Five Nights in Paris

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Chapter Five

Adrien, September seven years ago

I sighed as I pulled my laptop out, slouching back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. The first seminar of the semester didn’t have anything important to be done, the class had met yesterday for lecture and a run over of the syllabus, today I would go over expectations with my group. Not that my expectations were very high; this was the third semester I had been a Teaching Assistant with NYU, and I now knew better than to expect the Americans to care about actually going to class. I grabbed my travel mug and sloshed coffee down the front of my jacket in the process. Fils de salope. Son of a bitch. I scrambled for a tissue, patting down the black-dyed deerskin frantically before it set in. I groaned and pulled it off, hanging it up on the extra chair in the corner. I checked the time, 8:52, students would start arriving anytime now. This really wasn’t my morning.

I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the sudden rush of anxiety about meeting a bunch of nineteen- and twenty-year old’s that were going to scrutinize me for another four months. I dressed casually this time around, a light grey cotton V-neck tucked in on one side, distressed blue jeans, and black leather ankle boots. After seeing enough students come to class in sweats and dirty clothes, I knew I didn’t need to dress up. The door opened and I glanced towards it, shoving my sweaty hands in my pockets. A young guy greeted me, followed by a larger group of laughing girls. I smiled at everyone as they filled the empty spots around the massive rectangular table, mostly women but not unexpected for a literature class. Several more men joined us and I suppressed my shock at how many students had actually come to the first class.

I gave it a few more minutes before I cleared my throat and addressed the room, “Bonjour, Salut - Hello everyone.” I paused as the group murmured their greetings. “Welcome to the start of a new semester, my name is Adrien Bouchard, and obviously I’ll be your seminar leader--”

A petite blonde girl in a hideous green sweatshirt raised her hand before she interrupted me, “Are we expected to know French? Because I was told this was an English lead class.”

You’re in Paris for fuck’s sake. “I am a native French speaker, but yes the course will be in English. That being said I will use French phrases or terms from time to time, but they’re basic enough that everyone should understand.” I sincerely hope they’d understand it anyway.

The red-haired guy beside her snickered and the girl smacked his arm playfully. I sat down in the chair at the head of the table, in front of the blackboard, and opened my laptop again to my course outline before asking if they all had a copy of the syllabus with them. I went through names with the group, and only one was missing - Holly Mitchell. I doubted she would show up to many, or any, classes. I started to go over the first reading assignment and everyone at the table jumped as the door crashed open against the wall.

“Oh, shit - I’m so sorry!” The girl in the doorway said.

My mouth went dry as my eyes moved up her body, she was tall, gorgeous, and I tried not to stare like a creep. The skin-tight white jeans sat low on her hips, a strip of exposed flesh between the waistband and the hem of her pastel pink hoodie revealed a glittering gemstone - a navel piercing. Her sweater was equally as tight and tiny as the pants, unzipped far enough down that it was easy to tell she didn’t have anything on underneath, but her nipples straining against the fabric tipped that off as well. Her cute heart-shaped face, with big blue doe eyes, was sweet and soft, with her curly black hair pulled up into a high ponytail. I stared at her mouth for longer than I should have, but the full pouty lips with Barbie pink lipstick filled me with wildly inappropriate thoughts. Her eyes met mine and she smiled slightly, her mouth tilted up at one corner.

“I’m sorry I’m late, jet lag,” she said as a way of explanation with a little wave of her manicured hand. She sat down next to Amber, a brunette girl, who regarded her with distaste. “I’m Holly Mitchell, this is French and Expatriate Literature, right?”

Holly’s voice was high and lilting, a valley girl, the accent was adorable. Do not even think about it. “Oui, yes. It’s good to have you here, we’re just going over the syllabus, if you have it pull it out or you can share with someone here, I’m sure...”

