I feel each pulse.

He stays inside me for a few moments, and then he pulls out, turns me over, leans down, and kisses my shoulders and then my lips.

"My God, Maddie," he says. "You're amazing."

"Just what I needed…" Then I sigh and close my eyes.

My eyes pop open to the sun streaming in through the window.

I have no idea what time it was when I finally fell asleep.

But I was so relaxed after Dave and I?—

I jerk upward into a sitting position.

"Dave?"

He's not here. He probably went to the bathroom.

"Dave?" I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. The door is closed, so I knock.

No reply.

I open the door, walk into a dark room. "Dave?"

But already I know he's not here.

His room is right across from mine. He probably went back to take a shower and get dressed.

I grab my key, throw a robe around my body, and walk across the hallway to knock on his door.

No response.

I knock again, this time louder.

No response again.

"Where did he go?" I ask out loud.

I go back to my own room, grab my phone to?—

Damn. I don't have Dave's number. I can't text him or call him and find out where he is or if he's okay. If he doesn't have a roaming plan, I may not be able to get in contact with him anyway.

I check the time on my phone. Ten a.m.

We're supposed to meet Brock and the rest of the gang of non-bandmembers down in the little café at ten thirty.

I already showered last night, so I just wash the essentials, throw on a little blush and lip gloss, and dress in a long-sleeved tee, jeans, and walking shoes. I don't know if we're doing any sightseeing today. After last night's trauma, Brock's only instructions were to sleep in for a bit and then meet for breakfast slash lunch. Why he didn't say brunch is beyond me.

I brush my hair out and twist it into a long braid hanging down my back.

Then I grab my phone and my purse and head down. It's only ten after, so I'll be early.

I walk into the café, and?—

There's Dave, sitting alone at a table with a cup of coffee.

I walk up to him. "Oh, there you are."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Did I worry you?"

"No, of course not. I just wondered where you were."

He stares into his coffee. "Just down here. Thinking."

"May I join you?"

"Yeah, of course." He stands up and pulls out a chair.

"You're such a gentleman."

"How we were raised."

I like it. I like it a lot.

The server comes toward us. "Café au lait, mademoiselle?" she asks me.

"Oui, merci."

She leaves and returns within a few seconds with a cup of coffee, the milk already added.

"I don't normally drink milk in my coffee," I say to Dave, "but when in Rome."

"Actually it's really good," he says. "I'm a black-coffee guy myself, but as you said, we're here. We may as well try everything."

I take a sip, and the milk—not cream—cuts the acidity of the coffee nicely. It's delicious.

I'm not sure what to say. Do I thank him for last night? It was amazing, and I was able to finally go to sleep. But it was what it was.

"I've been thinking…" he says.

"Yeah?"

"I'm wondering if I should just go home."

My eyebrows shoot up.

He doesn't react. "I can see that surprises you. It surprised me as well. I certainly needed a vacation, but so far—other than the time I've spent with you, Maddie—this so-called vacation has been more stressful than ever."

I take a sip from my cup. "I get what you mean. But we're in Paris, Dave. Let's at least see the sights today before you decide."

He nods. "You're probably right. What would you like to do today?"

"Did you get any sleep?" I ask him.

"That was quite a pivot." His eyes smile, but his mouth doesn't. "Yeah, I did. Thanks to you."

"No need to thank me. We both got out of that what we needed."

He looks at me, meets my gaze, and his eyes are… I'm not sure. He looks like he wants to say something to me, but then he doesn't. Instead, he takes a drink of his coffee.

Our server returns with some croissants, butter, and jam.

"Merci," Dave says.

"Je vous en prie." She whisks away.

Dave gestures to the continental breakfast. "Feel like eating?"

I eye the plate of goodies, my stomach growling softly. "Yeah, I do actually. I haven't eaten since dinner last night. Of course, I couldn't eat once we got here after that plane ride."

"Yeah, neither could I." He shoves the plate of croissants toward me. "Please."

I take one and smear some butter on it. Then I spoon some jam—it looks to be blackberry—onto my plate as well.

"Weird breakfast," he says. "They don't do the bacon and egg thing here."

"It'll be fun to try something new," I say.

"Maybe for you." He frowns. "I have to have some protein in the morning, or my energy is lacking."

"I'm sure you can get some."

"Yeah." He signals to the server.

"Oui, monsieur?"

"S'il vous pla?t, I was wondering… Le bacon?"

I sigh. I'll put Dave out of his misery. "Do you have bacon and eggs?"

She smiles. "Oui, mademoiselle. Eggs…er…scrambled." Her accent is heavy, but she got the message across.

I look to Dave. "Scrambled? With bacon?"

"Perfect," he says.

"Right away," the server says as she walks back.

"I love bread as much as the next guy," he says, "but if it's all I eat, I'll crash in a few hours."

"Yeah, simple carbs will do that."

"But that's all you're eating."

I shrug. "It's all I want right now. I'll get something else when I need it."

He nods.

I pull my croissant into halves, spread butter and jam on one, and take a bite.

It's warm and flaky, and the butter is delicious. Sweet butter, not salted like it is in the US. The jam isn't too sweet either. It's perfect.

"Good?" Dave asks.

"Yeah, delicious actually. Try it."

