We arrive at a small little place in a small little alley. It’s the kind of place you’d only ever stumble across. The kind of place you could never intentionally find, though Liam certainly seems to know the way to it. It must be a place he stumbled across on his own during previous trips to Paris.

He holds the door open for me to enter.

“What’s this place called?” I ask. I didn’t see a sign.

He shrugs. “People who live around here just call it ‘the pub.’ I don’t think it has a real name.”

It’s dimly lit, and my first impression of the place is that it’s totally genuine and unpretentious. There’s a table of old men wearing little Old World-style hats playing cards at a corner table. There are younger people drinking wine together and laughing, but they seem so at ease that it almost looks like they live here. The bartender is a middle-aged woman who is talking to a man at the bar as if they were best friends.

I definitely feel magic in the air here. It’s like I’ve wandered into someone’s home, but everyone turns and smiles at us as we come in. They’ve immediately welcomed me into their home and made me part of their family with just one inviting look.

“Liam,” the bartender says, and then she breaks into French.

When I’m reading signs in French, I can often pick out some words or phrases that look like English. There are a lot of them. But when I’m hearing the language, it all slurs together into one nasal and incomprehensible sound. I can’t understand a word.

“This is Amber,” Liam says, switching to English. “We’re on a date, and it’s her first time in Paris.”

The bartender leans forward and extends her hand. “I’m Marie,” she says in a thick accent.

I shake her hand and smile. “This place seems really special.”

“Everywhere in Paris is special,” Marie says. “But since my parents owned this place, and since I own it now, I might be biased when I say that this place is a bit more special than all the others.”

Liam laughs. “I stumbled onto Marie’s pub almost a decade ago. I always make sure to stop by whenever I’m in Paris.”

“It wasn’t my pub the first time you were here,” she says.

“Her father was great,” Liam says, grinning.

Marie gets a look in her eye, pride mixed with a tinge of sadness. “Yeah, he was.” She turns toward me. “Amber has never been to Paris?”

She reaches down and grabs a bottle of wine. “You should each have a glass of this, then. It’s...special.”

She pulls a wooden board laden with cheese and meats on it across the bar. “Pairs well with this,” she says, smiling.

Liam and I drink and eat. Liam says the wine isn’t anything fancy, but it tastes better than the super expensive bottles I had at his party back on the night when we first met. And I’ve never really liked soft blue cheeses, but in this light and under the spell of this night, it all tastes heavenly.

We fall into conversation with everyone else. It all happens naturally, and no one seems to care that Liam is the famous Liam Lions. Here, in this pub, he’s just another guy, and I’m just his date.

I leave the pub glowing with the effects of the wine and memories of great conversation, and when Liam suggests we get more waffles and Nutella, I shake my head.

I just want to go back to his villa, and I want our date night to end like any great date should. In bed.

I expected his villa would be somewhere outside the city, but as with all things Liam, I should always assume the most expensive and luxurious. His villa is right in the city center, and despite its prime location, it’s still huge.

I’m too overtaken by the night to even bother giving him a hard time about it. About his house in Paris that he probably only uses once or twice a year and that’s one hundred times nicer than my apartment in Seattle.

He ushers me inside, and a butler appears out of nowhere.

“I’ve readied your rooms, monsieur,” he says.

He scares the shit out of me, and I visibly jump.

“This is Kari,” Liam says. “He looks over the villa when I’m not here.”

“And when he is here,” Kari says, “I am the butler.”

I smile. “Sounds like a pretty good deal.”

Kari gives me a knowing grin. He gets to live in a mansion and only has to work a few days every year.

“Your rooms are ready,” I say. “How can you even sleep in more than one room?”

He ignores me and takes my hand, leading me up the stairs.

We reach the third floor, where we enter a large room. It looks like some kind of receiving room. It has multiple couches and bookshelves, and at the back of it is a wide-open door leading into another room.

I follow Liam through to the second room, which has a daybed and more comfortable seating. It has a large television and a huge, comfortable-looking leather sectional in the corner. The end of this room has large glass doors pressed together, which Liam pulls open to reveal a huge bedroom with marble arches. The windows are large and have a clear view of the Eiffel Tower, lit up and shining through the night.

“Wow,” I say.

I hardly even notice the bed, which is massive and features four posts with a canopy. The kind of bed I’ve only seen in period dramas--the kind kings and queens sleep in.

“My rooms,” Liam says, holding out a hand.

Now I’m looking only at the bed. I’m thinking of the fact that we have both gone to the same room--the same rooms--to sleep. The bed is huge, but there is only one bed. My heart is pounding hot and fast in my chest, and I’m still flushed from the wine.

“Kiss me again,” I say, looking up at the Eiffel Tower.

I don’t have to ask a second time. He’s on me like Nutella on waffles.

His lips crush against mine, and his tongue finds mine. It’s warm, and when his hand grips my waist, the feeling is absolutely electrifying.

