Musée d'Orsay,” Michael explained before leaning across the table. “In
Paris, it is customary to kiss under the bridges.” He nodded over my shoulder.
I
glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, the yacht was inching toward a stone bridge.
I rolled my eyes and gave him a quick kiss, knowing full well that my refusal
would lead to something far worse.
He
hooked his hand around the back of my neck as he prolonged the kiss. A number
of people standing on top of the bridge cheered when he finally released me.
I
was trying really hard to be annoyed when what I really wanted was another
kiss. I groaned when I realized the full extent to which my body had responded
to the kiss. I tugged the pashmina back over my shoulders. My nipples had
hardened and were now straining against the thin silk dress.
Michael
did not hide the fact that he was staring at my chest. His attention was rapt,
as if trying to solve some puzzle. His eyes locked on mine. “What about after
the second date?” he asked, steering the conversation back to where we’d left
off.
I
suddenly realized I should be very worried about this line of questioning and
the power Michael would hold over me if he knew how deeply I was attracted to
him.
Michael
held my gaze as I took a sip of wine. He was far too observant, far too in tune
with my body for me to get away with lying.
I
drained the entire glass of wine before setting it back on the table. My
thoughts returned to our second date. The first two hours at my apartment had
been innocent enough. We sipped on wine and talked while curled up on my couch.
Eventually, Michael reached for my glass and set it aside. He kissed me so
hungrily, that I lost all ability to think and breathe. Things quickly spiraled
out of control after that. Michael stoked an insatiable need that far surpassed
anything I had ever felt. “I was mindless with desire,” I admitted breathlessly. Why was it so difficult to breathe?
Michael’s
eyes turned black.
The
waiter quietly approached with the main course, a seared white sturgeon drizzled
with caviar in a creamy white wine sauce. We were passing by the Louvre. Notre
Dame loomed just up ahead.
Michael
waited for the server to leave. He looked thoroughly perplexed when he
responded. “Then what happened? What scared you off?”
I
had no trouble pinpointing that. “You, Michael, and the way you made me feel.”
Michael
scowled. “What’s wrong with feeling passion, with wanting someone?”
I
fought back panic as I tried to explain. “I wasn’t used to feeling those
things, Michael. I wasn’t used to losing control like that.” I had come so
close to having sex with Michael that night, and it had only been our second
date. We ended up completely naked in bed. I had wanted him in the worst possible
way, but he didn’t have protection. So I refused to have sex. We had come damn
close, and he still ended up sleeping in my bed.
I
made another attempt to explain. “I began to freak out the next morning, after
you left. I lost all control when you were kissing me, Michael. Control was the
only thing that had really kept me safe in my marriage.” I looked down at the food
on my plate. “Well, it didn’t always keep me safe.” I forced myself to look at
Michael. “I’m sorry, Michael. I was terrified about how you made me feel, the
intensity of your feelings, my feelings, and my complete inability to maintain a
respectable amount of self-control. I just needed some time and space.”
I
held up my hand as Michael began to interject. “I know you tried to give me
space before our third date, but then you referred to me as your fiancé when
you introduced me to your colleagues. You insisted it was a misunderstanding,
then you turned around and proposed on New Year’s Eve. You were moving way too
fast. I needed time to sort through my feelings, time to get to know you better,
and time to adjust to this idea of you being in my life. I tried to explain all
of this when I
Paris, it is customary to kiss under the bridges.” He nodded over my shoulder.
I
glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, the yacht was inching toward a stone bridge.
I rolled my eyes and gave him a quick kiss, knowing full well that my refusal
would lead to something far worse.
He
hooked his hand around the back of my neck as he prolonged the kiss. A number
of people standing on top of the bridge cheered when he finally released me.
I
was trying really hard to be annoyed when what I really wanted was another
kiss. I groaned when I realized the full extent to which my body had responded
to the kiss. I tugged the pashmina back over my shoulders. My nipples had
hardened and were now straining against the thin silk dress.
Michael
did not hide the fact that he was staring at my chest. His attention was rapt,
as if trying to solve some puzzle. His eyes locked on mine. “What about after
the second date?” he asked, steering the conversation back to where we’d left
off.
I
suddenly realized I should be very worried about this line of questioning and
the power Michael would hold over me if he knew how deeply I was attracted to
him.
Michael
held my gaze as I took a sip of wine. He was far too observant, far too in tune
with my body for me to get away with lying.
I
drained the entire glass of wine before setting it back on the table. My
thoughts returned to our second date. The first two hours at my apartment had
been innocent enough. We sipped on wine and talked while curled up on my couch.
Eventually, Michael reached for my glass and set it aside. He kissed me so
hungrily, that I lost all ability to think and breathe. Things quickly spiraled
out of control after that. Michael stoked an insatiable need that far surpassed
anything I had ever felt. “I was mindless with desire,” I admitted breathlessly. Why was it so difficult to breathe?
Michael’s
eyes turned black.
The
waiter quietly approached with the main course, a seared white sturgeon drizzled
with caviar in a creamy white wine sauce. We were passing by the Louvre. Notre
Dame loomed just up ahead.
Michael
waited for the server to leave. He looked thoroughly perplexed when he
responded. “Then what happened? What scared you off?”
I
had no trouble pinpointing that. “You, Michael, and the way you made me feel.”
Michael
scowled. “What’s wrong with feeling passion, with wanting someone?”
I
fought back panic as I tried to explain. “I wasn’t used to feeling those
things, Michael. I wasn’t used to losing control like that.” I had come so
close to having sex with Michael that night, and it had only been our second
date. We ended up completely naked in bed. I had wanted him in the worst possible
way, but he didn’t have protection. So I refused to have sex. We had come damn
close, and he still ended up sleeping in my bed.
I
made another attempt to explain. “I began to freak out the next morning, after
you left. I lost all control when you were kissing me, Michael. Control was the
only thing that had really kept me safe in my marriage.” I looked down at the food
on my plate. “Well, it didn’t always keep me safe.” I forced myself to look at
Michael. “I’m sorry, Michael. I was terrified about how you made me feel, the
intensity of your feelings, my feelings, and my complete inability to maintain a
respectable amount of self-control. I just needed some time and space.”
I
held up my hand as Michael began to interject. “I know you tried to give me
space before our third date, but then you referred to me as your fiancé when
you introduced me to your colleagues. You insisted it was a misunderstanding,
then you turned around and proposed on New Year’s Eve. You were moving way too
fast. I needed time to sort through my feelings, time to get to know you better,
and time to adjust to this idea of you being in my life. I tried to explain all
of this when I
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