Dave takes a few bites of his own croissant, washing them down with his café au lait. "It is good. Still, a man needs meat."

"Here she comes now."

The server sets a plate in front of Dave. It's not bacon exactly, more like strips of ham, and two eggs, sunny side up instead of scrambled.

"Merci," he says politely. Then to me, "I prefer them this way anyway." He takes another croissant and dips it in one of the egg yolks.

The server raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry, do we not do that here?" Dave asks.

"Whatever you like, monsieur." She smiles and leaves.

"They can always tell we're Americans anyway once we talk. Even before we talk, they know us by how we dress," I say.

"What do you mean?"

I point down at my sneakers. "You don't see the French wearing shoes like these very often. They only wear tennis shoes for exercising, not for just walking. It's kind of a tell."

"How do you know? You've never been here, have you?"

"I did a lot of research before this trip," I say. "I was so excited, and I wanted to know everything."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brianna coming toward our table.

"Hey," Brianna says. "You two are here early."

I wait for Dave to respond, but he doesn't.

"Just trying to put yesterday behind us," I say. "Where's Jesse?"

"He and Rory ordered breakfast in the room with the band."

"So you won't be seeing him today?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "They want to rehearse most of the day. He and I will have dinner tonight. Then he said he'll be able to see some of the sights with me tomorrow. But he also said that you and I should go ahead and see whatever we want today because he knows there won't be a whole lot of time tomorrow. He'll have to rehearse during the afternoon."

I nod. "What do you want to do today, then?"

"Let's wait for Brock. Maybe we can all agree on what to do."

"Speak of the devil," I say.

Brock strolls toward us, looking like the spitting image of his father, only without the silver temples. All of the Steel men are ridiculously good-looking. Brock's father, Jonah, is the oldest Steel brother. Brock has the same dark hair, same dark eyes, same muscular height and breadth, and same rugged good looks.

Dave's handsomeness is more polished. But there's no doubt—every Steel is runway model material.

"Hey," Brock says. "Gar?on?" He motions to one of the servers.

Brianna shakes her head at him. "That's a woman. Gar?on means ‘young man,' and it's outdated to use it for a server, even a male one. Please don't try to speak French here."

"I think they'd appreciate it." Brock takes a seat after Brianna sits down.

"They do, if you can actually speak French." Brianna laughs. "You, my good cousin, did not inherit the gift of language."

"What's that, amiga?" Brock smiles.

Brianna rolls her eyes at him. "English for you."

"Brianna and I speak enough French to get by," I say.

"Then I guess we'll have to hang with you two today, right, cuz?"

Dave nods. "I guess so."

I can't tell if he's happy about that or not. We certainly had a nice time last night. But he did say he was thinking about leaving.

Something is off with him—something that wasn't that way when he first got here.

Having a near-death experience will freak anyone out, but it seems to have affected David more than most.

Although it affected me pretty badly as well. I don't want to step foot on another plane for a long time. Thank goodness we still have several months of tour left before I have to tackle that.

"I can get us on a guided tour this afternoon," Brock says. "But I think it might be more fun if we just kind of hang out. Walk around, see the sights ourselves. I don't know about the rest of you, but after yesterday, I don't want to be rushed or…" He shakes his head. "Let's just go on our own."

"I'd like that too," Brianna agrees. "Guided tours are great and all, and we can take one tomorrow, but today I think we all need to relax. Go at our own pace."

"Amen," I say.

The server brings a café au lait for Brianna and Brock, plus more croissants, butter, and jam.

"How'd you manage to get that?" Brock glances at Dave's now empty plate of breakfast.

"All you have to do is ask," he says. "But I don't recommend you asking."

"I'll take care of it," Brianna says.

She signals to our server and then orders breakfast for Brock and herself in perfect French.

"I'm sorry, Maddie," she says. "Did you want some?"

"No." I rub my stomach. "The croissants were good. I'll just have an early lunch."

"Isn't that what this is?" Brianna asks.

"Nope. It's late breakfast."

Brianna laughs. "Good enough."

Brock takes a sip of his coffee. "So I suppose we should start at the very beginning. The Eiffel Tower."

"I don't think I want to go to the top," I say. "I think I want to avoid heights today. Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow."

"I agree," Dave says. "Let's not start with the Eiffel Tower."

"The Louvre then?" Brock says.

"Oh yeah," I say. "Let's check out the Louvre."

"You sure you don't want to take a guided tour through the Louvre?" Brock says. "There's a lot to see. You can spend the whole day there."

"We've got almost a whole day," I say. "No, I don't want a guided tour. I want to look at the art at my leisure."

Dave sits rigid beside me.

"Let me guess," I say. "A day at an art museum is not your cup of tea."

"No, not really."

"Then Brianna and I will go," I say.

I won't force Dave to spend time with me.

"Come on, cuz," Brock cajoles Dave. "This is some of the world's greatest art."

Dave takes a deep breath in and lets it out. "Okay."

We talk about nothing in particular until Brianna's and Brock's breakfasts arrive.

Once they're done, Brock rises. "Shall we?"

Brianna rises as well. "Absolutely."

I stand, and then finally, bringing up the rear, Dave gets to his feet.

There's a weird look on his face.

What is wrong with him?

I won't ask.

Not my place.

After all, he's not my boyfriend.