I remember how he made me feel on the plane, but it feels like that was ages ago already. I crave his touch so badly that it distorts time. Each second I go without him inside me has started to feel like minutes, or even hours.

I’ve been near Liam too long without actually having him, and now, on this perfect night in Paris, it’s time to finally, truly, be together.

He slides my clothes off me with ease, especially compared to the difficulty I have getting his clothes off. My hands tremble as I try to unknot his tie, and undo the buttons of his shirt.

When my bra drops to the floor, I’ve only managed to get three of his shirt buttons undone, and when he cups my breasts, I lose control of my body.

I lean back and moan, and Liam moves me effortlessly to the royal bed. His pushes me onto my back with his strong arms, and I look up to see the silken canopy above me and the Eiffel Tower glittering in the corner of my eye through the window.

Liam takes his loosened tie and pulls it off his collar, and then throws it aside. The undone buttons have made his shirt open just far enough that I can see down it when he leans over me. I glimpse his strong, muscular chest, and I can see the hints of his ripped six-pack abs. I pull at his shirt and tear, not caring if I damage it. He can certainly afford to buy another shirt.

He laughs as a few of the buttons pop off, and he grips his belt, pulling it off and throwing it aside.

Once I’ve undone and ripped away more buttons, his shirt hangs loosely on his back. He straightens up above me enough to throw the shirt off and away, and I use that time to remove my own belt and begin stripping off my jeans.

It won’t be long now, I realize. I want to have him all night long, but the foreplay already happened on the plane. He can go down on me again, but he needs to plant his seed inside me first. I need to feel his thick cock splitting me in two, and I need to feel that now. Anything else will have to wait--a dessert rather than an appetizer. I’m already hungry--starving—to have his cock inside me.

He tears my panties away, and I reach down into his pants to grab hold of his thick, hot shaft. I can feel his prominent veins warm against my palm, and as I slide my hand down to cup his balls, he throws the last of his clothes to the floor. We’re both totally naked now and lying on the bed, and I feel intense wetness pooling between my legs.

“Amber,” he says huskily, running a hand up my side as I squeeze his cock.

“It was a good date,” I say, grinning.

His dark eyes meet mine. “The date isn’t over yet.”

“So you consider sex to be part of the date?” I ask. “I always thought the date was everything leading up to the sex.”

“You can’t disconnect the two,” he says. “Bad sex can ruin a good night out.”

I laugh. “I better not disappoint you then.”

He presses his lips against the soft skin of my neck. “You could never disappoint me. I’m so hungry for you, Amber. You have no idea how much.”

I lean back and moan, and Liam’s lips kiss a trail down my body, stopping and lingering on my breasts.

I begin to finger myself, unable to show any restraint or patience. With my free hand, I reach down and grab Liam’s huge dick, and I nearly tug him by his cock toward my wetness.

His lips find my neck again, and then my lips, and I soon feel his thick manhood pressed against my belly. It slides down and down, until his shaft slides wet and slick against my soaked outer lips. I let out an anguished squeal of longing. The only thing that can make me feel release is for him to press inside me, and--

His manhood presses hard against me. My lips part open. I feel him begin to slide inside me. There’s no pain at first, but then the thickness of his shaft spreads me wider, and there’s a stab of pain as my inner lips squeeze him airtight.

“Ah,” I moan.

He breathes heavily, but he stops sliding into my channel. “Relax.”

I let out a breath, and I feel myself opening up even more, deep inside.

His cock delves further in, plunging hot and heavy into my wetness. The pain is all still there, but warm and electric ecstasy floods my body, overpowering the pain.

I feel my nails digging into Liam’s strong back, and my legs spread even wider for him. His cock shoves deeper and deeper inside me, and I can feel it pulsing in tune with his heartbeat.

When he’s impossibly deep inside me, he stops, and there’s only the sound of our labored breathing. I slide my hand down his muscled back and squeeze his ass, urging him to keep going, to keep moving.

He pushes his last inch into me, until I’ve swallowed up his entire length and girth, and then I feel the muscles on his butt tighten, and his cock begins to pull out of me.

I scream as his big dick pulls and slides along my inner skin. I’m so soaking wet that he slides right out of me, and when I look down I can see his thick cock covered in my creamy juices. His beautiful eyes lock onto mine, he grins, and then he slides back inside of me.

The feeling overpowers me, and I throw my head back, close my eyes, and scream out his name.

He begins gliding in and out of me, faster and faster. Soon I hear his balls slapping against me as he pounds and slams deep inside me with each powerful thrust.

His muscular body is sliding against me, wet with sweat, as his thick cock plows in and out of my wet channel.

He presses his lips against my neck--just where it meets my shoulder--and I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, helping him enter me at the deepest angle possible.

I buck my hips against him as he fucks me raw, maximizing the friction between us. I feel myself gushing wet against him, and his cock seems to grow harder and larger deep inside me.

Just when I think it couldn’t get any better, he pulls his dick out of me, and there’s a wet pop as he exits my airtight, soaking wet hole.

