imagines; beatles

✰ la mer : paul

Waltzing down the street, your shiny black heels piercing the small puddles of water that formed on the grey concrete below, you made your way across the vast, bright city—which stood tall, glowing and emitting success against the thick black night.

The aromatic scents of freshly baked bread and cooked meats wafted into your nostrils from nearby restaurants you passed, filled with loquacious citizens of society, who traveled far and wide just to reach the city of dreams.

The tower twinkled brightly ahead, piercing through the dark and misty night sky. You wrapped yourself tighter in your white fur coat as you inhaled the fresh, stuffy odor of rain approaching.

To the right, you could make out the glowing red sign, signaling the entrance to club. Your crimson painted lips parted into a flirtatious grin as you stared at the attractive, lettuce cut awning. You quickened your pace, your knee peaking out from the small slit in your black pencil skirt.

"Bienvenue, madame Bardot." Micheal greeted, clutching his hand around the curved, golden handle and opening the door, gesturing a hand for you to pass through.

"Merci, Michael." You responded sweetly, allowing him to take your coat off, placing it in the closet. You filed in, the chilly air inside kissing your exposed arms gently. You loosely held onto the thin strap of your black purse as you placed a manicured hand to your neck, fixing the strand of pearls you wore across your décolletage.

You stood still, taking in the sight of the dimly lit atmosphere. Darkened,clothed, round tables lit by a singular candle were placed perfectly to face the stage, which stood glowing from the warm, yellow lights above, with your good friend Edith singing one of your favorite French classics. Your hips began to sway to the beat as your eyes surveyed the people who sat, their attention glued to the flashy dress Edith wore.

The rain began to patter against the large window to your right, drawing in the poor folk who had no shelter from heavens' gift. You smiled at all of the new people who stood, their lips ajar, stunned by the lovely club and thanking the gods that the rains led them inside this dark room.

Your gaze met with a young gentleman who looked to be newly twenty. You bit your bottom lip, examining every crease and fold. He had a round face, curved and pillowy lips, gentle, doe eyes, and a straight mop top of hair that fell on his forehead. He didn't look French—with his American styled drainpipe trousers, white button up and thin black tie—he was surely from another planet to you.

This sense of alienation he had emitting from him drew you in nearer with time. His gaze was kept solely to you—until his eyes fluttered down to the cigarette he held between two fingers, switching a flame and lighting the end, drawing its paper coating to his rose lips, inhaling and keeping one eye on you. As he puffed out the white smoke he lifted up his chin and turned his head, showcasing a chiseled jaw line.

As if you were walking on a tightrope, you strutted over to his side of the club, delicately re-positioning your soft-blonde curls. From the stage, Dean Martins' 'Everybody Loves Somebody' kicked on, the angelic harmonies colliding with your body's movements. He noticed you walking over and struggled to control the smirk wishing to splash across his pale face. He took another drag from his cigarette, looking at you from every angle.

You stopped, less than an inch away from his face. You could clearly smell his breath—nicotine with a hint of whiskey. Your eyes played a game with his heart, flashing looks from his lips and then back to his eyes, taunting the lust he had for you, which you could sense by his stiff posture.

As he drew the cigarette to his lips for the third time that evening, you seized the cylindrical stick, smushing it in the round, glass ashtray that sat on the table next to the two of you. His eyes had been glued to you as you disposed of his first addiction, creating a new one by batting your eyelashes and seductively puckering your lips.

You gently picked up his warm and rough hand, pulling him along to an open space in front of the stage, where one lonely couple stood swaying. As if in a duel, the two of you made circles, not daring to step closer to one another as you walked around, making harsh eye contact.

You admired once again at his figure, and he now analyzed you fully—your top a cream, satin blouse with sleeves that cut off just before the shoulder, tucked into the fitting black pencil skirt that sat above your belly button. Almost worried that you would bite, he quickly snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you close to him, dipping you back slightly and looking at your lips—which you could tell he longed to kiss.

"I'm Paul." He finally released the smirk which he had hid so long, his hazel eyes beginning to marvel your face from up close. He raised your arm, which had been dangling by your side when he grabbed you, and peppered it with feverish kisses, starting from your wrist and making his way to the base of your neck. Chills cascaded down your back, a tingling sensation that grew thirsty for more.

"Brigitte." Paul's eyes widened as you spoke, a bit surprised by your exotic accent. He brought you back up so you were standing on your own, his hands re-positioning themselves on your curvy hips, the two of you now gently swaying to a new song.

All at once it happened—Paul released his hands from your waist and cupped your cold face in his warm hands, lifting up your head and placing a delicate, dry and soft kiss to your lips. You kissed him back, placing your palms on the side of his face, pulling him further into you.

"je t'aime." He hissed into your ear, dipping you completely, your foot popping into the air, his arms braided around yours as he kept you from falling. While he held you, he looked down upon your face, which was lit by the reflection of the nearby stage light. He hovered over you, his hair falling past his darkened face, his eyes brimming with lust.

"joli garçon." You exhaled softly as he pulled you back up, stroking his soft cheek with the back of your hand.

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not my best, but I liked the general idea😪
MY BOOK IS COMING TO A CLOSE! my next chapter will be my last🥺