City of Lights
"There is nothing so lovely as walking through the streets of Paris in the early evening with a beautiful woman," Harry announced with a blissful expression.
Ruth, unable to resist teasing him a bit, replied, "And how many beautiful women have you walked these streets with, hmm?"
"None I've loved as much as you, Mrs. Pearce," he told her, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist as he kissed her cheek.
"Lady Pearce, thank you very much, Sir Harry," she corrected. Ruth's face was positively beaming.
It was rare—though more frequent in recent times—that Harry Pearce ever felt light and free and happy. But now that he had finally married Ruth, he suddenly had faith that the feeling might never end. All of the brightness and faith and strength and kindness and pure goodness within her had served to save his soul when he had believed himself damned for all eternity. But Ruth hadn't let him down. Ruth hadn't forsaken him when she probably should have. Ruth had loved him. And, inexplicably, Ruth had married him.
"I want to show you something. One of my favorite parts of the city," he said.
Ruth followed his lead. They walked with their arms around each other in a manner that was wholly impractical but perfectly lovely for a couple on their honeymoon. Harry directed them to a stairway down to the Metro and they were forced to disentangle themselves, resuming instead merely holding hands.
Harry pulled her through an open doorway on the far end of the platform. Ruth let out a strained yelp, surprised by the abrupt change of course. "Harry where are you taking me?" she hissed, trying not to be annoyed. This tunnel, as it turned out to be, was dark and humid and smelled absolutely filthy.
"I used to use this for drops and to meet with assets way back when," he replied, still pulling her along.
"This isn't very romantic," she sighed.
"Don't whine," he scolded. "Just trust me."
Ruth continued to grumble to herself as they walked. She kept one pace behind him, forcing him to feel as though he were dragging her.
But after another minute or so, they came to an open area, an enormous storm drain of some kind. It opened out underneath one of the many bridges over the Seine. And across the river, they could see the sun setting behind Notre Dame.
"Oh, Harry," Ruth breathed, overwhelmed by the beauty of the scene.
"I told you," he replied with a smirk.
"You told me to trust you, which I always do," she clarified.
They stood there quietly for a moment, looking out at the falling sun, turning the sky pink and purple. The lights of the city slowly began to come on. Harry wrapped his arm around Ruth's waist, his thumb gently rubbing at her midriff, the small sliver of skin atop her skirt. She hummed happily and rested her head on his shoulder.
Harry began to get a bit bolder. He moved his hand underneath her blouse and up to her ribcage. Her hot skin shivered at his touch. She murmured his name in warning, knowing what this was starting to turn into.
"It is our honeymoon, darling," he pointed out.
And Ruth couldn't resist him. After so many years of working together, of keeping as much of a professional distance as they could pretend to maintain, he only ever called her by her name. She did like her name, Ruth, and she liked it even more when it was said in his voice. But terms of endearments were so rare between them. Neither of them were really ever the type to use them, not even with their pets. Hearing Harry call her 'darling' sent a bloom of warmth through her.
She turned in his arms and pulled his face down to kiss her, which they engaged in for quite some time. Eventually, however, Ruth had to breathe. "Let's go to the hotel," she begged.
Harry put his hand on her cheek, cradling the soft, brilliant face he loved so well. "We don't have to go to the hotel," he offered, a dark glint in his eye.
Ruth's story blue eyes went wide when she caught his meaning. "Harry!"
His hands slid down her sides and behind her, grabbing the firm flesh of her bum and pulling her flush against him. "It's our honeymoon," he whispered, pressing a hot, wet kiss to her neck. "We are in Paris." Another kiss a bit further down. "No one can see us." He moved to the other side of her neck. "And I want you," he finally growled before sucking hard on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, the place that made her gasp with want of him.
"Harry…" she whined, trying and failing to protest.
"Tell me to stop, and I will. I'll take you back to the hotel. Just say the word." His words may have been innocent, but Harry said them as a lovebite bloomed purple on her neck and his hands continued their erotic massage of her bum, grinding her against his growing arousal.
"Oh, Harry," Ruth moaned, catching his lips in another fiery kiss. Her hands went straight to his belt buckle, erasing any lingering doubt he may have had to her willingness to make love to him here under the bridge.
He bunched the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up from her ankles so he could get his hands underneath and touch her. They did a bit of fumbling about, finding their way together. Harry, stroking her through her knickers, and Ruth, reaching her dainty hand into his pants to free his erection to her. They moaned and groaned and kissed messily.
Ruth nearly came against his hand, but he kept her right on the edge. He couldn't wait any longer. He pressed her up against the wall, both of them ignoring how unsanitary it was for her to touch it. Harry lifted her left leg, hitching it over his hip, and held her knickers out of the way so he could plunge into her wet heat.
"Christ, Ruth!" he swore, settling inside her.
She bit her bottom lip and pressed her eyes closed, trying not to cry out with pleasure.
"Look at me, Ruth," he murmured, trying to ignore how his body was shaking with need to move in her. Ruth opened her eyes and saw the love and passion alive in his warm hazel-brown, all of which she was sure reflected back at him from her own gaze. He gave a small smile, despite the sweat beading on his brow. "I am so glad I married you."
Ruth very nearly chuckled at his sweet, earnest statement. But that was when he pulled out of her and began thrusting at a rough, rapid pace, slamming her against the wall, forcing her to clutch his broad shoulders just to stay upright. At this rate, she knew she wouldn't last long, and neither would he. "Yes, Harry, oh God, yes!" she moaned. Her hot breath on his neck spurred him on.
Harry could feel the tightening in his abdomen; he was close. He continued on, though, needing to take care of her first. His bad knee was starting to ache from the exertion, but he couldn't worry about that now.
A strangled scream came from deep in the back of her throat as she climaxed around him. Her body turned to pudding in his arms as the waves of pleasure radiated through her over and over and over. Harry finished a moment later, his roar of ecstasy muffled against her neck.
They held each other tight as they came down from the high. Harry took out his handkerchief to help them clean up a bit as he pulled out of her and put her leg down. She was a bit wobbly, and he held her hand to keep her steady. He felt a bit wobbly himself.
After they'd rearranged their clothes again, they looked out onto the city again. The sky was dark now. The lights were all shining, reflecting off the river. The cathedral was a magic beacon of light ahead of them.
Harry held her close, her back leaned against his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist. He gently and lovingly kissed her neck where he'd made marks on her just a few minutes before. She sighed happily. Not his best work, Harry thought to himself, but they'd enjoyed, and the setting made up for the haste with which they made love. Ruth was happy, and that's all that mattered.
Eventually, they went back through the tunnel to the Metro station and rode a few stops back to their hotel. Harry claimed he was being chivalrous to not make her walk at night when she was clearly exhausted. But he wouldn't admit that his knee was throbbing, and he wasn't sure how long he could walk without limping.
Ruth, of course, noticed as soon as they left the Metro and traveled the two blocks to their destination. She scolded him for his rash, irresponsible behavior, but it was half-hearted. She couldn't really fault him for pushing himself too hard when he made love to her.
That night, as they ate room service in their hotel suite, Ruth made sure Harry was well taken care of. His knee was iced and then massaged and then the rest of him got massaged as well. It wasn't long before Harry pulled her on top of him and made love to her again.
After all, it was their honeymoon, and they were in Paris.