There was a new, prominent, scent in the room, fruity with a metallic edge - sour apple? A snapping sound caught my attention and I realized Holly was chewing gum, green, definitely sour apple flavoured. I couldn’t look at her, I didn’t trust myself to not look at her tits again, and this was neither the place nor the time. She watched me though, even as everyone else mostly chatted amongst themselves or kept their eyes on their devices, she watched me closely. I could see her scratching her long nails against the tabletop softly, out of the corner of my vision. I broke down and glanced quickly at her as I typed an email, she was watching my hands intently, the bright early morning light made her tan glow and her eyes sparkle. I shifted and flexed my knuckles, testing to see if she was thinking about what I thought she was, what I hoped she was. Holly moved, squirming slightly in her seat as she quickly looked away. I smiled to myself, satisfied that her mind appeared to be in the gutter as well. She was quiet for most of the class; glancing around the room with a resigned face, slowly I realized that other women in the room were avoiding conversation with her - or even looking at her at all. Derek, the blond man across from her, asked if she wanted to study in his dorm later and I suppressed a dramatic eye roll. Holly declined with a shy smile and went back to sitting quietly and played with her pen.

The class moved with painful slowness, but everyone seemed satisfied with my grading criteria and the excerpts I had chosen. As the classroom finally emptied out three women lingered, Holly, and two brunettes. One woman, that I didn’t remember the name of, whispered something to her friend while leaving and the two laughed loudly. Holly blushed and shoved her notebook into her bag quickly. I turned away to gather the rest of my things before I would cave and try to talk her up.

“Mr. Bouchard?” Holly’s voice was soft and uncertain.

“Oui?” I asked, meeting her heavy-lidded blue eyes. I tried not to notice the way she held her bag in front of her, pushing her tits together. I wanted to pull the zipper the rest of the way down.

“I’m sorry for barging in like that, I promise not to be late again.” Was it my imagination or did she bat her eyes at me?

I offered her a small smile of understanding. “Don’t worry about it, this isn’t high school - I’m not going to chase you down.” I paused realizing that she called me ‘mister’. “And please, s’il vous plait, call me Adrien.” Or Sir, or Daddy, maybe Master if you’re good enough.

“Adrien,” she said and blushed slightly. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Weird? “Uh, sure I guess,” I said, confused. It couldn’t be weirder than the many things I wanted to do to her.

“There’s this bar everyone’s going to this weekend as like a welcome back thing, are you going too?” She smiled at me, tilting her head to the side slightly.

It was cute, and mentally I kicked myself for my eagerness at joining her. It would be wrong, an abuse of my position to follow a student to the bar. I tried to keep my voice even and not show my disappointment, “I’ll see if I can stop by, but I can’t make any promises.” Ce bordel, what the fuck is wrong with me? I could not stop by, no way no how.

Her face lit up and my heart melted, she told me she hoped to see me later and we parted ways. I watched her ass bounce with every step, her jeans pulled tight and riding low at the back revealing the black strap of her thong. I felt my cock start to harden and I practically ran to my Jag in the parking lot. I could barely concentrate on the road, rubbing the crotch of my ever-tightening pants in desperation. I kept seeing the zipper of her hoodie pulled down, the contour of her tits exposed and her nipples pushing out the fabric lewdly. Or the dip of her hips and dangling belly button jewellery, and her plump pouty lips.

I practically threw the car keys at the doorman in my rush to the apartment, I just had to get inside. I fumbled with the door lock as my cock strained against my zipper, grating me painfully. I couldn’t slam it shut fast enough, throwing my coat and messenger bag on the floor with my shirt. I fell back onto the couch, finally freeing my hard length and grasping it tightly in one fist. The head was leaking copiously; I was close, I almost blew it in the car but just barely managed to keep myself on edge. I pumped fast, twisting my hand with each stroke and feeling the pressure start to build again. Her pretty mouth wrapped around my cock would feel so much better. I groaned and arched against the sofa; my eyes squeezed shut. I felt my balls tighten, my shaft throbbed, and I cried out as I came. My release shot across my chest and down my stomach, I panted and let go, feeling my hand becoming coated in the last dribble. Fils de salope. I stared up at the coffered ceiling in shame and horror. I jerked off to the thoughts of a student, and I wanted nothing more than to have her here to clean me up now. I needed to have her moved seminars, the prof could move her to another group - maybe Mya Parker’s, she had several open spots still. I reached for something to wipe myself off with, letting out a frustrated sigh I forced myself up and into the shower instead of stooping to using a blanket. I was a twenty-eight-year-old man, I was not wiping my seamen on a blanket like some horny teenager. Besides, it was running through my chest hair and pubes, this needed more than a tissue.


