I woke slowly in the tangle of Dylan's new sheets, sunlight filtering through the big windows in soft slats across the bed. His arm was slung over my waist, palm flat against my stomach, fingers splayed wide like he was holding me in place even in sleep.
Dylan's breath was hot against my neck, his chest pressed to my back, solid and warm. I could feel him half-hard against my ass, stirring as I moved. My own cock twitched in response, already thickening at the thought of flipping over, taking him in my mouth before he fully woke, tasting the salt of him, feeling those strong hands fist my hair and guide me down. But he stirred first, hand sliding lower, fingers brushing the base of my shaft in a lazy stroke that made me gasp.
"Morning, noodle," he murmured, voice rough with sleep, lips grazing my shoulder. His fingers wrapped around me fully now, stroking slowly and firm, thumb circling the head where precome beaded. I arched into it, breath hitching as he pressed a thigh between mine, spreading me just enough to tease the sensitive skin.
"Dylan," I breathed, hand reaching back to grip his hip. He chuckled low, the vibration rumbling through me, and rolled his hips forward, his cock hot and insistent against my ass. One finger dipped lower, circling my hole, pushing in just the tip. I moaned, pushing back, but he held me still, stroking me faster now, breath hot on my neck.
"Want me to fuck you awake?" he whispered, nipping my earlobe. "Bend you over this new bed, make it creak?"
"Yes," I gasped, but he laughed and pulled his hand away, leaving me throbbing and empty. He kissed my shoulder once more, then rolled out of bed, standing naked and unashamed, his body all hard lines and muscle in the morning light. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, still semi-hard, and I watched it sway as he stretched, abs flexing, biceps popping as he picked up his underwear from the floor and put in on.
"Later," he said with a wink. "Breakfast first. I am hungry as fuck"
I groaned and flopped back against the pillows, watching him walk to the kitchen. The new apartment felt lived-in already, high ceilings echoing the soft clatter of cabinets, big windows framing rooftops that stretched toward the Seine. Quiet street below, no rush of traffic. It was perfect. He was perfect in his impossible way.
I pulled on underwear and followed him into the living room, leaning against the countertop as he slathered peanut butter on toast, underwear riding low on his hips, bubble butt flexing with every movement. Classic Dylan.
"Since when did you start making breakfast for me?" I teased, stepping close.
He flexed one bicep, holding the toast like a trophy. "This toast is for these biceps."
I laughed and leaned in, taking a bite right from the middle, peanut butter smearing my lips. "And these biceps are for me. So I'll take this. Thank you."
He spanked my ass lightly as I snatched the toast and sauntered to the couch, crunching loud in the quiet space. Dylan shook his head, grinning, and started another piece for himself, his ass bouncing with the motion as he reached for the jar.
"Last night was perfect," he said over his shoulder . "It's good to have you stay the night."
I smiled around another bite, the crunch echoing. "Yeah." But even as the words left my mouth, Lucien's text flickered in my mind, blue eyes and that assessing smile cutting through the warmth. Guilt twisted low, but I pushed it down, focusing on Dylan, on the way his shoulders moved, strong and sure.
A little later, after a quick shower and a kiss that almost turned into more, I headed out. The walk to the patisserie was crisp, Paris waking slowly under a pale sky. The phone buzzed as I turned the corner.
Lucien.
“What do you think about adaptogen elixirs?
The new mushroom-infused ones for focus and calm.
Game changer or just fancy tea?”
I paused on the sidewalk, thumb hovering. Adaptogens. I had read about them once, some wellness trend for stress. Sounded like something Dylan would mock over protein shakes.
“I'd say, I'd eat anything if marketed as healthy.”, I replied.
Lucein’s reply came immediately.
“Well, there's an event one of the brands I work with is hosting.
Don't worry if you hate it, they are serving drinks as well.”
My pulse quickened.
“Already asking me on a date, are you Mr. Castle?”
“Only if you say yes.
Otherwise, it's professional networking. ;)
8pm.
Location attached.”
I stared at the pin drop, a rooftop spot by the Seine. Glam, upscale. The kind of place Dylan would call pretentious. But Lucien's words lingered, that quiet confidence. One night. Harmless curiosity.
“See you there.”
The patisserie came into view, flower boxes blooming with fresh lilies I needed to change. I pushed inside, the bell chiming soft, and got to work. Arranging the small tables and chairs on the side patio, swapping wilted blooms for new ones, their scent sweet and clean against the coffee roast. Madame Claire nodded from the back, her hands dusted with flour as she shaped dough. The routine grounded me, hands busy, mind wandering only a little to the evening ahead. What was I doing? Dylan in his new kitchen, toast and biceps and easy mornings. Lucien with his investments and blue eyes that saw too much. The ache from this morning still thrummed, Dylan's kiss, but the pull of something new whispered louder.
The morning passed in a blur of customers and steam, sketches on napkins between rushes. My phone stayed quiet until lunch, when it buzzed again. Lucien, with a photo of the venue at sunset, Seine glittering below.
“Can't wait to hear your verdict on the elixirs.”
I smiled despite myself, pocketing it quickly when Madame Claire called me for a refill. By afternoon the tables were set, flowers fresh, and the decision sat heavy. One night. Just to see.
Evening came fast. I dressed in the mirror at my apartment, fitted black shirt that hugged my shoulders, dark jeans, a touch of cologne Becca had left. Nervous energy buzzed under my skin as I headed out, the city alive with dusk light. The event spot loomed ahead, string lights twinkling over a rooftop terrace, influencers in sleek athleisure milling with glasses in hand. Seine views stretched endless below, water dark and shimmering. I smoothed my shirt, took a breath, and stepped inside.
The air hummed with low chatter and jazz, adaptogen tastings lined up on bars like colorful potions. I scanned the crowd, heart picking up, until blue eyes found me across the room.
Lucien Castle.
Seeing him dressed in a navy polo that hugged his chest just right, white pants showing off those heavy quads and thighs, watch glinting under the string lights, the hunk took my breath away. He moved through the crowd like he owned the space without trying, that quiet confidence turning heads without effort. Our eyes met across the rooftop, and he smiled, slow and deliberate, weaving toward me with a glass in hand.
"You made it," he said, voice low and warm, pulling me into a hug before I could answer. His arms wrapped firm around my back, biceps flexing under the polo fabric, cologne subtle but sharp, like cedar and citrus lingering on clean skin. I hugged back, feeling the solid press of his chest, the heat of him seeping through my shirt.
I pulled away laughing to cover the flush. "Yeah, can't say no to free drinks. And the elixirs. Though I'm still deciding if they're magic potion or just expensive tea."
He chuckled, hand brushing my lower back as he guided me deeper into the crowd. "Fair. Let's test it. Come meet some people."
Being here tonight felt like stepping into a world that didn't quite fit, the Seine lights winking below like they knew my secrets, wondering where the night would take us. I told myself I was just here to shoot some content for LifeInParis, quick clips of the views and the vibe, nothing more. Just saying yes to Lucien because he was a nice gentleman, friendly in that steady way that made curiosity feel safe. Harmless. Right?
I’ll find out tonight.
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