Love Deluxe by Kimball Lee Page A

you to ever be sad, buddy, not ever,” he said.
    I couldn’t think of the right way to tell him that I’d always be sad, even when I was happy. It was part of who I was now. Henry had wanted to fix me after our son died, but he couldn’t and it killed him.
    “Let’s get in that big bed,” I said, shutting that door in my mind. John shed his clothes and climbed under the covers, leaving them folded back for me to join him. I slipped in naked and he reached out an arm and scooped me up next to him. I twined myself around him and his body was incredibly long and deeply warm. I was ravenous for him after my strange foray into sadness.
    “You should sleep, buddy,” he said, but his erection was huge against me.
    I moved on top of him and eased myself down, slowly taking him in. My hair fell across his chest as I leaned forward and we kissed as our bodies rose and fell, together. My knees shook from holding myself up, he was so exquisitely long and hard.
    “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, but he couldn’t stop and he thrust upward and as he did my body exploded around him and I shouted his name. I fell against him and he moaned and shuddered his release violently. Afterward I lay beside him and he held me tenderly while the fluids of our lovemaking stained the lovely sheets.
    “My sweetie,” he breathed, his eyes already closed.
    How lucky I was to have been given a second chance at love. I loved him so and I craved him in some primal part of myself, those were my last thoughts as I fell into sleep on our first night in the city of light.
     

Chapter Six
    The next days were so filled with marvels that they danced in my head. We visited Notre Dame, then Saint Chappelle and Saint Eustache, lighting candles in each, prayers floating to God’s ears. We went all the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower then back down to the second level to dine at the Jules Verne restaurant looking out on the city. We climbed the endless steps to Sacre Coeur, lit more candles then caught a taxi down to the Moulin Rouge. We went to the Pompidou Center, the tiny Picasso Museum and finally the Musee d’Orsay to see the glorious works of the Impressionists.
    I was so enamored of the Shakespeare and Company book store that John left me there and wandered the left bank while I bought copies of my favorite books to ship home, including a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird for Emily. All with the famous “Kilometer Zero” stamp on the first page. We ate food that was only dreamt of in America and consumed wine so smooth it evaporated on the tongue. We explored the gardens of Giverny, crossed the bridge over descendants of water lilies Monet had immortalized. We spent a day at Versailles and enjoyed a picnic, taking in the grandiose fountains and struggling to comprehend a world where seven hundred rooms, two thousand windows and sixty seven staircases were the norm for a palace in the countryside.
    Paris truly was a feast for the senses, the buildings were charming and every street corner had a garden or a statue. The language was lyrical, the people were elegant, every morsel of food was scrumptious, and each drop of wine was like honey. And feast we did on all that the city had to offer. We were in a state of complete intoxication with Paris and with each other, a splendid mix.
    Our last day in Paris was a whirlwind shopping spree gathering goodies for ourselves and everyone at home. That night we dressed up and had a five course dinner at Le Grand Vefour. We stopped at the bar at the Plaza Athenee, got ridiculously drunk and took a taxi to the Arc d’Triomphe for a last view of the city. It was a perfect night, the sky was an inky black pierced through with stars. From the top we enjoyed a spectacular scene of the Champ Elysees with the traffic creating a streaming spectacle of light. A freak cold-front had swept through the city and John and I held hands and stood close against the cold, the frosty air sobering us. I glanced up at