I was going to the bar, despite my better judgment, I wanted to go. I had spent the rest of the week thinking about her - I couldn’t keep her off my mind. The way she tilted her head when she asked me if I was tagging along, the snap of her gum every time she blew a bubble, or if I let myself dwell too long I would go back to focusing on that tight body. I definitely could not think about that again, I had jerked off too many times and I always felt like shit afterward. But I wanted to look good for her tonight; I pulled out a black muscle shirt with a deep swooping neckline, tight grey jeans that were faded and ripped at the knee, and calf height boots. I grabbed my leather jacket of the floor and pulled it back on, I took one last reassuring look in the gilded mirror - swept my dark hair back out of my eyes and frowned, I should have trimmed my beard more. Whatever. I took the stairs down and out, taking a deep breath of the cool autumn air and gazing up at the sky for a moment. This was it, the last chance to turn back and pretend nothing had happened, that I wasn’t interested. Merde, maybe she wasn’t even interested, and I was misinterpreting her actions. I swallowed hard and headed down the street resolutely, I had to find out one way or the other.

Zero Zero was a popular bar with the students, a dive with trashy graffiti, arcade games, and pool tables. There were kids everywhere, outside smoking, crowding around every game machine and drinking copiously. I couldn’t see Holly in the crowd, but I figured I’d find her eventually. I perched myself on a barstool and ordered a rum and coke. I listened to the dozens of voices around me, couples fighting, a girl shrieking excitedly, some assholes getting into a fight. I was on my second drink when I scanned the room again and my stomach twisted, she was here - leaning against a pool table with a beer in hand, laughing. She wore the tightest dress I had ever seen, perfectly hugging her curves and gathering a bit on each hip, slightly off white, cut straight across with off the shoulder long sleeves, and barely reaching mid-thigh. There were snap buttons straight down the middle and I wondered if I could rip them open. She had white pumps on too, completing my mental fantasy of her standing naked in heels and that bright pink lipstick smeared across her face, and my cock. She caught my eye and smirked, I felt heat creeping up my neck in embarrassment, but I didn’t look away, watching intently as she set her drink down and reached for a pool cue. When she bent over, I thought I was going to pass out; her dress rode up and stretched across her ass, making it almost completely sheer.

I watched in fascination as she artfully draped herself across the pool table, again and again, every time she stood up she shimmied her hips to pull the hemline back down, but my favourite was when she went to the other side and I got an eye full of her perfect tits. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was my fantasy, but her tan appeared even on every inch of skin, I had to wonder if she sunbathed naked. Some guy came up to her and swept her into a tight bearhug, I looked away in sudden disappointment. I shouldn’t have come; I should have just stayed home with my fantasies. I could text Emilie. I pulled out my phone and stared at it sullenly; I didn’t want to message her, but the sudden pangs of regret made me not want to go home alone.


I turned and came face to face with Holly, she was flushed slightly from the heat in the bar and smiling brightly at me. “I’m happy you came! What are you drinking?” She asked excitedly and took the seat next to me.

I’m glad I came too. “Rum,” I said, and noticed she didn’t have a drink after all. “Can I get you something?”

“Whatever you suggest.” She tilted her head again.

Everything she did was cute, I wondered if she did the head tilt unconsciously when flirting. I ordered her a vodka drink that I had seen other women in the bar drinking, I did it in Français and noticed her eyes widen and lips parted.

“I wish I could do that,” she mumbled, taking the drink.

“Français? It’s really not that hard,” I said with a shrug. “American’s struggle with rolling the tongue on the ‘r’, the uvular trill.” Okay, try not to sound like a douche.

She leaned against the bar and gazed at me in fascination. “How do you roll an ‘r’?”

Oh, fuck you’re cute. “Français,” I said slow and forcefully. “Je suis comme un fou, je pourrais te manger.” I want you so much, I could eat you.

Her eyes fluttered and I saw her shift against the stool, clenching her thighs together. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice was low and husky.

I grinned and sipped my drink. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Holly laughed and my stomach somersaulted before she spoke, “I really didn’t study much before I came here, my oral skills could use some work.”

I almost choked on my drink, and I had gone from semi to full hard-on. I glanced at her slyly, her mouth curved into a mischievous smile around the plastic straw. ”J’aimerais aider,” my voice was low, rougher than I intended.