He grabs my hips with animalistic force and flips me over onto my stomach. Before I can even figure out what is happening, he pulls me up so that I’m on my knees. Just as I realize he’s about to fuck me from behind, his thick cock presses back inside me, and his hands grab handfuls of my ass.

I arch my back downward to keep my ass up in the air, and his cock sinks right back into my pussy. This time the angle is different, and I feel his cock slide with each stroke against my g-spot. I grab hold of the pillows as his fingers dig into my hips and ass, and as his cock plows to my innermost reaches.

My body begins to tremble as his balls slap loudly against me. He cups my breasts as I moan and drool and cry out his name, but he never slows down. He never stops pounding me and filling me up with his thick, hard flesh.

A high-pitched scream escapes me as an impossible warmth blooms from deep within me. It expands outward into my stomach, and then to my chest. The explosive orgasm hits my head, and it pushes everything out of my mind except for the impossible and ecstatic warmth that Liam’s wonderful cock is asserting into me.

My fingers and toes twitch uncontrollably, and I hear Liam grunt behind me.

“Fuck,” he says. “Amber, you feel too good, too tight.”

“Come inside me,” I think I say. God knows if he can even hear me through my moans.

His cock twitches and trembles inside me, and then an impossible pressure and warm wetness fills me up. I feel his cock pulsing inside me, and with each burst the warmth and wetness grows. The pressure grows, too, until I finally feel his thick cum dripping down my thighs.

My moans have become laughing cries as I drool onto the pillow. My body shudders even as the orgasm starts to level off. Liam’s big cock feels so fucking good when he comes inside me, and my inner walls tighten and pulse against it, milking it for every last possible drop.

Finally, I collapse, my ass falling flat. Liam is still inside me, and his powerful body collapses atop mine. We are both soaked in sweat, but that wetness pales in comparison to the soaking thick cum filling me up and dripping out of me.

His cock stays buried inside me as he falls gently on top of me, supporting his weight with his arms so as not to crush me. His muscular legs press down against my ass, and his cock twitches as it softens inside me.

“Now,” he whispers into my ear. “We can say it was a good date.”

* * *

Returning to Seattle feels like waking from a dream. I ask Liam why we can’t just stay forever in Paris, in his rooms, fucking each other’s brains out and drinking coffee and eating croissants.

He said something about “the idle rich” and needing to work hard, and he basically tried to guilt me into going right back to class again as if none of those amazing things had ever even happened.

But they had happened, and even as I walk onto the dreary grey UW campus, there’s an inner light and warmth filling me up inside. If I ever feel down or depressed or stressed out, I can just remember the feeling of having Liam inside me, and that warmth fills me up again.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want or need him still. As good as memories can be, nothing beats the real thing.

I’m hoping he won’t be working late tonight. Since fucking at least a dozen times in Paris, living under the same roof in Seattle should be amazing.

I hear a loud, roaring sound in the distance.

I look up and squint. I spot a bright orange shape as it appears from behind a tree way off down the road.

I notice a few other students stop and look over at the noisy disturbance.

The sound gets louder as the shape grows, and then I realize it’s a car.

I see people pointing and gathering around the sidewalk where the car will soon pass by, and it gets deafeningly louder as the car draws closer.

It slows down as it nears the sidewalk.

“Ferrari,” someone says, pointing.

For a moment, I wonder if Liam would be arrogant enough to drive a Ferrari to see me on campus. He would be arrogant enough, but a bright orange Ferrari does not strike me as his style of vehicle.

The Ferrari parallel parks between an Acura and a bland, grey Dodge, and then the weird-ass doors open up, like some kind of spaceship, and out steps…Anton Valencia.

How the hell did Anton get a Ferrari?

He’s wearing designer jeans, expensive-looking designer sunglasses--even though the sun is barely visible--and a fancy looking blazer. He’s wearing gold, jewel-encrusted rings on several fingers, and it looks like he even had his hair permed.

He swaggers out of the car, hits a button on his key fob, and the spaceship-looking doors hiss shut behind him. Everyone is gathered around him and his car now, pointing. I hear people whispering, asking who it is.

“Maybe he’s new,” someone whispers.

“It’s just Anton,” I say.

Anton takes a few steps, removes his sunglasses, and slips them into his blazer pocket. He looks at me with a cocky, dismissive sneer.

“Valencia,” he says. “Anton Valencia.”

He takes a few steps toward me. “Amber,” he says. “Now that I’ve changed, you can try all you’d like to act all casual. You can ‘It’s just Anton’ me all you’d like, but I’m over you. You had your chance with me, but you’ve blown it.”

I try not to laugh, realizing he expects me to beg for him to take him back, or to apologize to him.

“Good for you, Anton,” I say. “I’m glad to know you’re over me.”

He shakes his head. “Pretend it’s easy for you, Amber,” he says. “Whatever you have to do. Just don’t ask for me to take you back.”

“Okay,” I say, looking serious. “I promise I won’t.”

He nods, grabs his sunglasses from his pocket, and flips them back on with a flourish.