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Verso held the door open. “Make yourself at home,” he said, ushering Julie in with a nervous smile.
She’d been working at the bakery on the first floor for years now, but it was the first time she’d climbed the wrought-iron staircase leading upstairs. Anticipation bloomed anew inside her as she entered his apartment. The butterflies that always fluttered inside her stomach at his presence had brought friends, and now her blood frothed with the buzz of their beating wings.
Julie hadn’t even known she would ask him until the words passed her lips. He’d been walking her home on their way back from the theatre, but she’d stopped on the street corner bifurcating between her mother’s bakery and their house. Verso had looked at her, a question in his pale eyes.
Would you play the piano for me? Julie had asked him.
Even in the dim glow of the lamppost, his cheeks had darkened with heat. She might as well have announced I want to spend the night with you: inviting herself to a man’s apartment—alone, at this hour—amounted to exactly that. Not that she didn’t trust Verso to let her change her mind; in fact, he was such a gentleman she’d decided to nudge things ahead herself, propriety be damned.
She very much wanted to spend the night with him.
Oh, and she did want to hear him play the piano.
He slid her jacket off her shoulders, and hung it on the coat rack while Julie ventured into his living room. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected his apartment to look like. Minimalist and spartan, perhaps, but it was warm and lived-in instead, the understated elegance she’d come to expect from his family just peeking under the chaos. Shirts and jackets had been thrown haphazardly on the winged back of an armchair; sheet music covered almost every spare surface, and an easel stood in a corner, a painting in progress on the canvas.
Verso had clearly not anticipated guests anytime soon. He hurriedly grabbed a few clothes and sundry items that were scattered around, shoved them into a closet, then puffed up the cushions of the sofa. “Have a seat,” he said, then ran a hand through his hair. “Wine?”
“Please.”
He headed into the adjacent kitchen while Julie approached the canvas, stepping around the stalagmites of books rising from the floor to examine the painting. A few bold, colourful brush strokes were enough to evoke an imaginary landscape, already brimming with life. Julie smiled, then turned her attention to the centrepiece of the living room.
She ran her fingertips on the closed lid of the piano. She remembered stepping out of the bakery to watch it being hauled through the apartment windows when he’d moved in, unaware she’d find herself standing in front of it years down the line. The bench was one of the rare things not covered in clothes and other items, and the sheet music too seemed to be a work in progress, the space between the staves black with scribbled notations.
A thud rose from the kitchen, followed by a muffled merde.
Julie stifled a laugh. “Are you okay in there?”
Verso poked his head out from behind the open doors of the pantry and grinned sheepishly. “Yes. Yes, I’m great.” She sat at the counter and watched him opening the doors of the cupboards like he had no idea what was in them. “I have cheese and um …” He produced an apple from a basket. “An apple?”
“Apple and cheese always pair well.”
Encouraged, he set to washing and slicing the apple. Julie had pictured a constant rotation of lovers from all over Lumière visiting his apartment, but watching him now, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe his usual circles were too proper to invite themselves to his place like she had, or maybe the Conservatory kept him too busy for dalliances. In any event, she felt fortunate—and admittedly a little smug—to be there.
He’d been such a flirt at first, catching her eye so effortlessly it was embarrassing. But now that he had her attention, he hardly seemed to know what to do with it.
It was unbearably charming.
He poked at the hard crust of a half baguette. “I bought it this afternoon, but … it wouldn’t do to serve stale bread to a baker, right?”
Julie grinned. “Give me that.”
She hopped off the stool, then dampened the crust at the sink before popping the baguette into the oven. By the time it came out, warm and crumbly again, he had filled a plate with the sliced apple and a selection of cheeses, and now spooned preserves into small dishes. Then he fetched two wine glasses and uncorked a bottle; he seemed much more at ease doing that than anything else so far, giving the bottle a practiced twist after pouring so the last drop didn’t fall off.
She breathed in the light, floral bouquet, then clinked her glass to his. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Verso.”
“One of many, I hope,” he said with a nervous smile.