She blushed and shrugged daintily. “Um - parlez vous Anglais?” she asked with obvious interest. Her faux accent was terrible, but I wanted her to keep talking with it.

I smirked, at least she knew how to ask someone to speak English. “I said I would love to help, teach you if you will.”

She leaned forward, placing her hand on my knee and sliding up my thigh. “That would be totally amazing, when do you think you could fit me in?” Her hair slipped over her shoulder and she brushed it behind her ear. Her eyes were beautiful, up close I could see the silver-grey ring around the pupil and the blue colour darkening towards the outer rim of her iris. The stereotypical valley girl speak was oddly endearing.

I gave in and let my eyes wander over her body wantonly. “How do you feel about tonight?” I asked, leaning in closer as her breathing hitched.

Through her parted lips I saw her tongue run along the edge of her teeth, I wanted to know what she tasted like. She was so forward, confident, it was a huge turn on, and I wondered how much of that transferred to the bedroom. Maybe she’s dominant, that would be interesting. Holly’s hand reached my erection and she leaned in suddenly, pressing her mouth against mine. I placed my hand over hers, pressing it harder into me. I heard her moan softly; I urged her lips apart and stroked her tongue with mine. Her fingers dug into my thigh and I groaned, releasing her hand and grabbed the back of her neck to pull her closer. She tasted wildly different than any other woman I had been with; I knew for sure now that her gum was sour apple, combined with vodka and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. She pulled back slowly, and I fought the urge to pull her back to me.

“I think tonight would be perfect,” she said breathily.

We downed the rest of our drinks and I called us a cab, I wasn’t walking home with her, I needed to get her back to the apartment as fast as possible. Waiting outside together we became more aggressive with our groping and making out. I pulled out my smoke case as she checked her phone, taking the brief pause in our screwing around to have a cigarette. I had just taken a drag when she looked at me in a mixture of confusion and interest.

“Can I have a puff?” she asked suddenly.

I was caught off guard but handed it to her anyway. She coughed on the exhale and I suppressed my laughter, I didn’t want her to think I was laughing at her inexperience. “I take it you don’t smoke, or at least not often.”

Holly blushed again, her eyes darting away. “Not like cigarettes. I’ve tried...other stuff -- not often though--” She rushed out, trying to make excuses.

I didn’t mind, drugs weren’t particularly my idea of a good time, but I wasn’t going to judge her for it. “It’s alright,” I interrupted. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal.” I smiled reassuringly at her. “Can I ask you something?” Something I should have asked a while ago. She smiled back and I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her hard against my chest, my hand splayed out across her lower back.

“Of course, I’m an open book,” she said, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“How old are you exactly?” I asked, praying she was at least twenty but her giggling and general behaviour told me that probably wasn’t the case.

“I turn twenty in the new year, a January baby,” she said with a lopsided shrug and smile.

Christ. It made me uncomfortable, we were almost ten years apart in age and light-years apart in experience. But as she braced her hands on me and we fell back into our kissing I felt the worry slip away, she knew I was older than her and it didn’t bother her. I told myself to just enjoy the way she yielded to me, hung off my arm, and kissed my neck and jaw. It all told me that she probably wasn’t dominant - but I was eager to find out one way or the other. The taxi honked and I ushered her in, ready to get somewhere private. The ride was short, owing to our frantic groping and trying to stick our tongues down each others’ throats. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been necking like a teenager in the back seat of a car, and I wouldn’t have traded the time for anything.

Holly was pawing at my shirt as we got into the apartment, as soon as the door clicked shut behind us, I pulled the front of her dress down. Her nipples hardened instantly when exposed to the cool air, her breasts were small, but I couldn’t care less once my mouth was sucking and kissing them. Her fingers threaded through my hair, tugging lightly as she moaned and panted. She smelled like coconut and strawberries, a mouth-watering combination.

“Do these come undone?” I asked, my tongue following the curve of her throat.

“Y-yeah,” she stuttered softly.

I pulled back to look at her, she was flushed, and her eyes were huge. I worried suddenly that she was nervous. “Are you alright?” I cupped her face in my hands, I didn’t want her to look away or lie.

