Twisted Knot

Paris Nights

((This part is a flashback, just to be clear. There will be some very explicit content, so please skip over the bold parts if you're underage or uncomfortable! Enjoy! ))

In Paris, Ten years ago

~Elizabeth~

I had been in his bed for hours when he suggested it. I had never done anything so...dangerous. I mean, realistically, I barely knew this man. But when in Paris, I thought to myself. Seven weeks ago, I had been a virgin. And then I met him walking down the streets of Paris, and everything stopped. I had never believed in love at first sight, but this man had captivated me in a way I couldn't explain. Was it the accent or his dark eyes? The way his strong arms felt around me, or the mystery he had held since the moment we met? I couldn't say, but I knew this French man who older and wiser had been teaching a lot, and I was an eager student.

I'd always been the good girl. I had never pictured myself sleeping with some man in another country. But for some reason when he approached me, I found myself mesmerized and willing to do whatever he asked. The first thing he had said to me was "You are much too beautiful to be walking alone Mademoiselle, let me join you." I was walking nearby the Eiffel tower to see it lit up, and I shrugged.

"I guess I don't mind," I had said, taking in his striking features. His dark eyes, the stubble across his chin, those lips. I never noticed things like that before. We talked and walked for almost an hour, and I was more than happy to keep his company. He spoke perfect English, and he was so...perfect. We stopped and looked over the side of a bridge, watching the city lights.

"I want you to come home with me," he said abruptly. I inhaled sharply, unsure how to respond.

"I don't even know your name," I said. He laughed softly, the sound echoing in my ears.

"Javier," he said. "What is yours Bella?" I glanced at my feet, feeling so terrified and exhilarated at once.

"I am Elizabeth," I said. "How do I know you are not murderer or some psycho?" He laughed again. That laughter meant something different to me later, a callous admission rather than a dismissal. But I was so young and naïve, full of hope with my heart on my sleeve.

"I would never hurt you," He said. "I only wish to shower you with love, with passion..."

"I want to," I whispered, surprising even myself. I did want to, I realized. "But I have never..." My face reddened and I shook my head at myself. He probably thought I was a silly schoolgirl. He turned my face back to his, our eyes locking.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked. I didn't have an answer, but he did. Javier kissed me, and I went home with him that night. I wasted several Parisian nights lying in his arms, feeling infinite and like I had finally found beauty. I suppose hindsight is everything in life, and I was always more guarded after I left France.

The last night we were together was distinctive.

We were together, naked and our legs were entwined when he suggested it. I felt nervous and excited, but I was so hesitant. I felt out of control with Javier, and everything was just different than what I'd ever known. I couldn't say no to him, he was an overpowering force, and I'd never wanted to. But this made me pause, questioning his motivation. Why would a man I love want to hurt me while making love. He told me it was something different and that I would enjoy it. He promised not to really hurt me.

"Trust me Bella," he said. "It's just role playing. Besides, you've liked everything else we've tried. Remember when I blindfolded you? You enjoyed that, no?" I got hot all over remembering the night. I nodded quietly.

"OK," I said. "But if I say we stop, we stop." Javier nodded kissing my neck. He turned me over onto my stomach and I waited as he pulled a rope from the bedside dresser.