Julie sipped on the wine. She was no connoisseur, but it was sweet and delicate without being timid, and made for a light counterpoint to the creamy richness of the cheese and preserves. They polished off the plate while chatting about the play they’d watched, Julie laughing heartily at Verso’s silly impressions of the comedians.
He topped up their glasses; she licked the crumbs off her fingers, then glanced at the piano in the living room. “So, are you going to let me hear you play?”
Verso blinked as though only just remembering that was ostensibly what they were here for. “Of course,” he said, taking the bottle with him. “Take a seat.”
Julie followed with their glasses, and Verso looked surprised and pleased in equal measures when she joined him at the piano bench. They sat shoulder to shoulder, his body heat seeping through her sleeve, stirring the butterflies back to life.
He opened the lid, revealing the ivory keys, then thumbed through the stack of sheet music on the stand. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I’d love to hear one of your compositions,” she said.
The red on his cheeks returned. “Not messing around, are you?”
“I said I want to listen to you. Not some guy who died three centuries ago.”
“All right, all right, but … be kind.”
Julie grinned. “Promis-juré.”
He flipped through the sheets and selected a piece before returning the stack to the stand. He rolled his wrists and stretched his fingers, then took a long swallow of wine before positioning his hands over the keys.
Then he began to play.
How many Versos were there? There was the Verso he showed the world, the debonair whose confidence and repartee had charmed her from the start; the bashful young man who seemed uncharacteristically nervous to be alone with her; and now the musician, who she decided might very well be the closest glimpse she’d get of the real Verso.
The instant he summoned the first notes from the piano, the hesitation lifted from his shoulders. At first Julie watched his fingers run swift and nimble on the keys, but soon it was his face that drew her attention: smooth, serene, a small smile playing on his lips as he swayed gently to the rhythm and stepped on the damper pedal. And the music—she’d heard him play before, of course, heard the notes stream down the ceiling and open windows of the bakery—but now she truly heard it.
It was … magical. The melody was bittersweet, fragile, yet hopeful. Brave. That was the word that came to mind: she didn’t have the words for his technique, but the feeling that emerged from the music was clear. A small, wounded thing that dared to be vulnerable again—
A chord rang false. Verso stopped and frowned, replaying the chord progression and testing a few options before scribbling something on the sheet. “Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepish smile, dropping his hands into his lap. “Still a work in progress, as you can see.”
“Thank you for trusting me with it,” she said, her voice brittle, and had to blink the prickle from her eyes.
Verso noticed, of course, and immediately put down the glass he’d been reaching for. “Julie? Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.” She quickly wiped her eyes, chuckling. “It’s just … it’s beautiful. You’re so talented.”
He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her to himself. “Not ridiculous at all. That’s what I love about music: the way it unearths your deepest memories and emotions, and brings them into the light,” he said, gazing into some unknown place only he could see. He kissed the crown of her head. “And I’m mostly just stubborn. It’s a lot of practice, that’s all.”
Julie breathed in the scent of his collar: the crisp bergamot and tobacco leaf of his perfume had mellowed to a rich, almost languorous spice. “Maybe, but I still couldn’t do it.”
“Sure you could. You have a good ear.” She was about to protest—he’d heard her sing but that hardly extended to mastery of an instrument—but he covered her hands with his own and guided them over the keyboard. “Here. Something simple.”
She followed his lead, mostly to soak in the sensation of his arm still wrapped around her and the warmth of his palms on her hands. He taught her a simple chord progression; after a few minutes of practice she was able to play it without overthinking the position of her fingers, and he joined her before long, improvising a melody on the upper range of the keyboard. It was playful and light, and infinitely more complex than anything she could have coaxed out of the piano, but it twined to her chords beautifully, the low and high notes vibrating together in rich harmonies.
A delighted laugh shook itself free from her throat. She was playing the piano, and with Verso at that; even when she hit the wrong notes once or twice, he simply slowed down with her until she’d picked up the rhythm again.