She was hyper-focused on me as she spoke, “Way more than alright, you’re not stopping, are you?” She sounded dazed and almost panicky at the end.

I smirked, sliding my hands down and ripping the dress open. The snaps flew apart and I pushed the rest off her, wanting to see every inch of her naked beauty. “Why would I want to stop?” I growled, nipping at her ear lobe.

Holly pulled desperately at my jacket and then my shirt, I hoisted her up and carried her down the hall before we just started fucking in the foyer like rabbits. She stripped me eagerly, as she got to my boxer briefs, she froze, my cock straining against the cotton.

“Now there’s a look every guy wants to see,” I said, grinning wickedly. It was true; her mouth hung open, blinking rapidly, and hands froze on the waistband. She looked up at me and I thought I was going to come right then, it was better than I could have hoped for - the faded lipstick around her mouth, her lips swollen from harsh kisses, and the look of complete and utter shock.

She pulled my underwear down, my cock sprung free and bobbed in front of her. “Um, I don’t think that will fit --” She blushed brightly and stopped short. “I’ve never been with an uncircumcised guy before,” she said bluntly.

It wouldn’t surprise me if she couldn’t get it in, it’d happened before, we just had to get creative. The uncircumcised part was pretty funny though, I chuckled. “That’s ok sweetheart, let me help you.” I reached out and guided her hands gently. Showing her how to carefully work the foreskin back and got her jerking me off like a pro.

When Holly leaned forward to lick and kiss the head, I sunk my fingers into her silky hair and closed my eyes, revelling in the sensation of her hot, wet tongue swirling around me. I groaned when her mouth moved lower, licking my sack as her hands tightened and twisted on my cock. I couldn’t let it go on for too long, I didn’t want to come yet and her soft skin and hooded eyes gazing up at me was making that difficult. I pulled her off and pinned her on the bed under me. I wanted to commit the sight of her sprawled under me, helpless, to memory; her hair fanned out across the plum coloured silk duvet, staring at me in awe. Her hands came up to hold my face, nails scratching through my facial hair, I closed my eyes for a second, shivering at her touch.

Her expression changed into worry. “I don’t usually do this, you know? I mean, some people will say things, but it’s not true. I actually just broke up with my boyfriend and--” She stopped suddenly, probably realizing she said too much, and sounding unnecessarily guilty.

I rolled over and pulled her with me, having her straddle my waist, she squealed reaching out to steady herself and I laughed breathlessly. ”Chaton, I have you in my bed, completely naked, and mine for the evening. I am not worried about what you have or have not done with someone else.” I paused and thought for a moment. “Well, unless you’re a virgin - I think that’s pretty important information, but I’m assuming from the way you spoke to me in the bar that’s not the case.”

Holly giggled and rolled her head back, rocking her hips as she moved back so her cunt was resting on my shaft. “What’s ‘chaton’ mean?”

“Kitten,” I said absently, sliding my palms up her stomach. She was so slight, so small against my hands, I stroked and grasped her hips and sides, trying to feel every part of her. It occurred to me that I didn’t find it irritating that she didn’t understand much Français, it gave me the chance to teach it to her. And I really liked the way her voice lilted on the words, uncertain, sweet, innocent. A lot of things I would find annoying I liked her doing.

She made a soft ‘oh’ sound and her eyes fluttered shut as my hands reached her tits, kneading the sensitive flesh and brushing my thumbs across her dark pink nipples until they were firm peaks. “I like you calling me that…” she mumbled, arching her back into my touch.

“You’re going to stay tonight, oui?” I asked happily, pretending I didn’t notice her groan in frustration when I pulled my hands away. I wanted her to stay, the idea of having her close to me for the entire night was intoxicating.

“You want me to spend the night?” Holly asked excitedly. She blushed and tried again in a calmer voice, “I’m not looking for anything serious just so you know, but I’d lo- like to stay.”

“Purely platonic, of course.” I gripped her hips and rocked her wet cunt across my aching cock. I don’t know how platonic it is to want you to scream my name when I make you come over and over.

She moaned and grabbed her tits. “Can we fuck platonically?” She asked, her breathing hitched as she ground down on my shaft, rubbing her clit on me in slow circles.

“Let’s find out, chaton,” I said as I watched her body gyrate against mine.

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