Due to a perfectly placed mirror on the back of the bathroom door, not only do I get the pleasure of watching Chloe’s breasts bounce with each thrust, but I can also see my cock sliding through her wet folds.

“Fuck. You have to see this.”

Chloe’s startled when I grab her hips and lift her off of me. Turning her so that her back is to my chest, I hold the base of my dick and slide back inside.

“Oh, God,” she gasps. I watch as Chloe’s hooded gaze falls to where we’re joined. The visual is even better now.

Her head falls back against my shoulder. I kiss along her neck and the shell of her ear.

“See how perfect you look taking my cock? How much your sweet pussy loves swallowing me up?”

I know we’re both close. I drop my hand from where it’s cupping her breast to her clit, and apply pressure there.

“Oh, Barrett. Yes. Please,” she moans.

I love taking care of her like this. Touching every inch of her body, hearing her moans, and feeling her pulse around me as she comes. I never want it to end.

I rock up into her over and over, loving the sight of her slick and greedy, taking me in. Chloe reaches back, thrusting her fingers into my hair. The sharp tug on my scalp only spurs me on.

With our eyes locked in the mirror, we come apart together.

* * *

After a shower, we had breakfast at Café de Flore, a coffeehouse known for attracting famous writers and philosophers. We perused the book stalls along the Seine. Even though they were in French, Chloe purchased three books because the covers were pretty.

Now, we’re finishing lunch on the patio at a bistro near our hotel. Just like yesterday, she had me order and was excited to try everything the waiter brought. That’s one of the things I admire about her. She isn’t afraid to try new things. To get out of her comfort zone. I know because I’ve been pushing her out of it since we started this whole fake dating arrangement.

There’s nothing fake about it now. Nothing fake about how I feel about her.

She’s wearing a white sundress with ties at the shoulders. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head. With no makeup on her face, I can see the light smattering of freckles on her nose.

She catches me staring.

“What?” She looks behind her, oblivious to the idea that in a place like Paris where everywhere you look, the architecture and sights are breathtaking, it’s her I can’t keep my eyes off.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask.

“Oh. Sure.” She stands and positions her small purse across her body. “Where to now?”

I take her hand and we start walking along Rue du Maréchal Harispe.