“Je vais t’embrasser.” His mouth is moving, speaking words I don’t understand, inching closer. I nod. “Okay.” Those rough, callused hands cup my jaw, thumbs stroking my smooth skin. “Je suis content que tu sois ici, Laurel.” His lips brush the skin beneath my ear. “I’m really glad you’re here.” He’s so gentle. So tender. My eyes slide closed and I bite my lip, bite back a moan. “Putain, tu es jolie,” he murmurs into my ear. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” “Merci.” It’s the only other French word I know, and it slips out on a whisper as I tilt my neck so he can plant a kiss there. His warm hands
...more
