Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

22. Paris: Part 2

Carnival of Light

22.

I woke up with a horrible headache that seemed to worsen with every beat of my heart, making me feel dizzy. I sighed miserably and opened my eyes, blinking past the overly bright sunlight spilling in through the window. I could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance, which confused me for about five seconds until I remembered I was in Paris, and I had had many drinks the night before at Chez Castel, and that I was there with Paul, who was pressed up behind me, his chest warm against my back, breathing softly into my hair.

His arm was around me, holding me against him in his sleep. I tried to look over my shoulder at Paul, and could see one eye, his eyelashes black against his cheek, and one ear, sticking out from between panels of messy black hair. I laid my head back down on the pillow, feeling Paul's chest rise and fall against my back as he slept.

I closed my eyes, willing myself back to sleep, and I must have succeeded for at least a few more hours because I was groggy when I next woke up, this time to the featherlight touch of fingertips slowly drifting up and down my arm.

I wasn't dizzy now but I still felt rough as I blinked myself awake. Paul felt me stir and pressed his lips to my shoulder, still stroking my arm. It was almost with a sense of trepidation that I turned to look at him, twisting from my waist. He lifted his head to smile at me, ruffled and sleepy, in need of a shave and very cute, but obviously hungover.

"Good morning," I croaked uneasily, making him grin like I was funny.

"Good morning," Paul propped himself up on his elbow so he could lean in to kiss me. I kept my arms partially folded over my chest like they'd been while I slept.

He pulled back to look at me, his hand smoothing over my stomach and up my body. My arms fell away as he continued up through the valley of my breasts to my chest, and back down again before landing on my hip, stroking the hollow there. I was still half-asleep, but also immediately aroused, and I found myself staring up at him, feeling slightly lost.

"Aren't you lovely looking first thing in the morning," Paul observed, smiling crookedly.

"Thank you," I said dumbly, making him laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I feel bloody rough," he admitted, stroking my waist where it dipped in. "How do you feel?"

I certainly felt better when he touched me like that.

"Not my best," I admitted, still staring at him. It felt so odd to have him there with me like this, when I'd just woken up. 

"Hmm," Paul seemed to agree, smiling easily. He ran his hand up the front of my body again, this time cupping one of my breasts, squeezing gently.

My eyebrows rose.

"What?" he laughed, his hand skating back down to stroke my waist again.

"Nothing, I'm just..." I faltered. "Used to wearing pyjamas, I suppose."

Paul squinted at me like I'd made a joke he didn't fully understand.

"I mean it," I laughed.

He shook his head, smiling as his hand slid down the side of my body, pushing the sheets away so he could carry on past my hip and down my thigh, squeezing my leg before travelling back up to my waist again. There was something entitled about the way he touched me. Like I was his to touch and move and do as he pleased with. I really liked it.

"D'you remember when we sat out in your back garden with Tara?" he caught my eye. "You had a bikini on."

"Yes," I smirked.