He looked at her, grinning, and nodded once. Julie followed his cue and slowed down (rubato, he called it), stopping just as he brought the song to a close with a flourish.
“See? I knew you had it in you,” he said with his crooked smile.
Her chest was about to burst. He looked so pleased, almost boyish, and she was struck by the importance of the moment. Her request to hear him play the piano had been spontaneous, almost offhanded, but now she realized it was much more than that. He’d just let her into his world, shared with her the thing that mattered most to him, and she knew him well enough to know how rare, how precious it was.
Julie cupped his jaw with one hand and closed the distance between their mouths. His eyes widened before fluttering closed; then he kissed her back, slow and deep, almost reverent. His lips were soft, sticky sweet with the lingering taste of the apple and wine. One of his hands moved to her waist and drew her closer. Warmth pulsed through her as she pictured the impressive span of his fingers on her body instead of the piano.
The kiss deepened; her lips parted to let his tongue flick into her mouth, but it wasn’t enough. She was impatient. Greedy. She pulled herself up and settled in his lap, straddling him on the piano bench. His arms circled her waist, steadying her and bringing his chest flush against hers. It heaved against her breasts, his breathing already deepening with want.
His mouth moved to her neck. She tilted her head back to bare her throat, but found herself giggling at the scratchy sensation of his beard on the tender skin there.
Verso chuckled into the curve of her shoulder, then looked at her. “Ticklish?” He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Say the word and I’m shaving it off.”
Julie laughed. “Don’t you dare,” she said, and gave his shoulder a playful shove.
A discordant noise rose from the piano when her back struck the keyboard, startling a yelp from her. Verso laughed and gave her a quick kiss. “Maybe we should, um …”
He trailed off, leaving it up to her to end his sentence, and she loved him for it. “Move to your bedroom?”
She felt the effect the words had on him, and her own body answered in kind, a pang of arousal pulsing between her legs. Verso wrapped his arms around her thighs and stood, lifting her easily. Julie gasped in surprise, clinging to his shoulders and tightening her legs around his hips.
She grabbed the bottle of wine from the piano as he started walking to his bedroom. “What if we need refreshments?” she asked innocently when she caught him raising an amused eyebrow.
He smirked. “Setting the bar high.”
“I have every intention of making the most out of tonight,” she said as he set her down on the bed.
She took a swallow of wine from the bottle, and had quick look around his room while he drank: a few framed paintings she assumed were his family’s, a crimson bedspread patterned with gold, and—
“Is that Esquie?” she giggled, taking the hand-sewn plush toy sitting on the bed. “Adorable.”
Verso blushed furiously. “Oh. Um. Yes. My mother made it when I was little.”
Julie handed it back, grinning, and he set down the plush on the nearby armchair … then thought better of it and had Esquie face away from the bed. She lay back on the plush mattress, still chuckling, and he settled between her thighs as she pulled him on top of her. His arousal pressed hard against her belly, and she already ached for him, desire suffusing her body with heat.
“I’ve been wanting this for a while,” she whispered between their mouths.
“Then I guess I’d better make it worth the wait, huh?” he answered, his voice rough with desire.
She smiled. “You better.”
Verso took the invitation and unbuttoned her blouse while she did the same with his shirt, slowly sliding it off his shoulders. For a pianist who had a sweet tooth and a penchant for wine, he had a more athletic build than she expected: his arms were wiry, his torso nicely defined under the dark curls that trailed from his breastbone to the waistband of his trousers. His skin was flushed with heat, his eyes half-lidded as they moved from her fingers to her face to the lacy cups of her brassiere. He bent down and closed his lips over the hard point of one breast; he gave it a gentle tug, the warmth of his mouth through the thin lace enough to let a moan seep out of her.
Julie closed her eyes, surrendering to the light, teasing touch while her hands roamed his body. She traced the lines of his shoulder, the flat planes of his chest and stomach, down his waist and thighs and—
“Is that—oh.”
She blinked at the rather impressive outline of his erection straining against the leg of his trousers, then blushed and broke into laughter despite herself. “I thought it was another half baguette for a second,” she said, covering her face.
