"What would you like to do today?" I ask Henri as we walk from the café toward his hotel, trying to sound casual. "Another walk in the park? Maybe visit that gallery you mentioned?"
Henri's hand tightens on mine waist, and the way he looks at me, hungry, determined, makes my stomach flip. "I think we've done enough walking, ma chérie. Enough talking. Don't you?"
"What do you mean?" But I know exactly what he means. Seven weeks since the twins were born, and my excuse about wanting to wait, to make it special, is threadbare.
"I mean," he says, pulling me into the hotel lobby, nodding to the concierge who knows us by now, "that I've been remarkably patient. But patience has its limits, Elena, and I've reached mine."
In the elevator, Henri presses me against the wall, his mouth finding that spot below my ear that makes me weak.
"Do you know what torture these weeks have been? Having you so close but never completely? I'm not a saint, Elena. I'm a man who's desperately in love with you." His breath is hot on my skin, his voice a low growl.
"Henri…"
"No more excuses," he murmurs, his hand gripping my thigh, hiking it up to his hip. "Unless you tell me right now that you don't want me, we're not leaving this room until I've had every inch of you."
My breath hitches, his words sending a rush of heat between my legs.
"I do want you. You know I do."
"Then stop running from me," he says as the elevator opens. "Stop holding back. Let me love you properly."
In his suite, when his hands move to the zipper of my dress, I tense. My body is different now, marked by motherhood, but Henri doesn't notice, doesn’t care about anything but me.
He slowly pulls the zipper down, his eyes devouring me as the dress falls to the floor.
"Mon Dieu, Elena," he breathes, his accent thick with desire. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined." His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they're hard and aching.
He takes one into his mouth, sucking and biting gently before moving to the other. I gasp, my head falling back as his mouth ignites a fire within me.
He lifts me onto the bed, spreading my legs wide. He settles between them, his breath hot on my pussy. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire.
"I want to taste you, Elena," he says, his voice husky. "I want to make you come on my tongue." He lowers his head, his tongue finding my clit, circling it gently.
I gasp, my hips bucking against his mouth. He grips my hips, holding me steady as he licks and sucks, his tongue driving me wild.
He slides two fingers inside me, pumping them in and out as his mouth continues its assault. I can feel the pressure building, my body tensing as I get closer and closer to the edge.
"Henri," I gasp, my hands gripping his hair. "I'm going to come."
He looks up at me, his eyes locked on mine as he continues to lick and suck. It's the most erotic thing I've ever seen, and it sends me spiraling over the edge.
I cry out, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over me. Henri moves up my body, his mouth finding mine. I can taste myself on his lips, and it's intoxicating.
He reaches into the nightstand, pulling out a condom. He quickly sheaths himself before settling between my legs again. He enters me in one hard thrust, filling me completely.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. He groans, his forehead resting against mine.
"You feel so good, Elena," he whispers. "So tight and wet." He begins to move, his hips slamming against mine as he fucks me hard and deep.
I meet his thrusts, our bodies moving in sync. He kisses me deeply, his tongue mimicking the actions of his body. He pulls back, his hands gripping my hips as he pounds into me.
I can see the strain on his face, the tension in his body as he gets closer to his own release. "Elena," he groans, his body tensing as he comes. He collapses on top of me, his body shaking with the force of his release.
Afterward, we lie tangled in expensive sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers playing with my hair. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and for a moment I let myself imagine this could be real.
But reality is never far away, and neither are the secrets I keep.
"I've been thinking," Henri says suddenly, his voice vibrating through his chest. “Perhaps it's time you stopped putting your entire life on hold for your sister's children.”
My whole body goes rigid. "What?"
"It's time, Elena. Time for us to start our real life together." He tilts my chin up so I'm looking at him. "You could move to France with me, and we’d have all the time in the world just for ourselves."
"Henri, I can't just…"
"Why not? Your sister can manage her own children." Henri’s hand traces patterns on my bare back. "We could have our own children someday. Start our own family. Though I suppose you've had enough practice with your sister's twins."
The words hit like a physical blow. Our own children. While somewhere across town, Adrian is feeding our actual children—the children Henri doesn't know exist.
"You'd want children?" I ask, my voice small. "At your age?"
"I'm fifty, not dead," he laughs. "And seeing you with your sister's twins, how natural you are with them, how loving—it's made me realize I want that. With you. Only with you."
I feel sick. "Henri…"
"I know it's fast," he continues, oblivious to my internal crisis. "But at our age, why wait? We know what we want. And I want you, Elena. I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep with you every night."
"It's a beautiful dream," I whisper, and I mean it. It is beautiful. It's also impossible.
"It's not a dream," he insists, rolling us so he's above me, his eyes intense. "It's a plan. A promise. Say yes, Elena. Say you'll come with me."
I look up at him, this wonderful man who loves a version of me that doesn't really exist, and I realize I've crossed a line I can't come back from.
"Let me think about it," I manage, pulling him down for a kiss to stop more questions. "Give me a little time to figure things out with my sister."
"Of course," he says, but I can see the happiness in his eyes, the certainty that I'll say yes. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
But as Henri holds me, whispering plans about vineyards and French markets and the children we'll have someday, all I can think about is the ticking clock of my deception.
How much longer before Adrian says something Henri can't ignore? How much longer before Henri discovers the truth? How much longer before I lose everything?