The following scene is a continuation from A Parisian Holiday. Read that scene first, then this one. Enjoy!
Moscow ordered for both of us in perfect French. I listened closely and gathered we were starting with a soup of some kind and then a dish with prawns and more red wine.
The server returned shortly with slices of warm baguette in a bread basket. “Merci!” we both chimed enthusiastically. It seemed that Moscow liked warm bread as much as me. Well, despite his nickname, he was French!
We talked about how he met Jackie, one of my closest friends from high school who now lives in Paris. As we talked his features seemed to soften or maybe it was the way he talked about Jackie. He seemed to really admire her, but not in a sexual way. I got more of a fraternal vibe from him, and Jackie had similar sentiments about Moscow when she spoke of him.
As we ate and talked, I thought about how I could listen to Moscow all night. His deep voice speaking English with a French accent gave me chills in all the right places.
At one point, he was describing the chocolate crêpes from a local crêperie that he wanted to walk me to after dinner. The way he described the warm chocolate melting in your mouth, set a fire in my furnace below. I wonder if he knew just talking about chocolate could have this effect on me.
I needed to change the subject and sober up, so I asked Moscow how he came by his nickname, I knew his real name was Marcel. He seemed hesitant to share the full story but said it was a moniker given to him after a gap year trip with some friends. He smiled and looked down at his plate.
“Must have been some trip!” I said as I nudged him in the arm to tell me. It was only a light push, but my hand felt as if it collided with an electrical socket. The rippling muscles bulging from Moscow’s arm sent a warm wave of electricity coursing through my body.
And, if that wasn’t enough, Moscow conceded and told me a sultry story about how he found his way into a sex dungeon in Moscow and got quite an introduction to BDSM. He told me that was when he realized he was meant to be a Dom.
I may have sighed audibly.
His friends, who had witnessed most of the evening including an intense moment between Moscow and a bound and gagged submissive, bought him a ball gag with lettering that spelled out Moscow. He’s been known as that ever since.
Now with two glasses of wine in me, and hearing Moscow’s story, I was feeling a little more bold and a lot more sexy. Somehow Moscow seemed closer to me than he had been when he first sat down. Did his chair move? Did mine? Was I leaning in more? Was he? I couldn’t tell but I caught the fragrance of his cologne and I wanted more.
We both reached for another slice of the baguette at the same time and our hands met. His on top of mine. For a moment, we sat frozen, and then with one finger he traced lightly across my knuckles then up to my wrist. He patted me there gently twice and said, “Beautiful ladies first.”
I’m not sure that I could smile anymore than I was in that moment. He thinks I’m beautiful. Is he flirting with me or just being kind?
“Well that’s sweet of you to say,” I countered as I removed a slice of baguette from the basket and placed it on the side of the table next to my plate.
“C’est vrai!” he replied and he looked intently into my eyes. I couldn’t look away and the heat in the furnace was back. I wonder if he felt what I was feeling as well?
We finished dinner and agreed to a short walk over to the crêperie. It was a beautiful night, the sky was clear and there was a nice breeze that tingled the senses and kept my nipples on alert. We walked along slowly talking and laughing, halfway down the second block Moscow took my hand in his.
I didn’t resist. It felt right. He felt right. I smiled and squeezed his hand to let him know it was welcome and we continued hand in hand like two lovers out for an evening Parisian stroll.
What an amazing way to spend my first night in Paris, I thought. Little did I know, there was so much more to come!
NEXT >> A Parisian Holiday: Crêpes To Go
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