Sean gives me permission to be gone for a full weekend, since it’s my last date. And I follow Jason’s instructions to a T. I pack nothing and bring only my handbag with my wallet, mobile phone and passport. Then I get a taxi and arrive at St Pancras right at 9:55.
At the station, I wait for Jason to arrive. The excitement is so palpable that I don’t even feel guilty about going away for a full weekend with my ex. A whole weekend away means sex, right? There’s no way Jason is going to be able to resist, considering it’s our last time seeing each other. But maybe the sex will be worse than I remember it, and then I’ll be able to get it out of my system once and for all, right? Just sex. That’s all that the Weekend Club has been about, sex – the two of us, me and Sean, reminding ourselves that we still have it going on outside of the confines of our marriage. I’m sure he’s been up to stuff that he might not want to share in great detail with me, either.
"Jazz?"
I look up, and there he is. Jason. My heart skips several beats and I do my best to control my breathing, but I am sure that he is able to see the myriad of thoughts rushing through my mind right now. I rise to my feet, and he pulls me into a warm hug.
"It’s so good to see you," he murmurs, and I squeeze him back. He smells so good. I don’t want to let go of him, but I manage to pull away long enough to ask him the most important thing.
"Where are we going?"
His eyes glisten with excitement, as though he can hardly wait to see my reaction when he reveals it. "The train’s arriving any minute," he says mysteriously. "Guess you’ll have to wait and see, huh?"
Sure enough, right on schedule, the train pulls up – and I realise it’s the fast-track to Paris.
"Holy shit, Jason!" I gasp. "Paris?! Are you serious?”
"Ask me when you see the room I’ve booked overlooking the Champs-Elysees," he replies, and he opens the train door for me.
"But I haven’t brought any clothes with me," I burble, still too stunned to take this all in. "I – are you sure I can – "
"I have clothes waiting there for you," he replies, and I go to take a seat – but he slips his hand into mine and shakes his head.
"First class, obviously," he says.
We drink a glass or two of champagne as the train speeds across the water towards Paris, and I stare out of the window and try to wrap my head around this. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a break, let alone a spontaneous one like this to the most romantic city in the world.
We arrive at the hotel just before midnight, and I wonder if he has booked us a room to share. I know that I am not going to be able to keep my hands off of him if he has – I want him, need him. Need to feel him moving inside of me. The champagne has me hornier than ever, and all this tension is nearly more than I can take.
He checks us in, then guides me up the ornate staircase to the absurdly-huge room that he’s booked for us. I gasp as he opens the door.
"You’re kidding, right?”
The place is big enough to fit my entire flat inside of it. A giant bed, thick with plush covers, sits in the middle, and a huge picture window opens out onto a gold-framed balcony. It’s by far the fanciest place I’ve ever set foot in.
"Yours," he tells me, as he slips his arms around my waist. "For the weekend, at least."
I turn to him. Our mouths are so close that it takes everything not to just throw myself at him.
"Ours," I correct him, softly. And finally, I feel his lips on mine. It’s everything I’ve been craving, from the moment I laid eyes on him again, and I turn to face him properly so that I can kiss him the way I want to.
He winds his arms around me, then pulls me in so close so that there isn’t an inch between our bodies. It’s familiar and new all at the same time, and enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He caresses the small of my back, that spot just above my jeans, and I press myself to him even harder.
He guides me back onto the bed without breaking our kiss. He tastes perfect. I’m drunk on the champagne, on him, and on being in Paris. I can do anything that I want here. None of it will ever catch up with me. All that matters is being able to give in to the delicious weight of his body on top of mine.
He undresses me slowly, his hands caressing each inch of skin as he bares me for the first time in years. All I can do is groan and hang on to him, watch as he touches me, like he is worshipping sacred ground. I know how he feels. I also want to worship every inch of him.
I open his shirt and run my hands over his strong chest. Even after all this time, seeing him shirtless still gives me the shivers, and I press my lips against his skin, feeling the beat of his heart beneath my mouth. He pushes a hand through my hair and pulls me up to kiss him again, and our tongues meet. They grow more frantic as we strip away each other’s clothes and make out like nothing else in the world matters.
It doesn’t take long until we’re both naked – he looks down at my body, lips slightly parted as though he can hardly believe this is happening, but I am not willing to wait any longer. I reach for his hips and pull him closer to me, spreading my legs and hooking my ankles around his back, and, finally, I feel his cock pressing at the entrance of my pussy.
I moan loudly as he begins to push into me, and I wonder how I have been able to hold back on taking him like this for so long. There is something about the feeling of him spreading me open, filling me with his warm, thick cock, that makes it hard for me to think straight. All I can do is hang onto him, keep myself grounded in this moment, in the passion of his touch.
He moves forward until he is all the way inside of me, and then he holds himself there for a long moment, as though savouring the sensation. I know how he feels. After so long apart, I don’t want to rush through this. His eyes meet mine. They are filled with desire and want, and I pull him down to kiss me again. At the same time, I start to roll my hips back to meet his cock.
He moves into me hard and deep, not holding back, and every thrust sends a cascade of shivers through my body. God, he knows just what he’s doing. And it’s just as good as I remember it. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, feeling his muscles flex beneath my touch, and I gasp as he drives himself even deeper. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.
My body is already starting to crest, drawing closer and closer to an edge that I can’t hold back from for much longer. The pressure of it is powerful, growing deep inside my belly, and I close my eyes and press my head into his chest, reminding myself that yes, this is really happening, we are really doing this, he is really fucking me hard and deep in this hotel bed in Paris. I squeeze my thighs around him, silently urging him to go faster, harder. It’s all that he needs to push himself over the edge.
He slams into me, again and again, harder and harder, until finally, I feel the warmth of his seed. My pussy contracts around him as I cum so hard that I feel as though I won’t be able to walk for days, and he groans as he feels me finishing all around him. Our orgasms run together, our pleasure fading into one another’s until there is nothing left to say, nothing left to do, except enjoy it.
He holds himself inside of me for a long moment before he pulls out. Then he slips onto the bed beside me and lets out a long sigh of relief.
"You have no idea how much I wanted to do that," he says. I turn my head to face him, still bleary from the intense pleasure that he’s just given me.
"Yeah, I think I do," I reply, and I laugh. I hook my leg over his and rest my head on his chest again. I know that this weekend can’t last forever, but honestly, I wish it could.
