In the Interlude

Chapter 29 - Letting go

"What are you thinking about Aïcha?" Tom asked in a low voice, as if afraid of disturbing the quiet of the moment.

It was well past midnight, in the darkest of hours. Tom and Aïcha were lying in bed on their sides, heads on pillows, facing each other. Her hair lay loosely around her, the braid long undone under Tom's expert hands. His finger was tracing the line of her neck, lingering on her collarbone.

Aïcha was thinking of many things. How she had overcome her own inhibitions. How he had taken charge of the night, taken control of her, of them. How he had detailed all the things he wanted to do to her before driving her over the edge.

Earlier, when they came back to the hotel, he had led her firmly by the hand to the middle of the room, tugging a little on her braid to bring her ear closer, not too hard, just enough to show his intentions. "One thing you need to know about me is that I make good on my promises," he had whispered in her ear, breathing on her neck.

Leaving her standing there her spine-tingling with desire, he walked to the bed and sat on its edge legs wide open, his excitement unmistakable. "Take off everything but your underwear."

That had been her moment of truth.

Deciding right and then, his demanding blue eyes piercing through her defences if she was willing to give him control tonight. If she was willing to let herself go.

She had made her reservations clear when they were playing truth or dare, which in hindsight might not have been the best of games to play with this man. She trusted him however, he had shown how gentle and caring he was and had been very straightforward with her from the beginning. He was like primary colours - no grey areas thank you very much. And if she was being honest with herself, she liked the idea of letting someone take control. 

No, scratch that. 

She loved the idea of him taking control. Her body agreed wholeheartedly, her fingers eagerly but slowly unzipping her black perfecto, the sound not covering her ragged breath.

"A euro for your thoughts darling," Tom asked her again, adjusting his head on the pillow, bringing himself closer to her.

She smiled, her index tracing the contours of his smooth face, of his sculpted cheekbones, of his thin but damn fine lips. "I was just thinking about this weekend. It all seems like a dream to me."

"Why is that?"

With a sigh, Aïcha turned on her back smoothing her dishevelled hair with her hands. "Me, here, with you, in Paris, it just feels, hmm, comment dire?" She bit on her lips looking for the right word in English. "Surreal? Yeah, surreal."

She turned her head back to him. He was watching her, trying to read between the lines. His gaze travelled over her face, her dark eyes, her perfect lips slightly parted waiting for an answer, a reaction.

Propped up on his elbow, he planted a soft kiss on her mouth. "Does it feel surreal when I do this?" Not waiting for an answer, he pulled her closer, slipping his hand under the sheets and his leg between hers. "And when I do this, does it still feel surreal?"

She giggled into his mouth as he was slowly drawing little eights with his finger over her waist.

"I think I might have found your weak spot."

"Oh, I think you've already found plenty of those earlier."

Tom laughed, feeling light and happy. He had to admit that it felt indeed a bit surreal. They were from completely different worlds and should have never really met if some cosmic force had not intervened on their behalf. And yet, he couldn't remember ever connecting so easily and effortlessly with anyone before.