“I love bread as much as the next guy, but I haven’t started smuggling baguettes in my pockets … yet,” Verso said, sheepish, then ran one hand through his hair. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Julie grinned. Only Verso would be apologetic about this. “I’m a baker, as you pointed out yourself. It’s going to take more than a baguette to faze me.” She straightened up to kiss him. “I’m right where I want to be, Verso.”
She ground the heel of her hand against him for emphasis, and a sharp inhale escaped his parted lips as he rocked against her palm. Meanwhile, his own fingers slid under her skirt, gliding up the inside of her thigh, then brushed the front of her underwear. She squirmed with want, his light touch not enough through the fabric, thin though it was, so she lifted her hips off the mattress and slid off her underwear. Then she unfastened the hook and eye of his trousers and worked on freeing his erection.
It was … impressive. Intimidating, even. Her fingers didn’t even fully close around him, but he felt enticingly firm and hot in her hand. She began stroking him slowly, tearing a low moan from him that rumbled down her spine all the way between her legs.
Verso lay down next to her, melting into the movement of her hand. He caught her mouth in another deep kiss while caressing her thighs, inching closer to her center. She threw one leg over his, then gasped at the first brush of his thumb, tightening her grip around him and drawing a choked moan out of him; her lips tingled with the sound of it, and she licked into his mouth to feel the hum of his voice on her tongue. His fingers were already slick with her arousal, and her desire kindled into pleasure under his touch while she pumped her hand enthusiastically—
“Julie, w-wait—”
She opened her eyes just in time to see what his face looked like when he came undone. Verso twitched in her hand and spent himself on her belly, crying out. “Merde,” he panted into her hair, shuddering all over. “I … I’m sorry, I didn’t feel it coming …”
Julie grinned, slowing her movement until his breathing had evened out again. “You’re sure about that?”
He dropped his face against the pillow. “Very funny,” he mumbled.
“Don’t apologize. I’m taking it as a compliment.”
Verso looked up from the pillow, revealing one pale eye and the slant of his smile. “As you should. You have quite the effect on me.” He propped himself up on one elbow to grab a paper handkerchief from the drawer, then wiped her stomach and hand clean. “Time to make it up to you now.”
He kicked off his trousers; Julie’s skirt was next, then her bra, and then she was naked under the palpable weight of his gaze, the feel of it almost as hot as the palm he ran down the swell of her hip.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, then lowered his mouth to her skin.
Julie sank back against the bed. Her nerves were alight with anticipation, every square inch of her body primed to feel the minute movement of his lips, the heat of his mouth, the liquid swirls drawn by his tongue on the canvas of her skin. His breath was warm, and the prickle of his beard didn’t tickle her anymore so much as made her skin even more receptive. He took his time, exploring her body and her every reaction to his touch. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, her breasts; dipped his tongue into the hollow of her navel while his thumbs drew slow circles on the knobs of her hip bones. Her stomach rippled as he moved lower and lower, and by the time the first feathery brush of his tongue sent pleasure surging through her, she was already a writhing mess, her toes curled and her fingers tangled in his thick hair.
Verso seemed intent on making up for his perceived blunder: he licked and stroked and sucked, his mouth worshipping the pearl of nerves while his hands caressed the rest of her body. They slid up her thighs, her hips, her waist, then cupped her breasts and teased her nipples. All the while she could feel him hum against—practically inside—her, his moans thrumming through her when a flick of his tongue teased her open. Then his fingers followed, just short of entering her; he caught her gaze, and she nodded her permission.
His fingers slid inside her, and the pleasure was magnified, the crest so sudden she cried out, one hand clasped to her mouth. She caught the flash of his eyes down her body, and her peak took her by surprise, the strength of it arching her spine against the mattress. Verso didn’t stop until she was done quaking beneath him, his hand and tongue only slowing down with the final ebb of her pleasure.
