After I’ve said what I need to, I turn and keep walking, determined to put distance between Conlon and myself as quickly as possible. It’s for the best. He’s too much of a hot mess—hell, we both are. This thing of ours has gotten way too hard, way too fast.

I’m a few blocks from my apartment when I turn to look back. No sign of the handsome, aggravating billionaire. He’s gone home, I suppose. My heart sinks, even though I know I should be glad to be rid of him.

The rest of the walk is a blur of tears and violently shifting emotions. My heart is doing a conga dance in my chest, but not in a good way.

If I were younger and less experienced I’d probably just be flattered that such a man—a sexy, gorgeous, brilliant billionaire—was paying attention to me. But I’ve already been through love’s wringer. I know how much it hurts to think something is right for me and realize how wrong I was; I’m not willing to make the same mistake all over again. I need to find my strength and to prove to myself that I’m not that kid anymore; I’ve learned my lessons the hard way.

I climb the stairs to the flat, able to at least congratulate myself on sticking to my resolve. I stood up for myself, and escaped a potentially dangerous situation tonight. I walked away from an almost irresistible man. I proved that I can be strong.

Moving towards one of the tall living room windows, I pry it open and step out onto the narrow balcony, inhaling Paris’s evening air into my deprived lungs. Maybe tomorrow I’ll run away to some other place on a train. Mont St. Michel, or Rouen. Or I could wander about Montmartre, or something. Anything, so long as I do it alone, and on my own terms.

I shut my eyes and just breathe. This is good. I will be fine. I am strong and resilient, and fuck Conlon Davies.

“Adriana.”

Oh, great. Now I’m hearing his voice in my head, like a damned spectre. I thought I said fuck him.

“Adriana!”

My eyes pop open with the realization that I’m not imagining the voice. It’s echoing off the building opposite mine and up to my ears.

Conlon is below me.

He’s standing under the window, looking up. I’m freaking Juliet on her balcony. I’d be willing to bet that Juliet never said “Fuck Romeo,” though.

Damn it, Conlon. Why couldn’t you just have been some normal, boring guy who’s fun to fuck but who doesn’t play with every damned one of my heart strings?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, wrapping my fingers hard around the wrought iron railing as I stare down at him. Angry, I tell myself. Be angry.

“I’d very much like to talk. May I come up, please?”

A light goes on in the flat across the way, and the older man who lives there with his wife opens the window, peering out. First he looks down at Conlon, then at me, an inquisitive expression on his features.

“Mais qu’est ce qui se passe?” he asks. I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea what the hell he just said.

Conlon turns around and replies to him. “La belle en haut,” he says, pointing towards me. “Je l’adore. Elle ne me croit pas, mais c’est la vérité.”

The man across the way looks at me and smiles. He shrugs his shoulders back at me as if to say, “What’s the harm?” and yells, “He’s a nice boy. He wants to come talk to you. You should let him visit.”

“Should I really?” I reply, wishing I knew how to say “jackass” in French.

“Mais oui,” he huffs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “He wants to let you know that he cares.”

“Does he, though?” I’m asking this poor guy a lot of stupid questions.

“I know men,” my neighbour says. “I know naughty men and I know good men who look after their women. He’s a good man.”

“If I let him up,” I reply, “will I regret it?”

Again, the man shrugs. “You will regret it if you don’t. If you don’t like what he says, you can always kick him out again. You are a powerful woman. You know your heart.”

“You raise a good point.” I smile and blow him a kiss. “Merci,” I say.

“Il n’y a pas de quoi.” He closes his shutters and seals himself back in.

“Conlon,” I say, looking down at his expectant face, “I’m going to buzz you up. Apartment Two. This had better be good.”

I watch him dash to the front door, waiting for the sound. When I’ve hit the buzzer I open the apartment door a crack and run to the bathroom to take a quick peek at myself in the mirror. Well, I’m a mess. Quickly I wipe my eyes, pinch my cheeks to even out their splotchy redness and head back out into the open living area and cross my arms over my chest, only to see him pushing the door open.

He walks in, peeling off his jacket and throwing it down on a chair. He heads straight over to the open window and shuts the glass panels, pulling the curtains closed behind them. My nervous hands are grasping the back of a chair by now, preparing for whatever awful conversation is about to come.

But Conlon doesn’t speak. He walks straight up to me and before I know it, his mouth is an inch from my own. His hands reach for my face and he pulls me to him, his lips crashing possessively into mine. My head spins at a million miles a minute; I’m floating, I’m sinking, I’m drunk, I’m sober, all at once. I don’t know what I’m doing, or why.

He’s lifting me onto the kitchen table somehow, spreading my legs open as he reaches under my dress and tears my panties down and over my strappy shoes. God, I’m so glad he doesn’t care that my underwear is the ugliest thing in the world; to him it’s nothing more than an impediment to my flesh.

Kissing me again, he shoves his fingers inside me and I buck under him, throwing my head back so that his lips move elsewhere as I writhe under the sensation of his fierce, dominating touch. His lips are on my chest now, his teeth seeking a nipple through my dress. Oh, fuck, he’s biting me gently, his lips pursing around the hard tip. That feels so good that I’ve almost forgotten why I was upset.

The song from the restaurant comes into my head, but this time it fills me with bliss, rather than sadness.

Je ne regrette rien…

I regret nothing…

Nothing matters but this…

He’s on his knees in an instant, head buried between my thighs, his mouth devouring me. His tongue laps hungrily, my betraying body telling him just how aroused I am, how much I need this. A feral growl emerges from his throat as he sucks hard on my clit, his fingers pushing deep inside me. I can hardly take it; I want to come right now. All the pent up pain, anger, joy, excitement is coursing through me at once, shocking my brain into a state of confused arousal. I don’t even know what to feel, except that I’m purely in the moment now; nothing matters but his incredible mouth on me.