Julie fell back against the bed, panting hard. Verso licked his fingers like they were covered in crème Chantilly, eyes sparkling in satisfaction. “How was it?” he asked as he lay down next to her; he was half-hard again already, his length pressing up against her hip.
She couldn’t help but laugh at the eager expression on his face. “What, on a scale of one to ten?” she joked, sweeping a dark curl from his brow.
He took her trembling hand in his and pressed a kiss to her fingertips, grinning. “Okay, maybe not. I just want to make you feel good.”
“It was good. Really good,” she said with a breathless laugh.
“Great. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
The curve of his smile and the low, throaty whisper of his words sent an aftershock pulsing through her. “I am going to need that refreshment, then,” she said, wriggling her fingers towards the bottle of wine.
He handed it to her; she took another long swallow before giving it back, and Verso did the same, draining it. Julie admired him as he drank, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the lines of his shoulders and chest and the v of his hips, and the proud jut of his stiffening erection. She ran her foot along its length for the fun of seeing it throb while he sputtered.
Then she pulled him on top of her again; the erstwhile urgency of their desire had turned into something warm, almost indolent now, and they kissed long and slow, tracing the contours of each other’s bodies. The briny scent of his sweat and desire mixed with the warm spice of his fragrance into something frankly narcotic. The underside of his stiffening cock slid back and forth against her until the dying embers of her orgasm had rekindled into flame, and before long the afterglow had coalesced into sheer want again.
“Verso,” she whimpered, surprised at her own neediness. “I want you.”
He moaned in answer, like he’d been waiting for permission to voice his own need. She reached between their bodies and guided him inside her; he followed her lead, inching his way deeper and deeper while she stretched around him. Verso watched her face intently, stopping every time her expression so much as flickered.
It was … a lot. Almost too much, and yet not enough.
He paused once he was fully inside her, letting her adjust to him. “How does it feel?” he asked.
“Good,” Julie panted. “Oh, Verso.”
He moved slowly at first, propped up on one elbow and cupping her face with his free hand, and watched her as he made love to her. She threw her legs around his hips and hooked her ankles together behind him, and let her hands stroke his shoulder blades, the dip of his spine, the firm muscle of his buttocks. She’d fantasized about it for weeks now, but not even her overzealous imagination could come close to the feel of him stretching her to the limit and the bright quartz of his gaze as he rocked into her.
She reached between their bodies to touch herself; Verso straightened up to give her better access, his eyes glazed over with bliss, then clung to her thighs and resumed the motion. He was a gentle lover, almost too much so: she wanted more, wanted the rhythmic pulses of pleasure to coalesce into all-consuming ecstasy, wanted to feel nothing but him until she saw stars.
“Verso,” she said. “Let me ride you.”
He shuddered at her words, his smooth stomach rippling as he paused to compose himself. He dropped a kiss to her knee before gently sliding out of her, then rolled over so that he lay on his back.
She straddled him and lowered herself onto him. This time he slipped into her all at once, and she cried out at the sudden fullness. Then she laced their fingers together and started moving on top of him in earnest, watching his face transform with pleasure. He really had no business being this handsome: lips parted, eyes half-lidded, eyes like shards of crystal between his lashes. His lips were slick and kiss-swollen, his face flushed against the black of his dishevelled hair, and she couldn’t help the self-satisfied thrill at the thought that she’d done this.
Julie thought of their playing the piano together, how their hands had joined to summon something that had never existed until this moment; and wasn’t it the same now, their bodies vibrating in tune, their pleasure twined to create a brilliant harmony that could only be sung between the two of them?
She picked up the pace, hands splayed on his chest for support and angling herself so each bounce of her hips drew a choked cry from her lips. The room filled with their moans and the obscene slap of flesh on flesh; she caught him staring at their joining, his cock moving in and out of her flushed, swollen sex, the sight so wanton it made her clench hard around him.
Another crest was just in sight when Verso gripped her waist and held her into place, panting hard. “Julie,” he choked out, then let out a shuddering exhale. “Mon Dieu … you feel so good, I … I won’t last much longer …”
Julie smirked, gratified, then moved off him and lowered her mouth onto his cock. Verso hadn’t expected that: he cried out, eyes wide with surprise, and throbbed between her lips. She tasted herself on him, their mingled sweet-and-salt so primal it sent her pulsing around the sudden lack of him. He tangled one hand in her hair and watched her work him to his climax. He didn’t last long: a few bobs of her head, and then he was spilling into her mouth with a moan so loud she was glad her mother didn’t work nights at the bakery.
She only released him when he fell back against the mattress, loose-limbed and smiling beatifically. Then he reached for her hand and pulled her to himself. “Come here,” he said, almost shyly. “I want to taste you again.”
Her turn to be flustered. She let him guide her, crawling along his body before positioning herself atop his face. Verso held her waist and lowered her to himself, and then began making love to her with his mouth. There was none of his earlier teasing: he lapped at her hungrily while she clung to the headboard, her thighs shaking around his head. The liquid heat of his lips and tongue, the thrum of his moans, the prickle of his beard on her oversensitive skin—it was too much. She came so fast and hard her brain took a moment to catch up with her body. Her peak had already arched her back in a shuddering arabesque by the time she felt the pleasure engulfing her; it swept through her like a gale, and she the leaf, fully at its mercy.
Julie slowly sank back down, chest heaving, the fading remnants of pleasure filling her with diffuse warmth. Her eyelids slid closed and her limbs turned pleasantly heavy, and she caught her breath until Verso tapped her hip urgently.
She hopped off his face. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said.
Verso gasped for air, then dropped his head back against the pillow, laughing. “I can’t think of a better way to go, but I’d rather not die before we get to do it again,” he said, scooting over to make space for her on his pillow.
She lay down on her side, facing him. Her thoughts were still floating somewhere above the Eiffel Tower, and it took a moment for his words to sink in. “You want to do this again?” she asked stupidly, still dazed.
Verso smirked. He looked positively debauched, his face flushed and slick with the spoor of her pleasure. “And again, and again, and again,” he whispered before kissing her tenderly.
She hummed softly against his lips, then nestled against him. His skin felt almost feverish; he slid one leg between hers, then stroked her hair while looking at her with that intense, mesmerizing gaze. She closed her eyes, letting herself relax under the slow rhythm of his hand and the heat of his body.
When she opened them again, his gaze had turned soft, almost sad.
“Verso?” she asked. “Everything all right?”
“Of course,” he said, a little too fast, then seemed to think better of it. “I just … I meant to ask you something.” He cleared his throat. “How serious is this?”
He gestured at the almost non-existent space between their bodies. A wave of something indescribable rose inside her, and it took her a moment to find its name: hope. She hadn’t let it in, determined to enjoy every minute spent in Verso’s presence, while refusing to open herself up to the heartbreak that was sure to follow otherwise. She wasn’t stupid; she’d take whatever he was willing to offer, nothing more, nothing less.
But now her unwanted visitor had shoved the doors of her heart open and filled it with such sweet longing she could taste it at the back of her throat.
“How serious do you want it to be?” she asked carefully.
Verso chuckled nervously and rubbed his eyes. “I know I should probably play it cool, but at the risk of scaring you away … I’m falling hard for you, Julie.”
This beautiful, sensitive man. Her chest was so full it felt like it was about to split open. “Me too,” she replied, then drew closer until their noses touched. He covered her hand with his when she reached to caress his cheek, and she realized she was smiling wide, mirroring his expression. “So … how serious, on a scale of one to ten?”
He grinned. “You like your scales, don’t you?”
“Says the pianist.”
“Touché.”
Julie tapped her chin as though in deep thought. “All right. Serious, then. Dead serious.”
“‘Painters Council emergency meeting’ serious?” he asked, adorably hopeful.
“‘Forgot to proof croissants on a Sunday’ serious.”
They laughed softly, face to face, like little kids swapping silly secrets. Then Julie shivered once, the air of the room now cool on her damp skin. Verso swept the blanket over them and kissed her again. “I can live with that.”