Tomorrow might be hard—one hour from now might be hard. But this second is a miracle. This second is the best thing I’ve ever felt. That mouth working its magic, those hands gripping my thighs.

I am so alive, and it’s fucking wonderful.

“Adriana,” he moans between licks, “Pull your dress off for me.”

He stands up and lifts me just enough to let me tear the red dress over my head. Quickly I unfasten my bra and drop it to the floor, so that all I’m wearing is the shoes. I feel so sexy right now. I don’t need to ask him if he’s hard for me; I know he is.

“Touch yourself for me,” he says, slipping back down to his knees. I feel myself flush. Does he want me to masturbate? I mean, I’d do it, but his mouth is so good…

“Your nipples. I want to see you touch them.”

I slip my palms down both breasts, self-consciously circling my fingers around my very hard nipples. The tip of his tongue is still working my clit, but his eyes are looking up at me, he’s watching what I do to myself. And damn, I have to admit that I like being watched.

Leaning back on the table so that my legs hang over the edge, I pinch the pink tips, showing him just how hard, how sensitive they are. I slip my fingertips over them, drawing redness to their peaks even as his tongue swirls delicately over my bud.

He moans with delight, his incredible mouth working magic on my body. Fuck, that’s good.

Too good.

“Conlon,” I moan, “I’m going to come so hard…”

The pulse shudders through me like an explosion, my thighs tightening around his head, hips bucking under the next shockwave. Conlon lets out the most beautiful, prolonged moan as he eats me out, his fingers driving into me hard, slowly easing up.

But I want more than fingers. I want his cock inside me.

When my orgasm subsides at last he stands up, undoing his pants. “Is it okay?” he says, his eyes narrowing. I nod up at him.

“No condom this time,” I command. “I want to feel everything.”

He lets his clothing fall to the floor. He’s got his massive hard-on in his fist, his other hand finding my opening. And with one quick, incredible thrust he’s deep inside me.

I cry out, the whole table shuddering under the force of it. My neighbour across the street must have heard me, and he’s probably very proud of himself right about now for his small part in this. Conlon’s hands are slipping up my belly, seeking my breasts to knead them gently, savouring my skin with his touch. His lips find a nipple and he drags it into his mouth, tongue teasing its tip as he takes me hard, his body a rock-solid, beautiful sculpture of rippling muscle and bronze flesh.

“Adriana,” he moans. “I needed you so fucking badly today. I didn’t like seeing you go last night. I don’t like saying good-bye to you. I only ever want you to come towards me. Do you understand? I want you near me all the fucking time.”

I throw an arm around his neck and pull him towards me, pressing my chest to his. “I need you too,” I whisper. Broken woman that I am, he’s making me whole for a few sweet minutes. We’re making each other whole.

“I’d fuck you for years,” he says, another low growl erupting from his chest. He’s an animal, possessive, dominant, and I love it. “I want you for myself. I never want to stop.”

Neither do I.

His cock is impossibly, wonderfully huge. Without the condom I can feel every inch of him, so deep inside me, and I cry out again and again with the sheer pleasure of it. He’s going hard now, pounding me, his fingers wrapped hard around my thighs.

I don’t know what this moment means. All I know is that I never want this man to walk out of my life. I never want him to tell me that we can never be. I want to make love to him every day.

“I have a fantasy about you,” he groans as he watches his cock sink into me. “I had it the second I saw you in that bar in New York.”

“Oh, yeah?” I reply between hitched breaths.

“Would you stand up?” he asks, pulling himself almost completely out, much to my dismay. His cock is a steel rod between us.

I nod my head, slipping off the table, which means pulling myself away from him for a second. Gently he turns me around and pushes me forward so that I bend at the hips, my torso flattening over the table. Conlon leans down and pulls my thighs apart, licks his fingers then strokes them over my opening. Another aftershock of my orgasm hits as they slip over my clit, then he sheaths himself once again.

Oh, God, this is even better, if that’s possible. The man is taking me lion-style, sinking his massive girth inside me, hands on my hips. I can hear the groans emerge from his throat, rattling growls, visceral and masculine.

“Your ass is the most beautiful thing in the world,” he says. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’m so fucking turned on right now.”

He doesn’t need to tell me; I can feel it.

“I’m going to explode,” he murmurs, “Adriana, I’m going to come…”

A moment later he pulls out. I feel the glorious sensation of hot lava shooting over my back once and then again, and again. Fucking sexy man, you are amazing.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t looking at your beautiful face the whole time,” he murmurs, kissing my right shoulder blade. “I really wanted to take you from behind.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I suspect it was like watching fireworks.”

“Something like that.” He moves away for a moment, reaching for a piece of paper towel, which he wets under the tap. A second later he’s wiping my back slowly, cleaning me up. God, that’s hot.

His fingers tuck in between my legs one more time and he gives me a gentle massage, my swollen lips telling him just how much pleasure I derived from our little tryst.

“I was wondering…” he says.

“Wondering what?”

“If you’d mind terribly if I ate you out again, Adriana.”

I spin around to look into his eyes, laughter caught in my throat.

My God, he’s serious.

I leap up onto the table and part my legs once again. There’s no way I’m turning that offer down. “I’m all yours,” I say.

“Good. Because I might not come up for air for several hours.”

Conlon Davies is on his knees again, and I am one happy woman.