Paris at Last
As though situated on the deck of a ship, Georg von Trapp stood in the middle of the hotel suite, overseeing a whirlwind of frenzied activity. He wasn't issuing orders, exactly, but every few moments, he'd murmur to the mustachioed man next to him, who was barking out endless directions, in French, to a busy crew of uniformed attendants. The room was getting crowded: one man struggled to maneuver an enormous potted plant into a corner, while another carried a fruit basket in each hand. A third man was busy at the fireplace, while two maids arranged roses in silver vases. Everywhere Maria looked, there were more people: bearing newspapers, throwing open windows and French doors, icing champagne, uncovering a tempting box of chocolates.
Could it have been only a quarter-hour ago that they'd been entwined in the back of a cab? Maria sighed. She didn't have any experience with elegant hotels, but of course she should have known better to think that they'd be able to sneak into their rooms the way she'd slipped into his bedroom two weeks ago. We have six weeks, Maria thought. Surely we can wait another few minutes. Carrying on the way they'd been in the taxi seemed, well, unseemly in such elegant surroundings.
As if to underscore that point, the mustachioed man approached and bowed obsequiously over her hand. "Baroness," he intoned in German, "allow me to welcome you to the Hotel Manon. I am Monsieur Lachose, the manager, and it is a great pleasure to welcome you to our hotel. Please do not hesitate to ask me for anything. Any way at all that I can be of service. A newlywed couple on their honeymoon, in the most romantic city in the world, a beautiful and aristocratic bride such as yourself …" he kissed his pursed fingers and rolled his eyes heavenward but didn't finish his sentence, as though there was nothing he could possibly say to perfect it.
She murmured her thanks, trying to look suitably dignified, but feeling like an impostor. It didn't matter that she wore a beautifully tailored suit; a real Baroness wouldn't look this rumpled after a night on a train and a hectic taxi ride. She glanced over at Georg, who was so clearly in his element that it hardly mattered that he looked utterly disheveled: his hair was standing on end, and his face and arms below his rolled-up sleeves were smudged with grease, oil and dirt.
Maria set out to explore her surroundings, starting with the salon that was abuzz with activity. It was spacious and airy, with a wall of French doors leading out to a terrace that overlooked the city. And yet it was cozy, too, with separate areas for dining, and seating by a fireplace, all of it in warm creamy tones.
During the weeks of her engagement, Maria had learned that things didn't have to be showy to be luxurious. She'd fought Hede's entreaties about a trousseau until her new sister-in-law finally got to the bottom of things: "But Maria. You're not Elsa Schrader, and no one is asking you to dress like her. Your clothes can be as simple as always, but let Georg spoil you just a little, won't you?" Maria had to concede the pleasure that she'd learned to take from beautiful, simple clothing – the softest silk, sheer chiffon, delicate lace, buttery leather. And she told herself that in difficult times, the fine work was providing sustenance to many of Salzburg's best dressmakers and craftsmen. This hotel, she saw, was the equivalent of her trunkful of new clothing: simple, tasteful and utterly luxurious.
Stepping around a man carrying a reading lamp, Maria trailed through double doors into the bedroom, where another wall of French doors opened out onto another terrace. She felt her face flush again, at the sight of the largest bed she'd ever seen, covered with a dozen or more satin pillows, with a gauzy canopy overhead. There were some low chests and another seating area with its own fireplace. Through a far door, she saw the bathroom, its gleam of white tile and chrome being polished by another attendant. Directly across from the bed, through another double door, she saw something quite curious. Their two trunks stood in the middle of a large closet, a dressing room really, fitted on all three sides with racks and shelves, and two maids were busily unpacking for them – hanging and folding everything, from socks to hats, Georg's things on the left, Maria on the right. One of the maids turned toward her, held up something lacy, and winked.
"Georg," Maria whispered, backing away from the dressing room and out of the bedroom, barely avoiding a collision with one of the people bustling around the suite. Once safely in the salon, Maria tried to get his attention again. "Georg!"
Her husband was deep in conversation with Monsieur Lachose about a box of cigars.
"Georg!" she raised her voice, and the room was suddenly filled with awkward silence, everyone's eyes turning in her direction.
"Maria? What's the matter, darling?"
She knew that the hotel manager spoke German, so she'd have to choose her words carefully. "Can you please, ehrm, ask them to leave? Maybe they can come back later and finish their jobs. Because I don't want to get in anyone's way, you see, but it's all very, I mean, I…" she finished weakly.
Something very much like panic flashed across his face. "Of course. I'm sorry. " Without drawing another breath, he took command from the hotel manager and, with only a sharp clap of his hands and a few brisk orders in rapid French, her Captain emptied the suite in thirty seconds. Monsieur Lachose was the last to leave, bowing his way backward out of the door when Georg stopped him with one last request. And then finally, they were alone.
He advanced on her with a dangerous chuckle. With his rolled-up sleeves, unbuttoned collar and grimy demeanor, he looked entirely intent on mischief.
"Couldn't wait a minute longer, could you?" he purred. "I don't know what came over me, allowing myself to be distracted like that. I got caught up in trying to make everything perfect for you, when of course I know very well what it is we both really need. "
Georg could hardly believe it: she wanted him so urgently she'd asked him to clear the room! The memories came rushing back - the night she'd slipped into his room, and the afternoon she'd taunted him almost past endurance in his study – and he was struck by a surge of desire so strong that he almost fell to his knees. At last, their time had arrived. Alone, with six weeks to do nothing but explore each other and this city he loved so well. The one night they had spent together had only made him hungrier for her than ever, and his frustration level since they'd left Salzburg had him at the boiling point.
The blood roared in his ears, he could barely wait, he reached for her-
"Wait! Stop, Georg."
Her panicked voice brought him up short. "Darling? What is it?"
"The hotel, I mean-"
"Don't you like it?" He'd chosen it carefully, not only to avoid staying anywhere where old memories would lurk for him, but above all wanting her to be at ease, yet surrounded by luxury. He'd ticked off his requirements in his letter: The view, the fireplace. A large bed, an enormous bathtub. And complete privacy.
"No, no. It's lovely. You chose it with me in mind, I can tell. I was worried that it might be, you know, too lavish-"
"Like Versailles?" he teased.
"Like your ballroom," Maria retorted, laughing despite herself. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, though. I imagine we won't be spending much time here, anyway. What with all there is to do. Music. Art. Long walks."
"Right. Of course," he said, watching his plans for their time together rearrange themselves. He wasn't sure what had happened to his bride since their arrival, but he was beginning to feel rather as though he'd been put on ice along with the champagne.
Champagne! Of course! That might be just the thing. Georg busied himself opening a bottle and they settled into a small sofa. He told her about the museums they would visit, the cafes, his plans to take her to the Opera. After a few minutes, she seemed to relax, so he put aside their glasses and pulled her to her feet and into his arms.
"Now, where were we? As I recall, just before the taxi screeched to a stop, I was about to-" This time, she lifted her face to his kiss. But there was something tentative about her. This was not the Maria who had slipped into his room that night, whose first attempt to speak French had been to urge their taxi driver onward to the hotel.
Georg could have kicked himself. He should have arranged for a discreet, rapid arrival, without all of the ceremony. Why had he broken the mood by summoning an army of servants? He'd been trying to show off for her, but what he really ought to have done was rushed her into bed. But then again, why else would she have asked him to clear the room, unless… He ended the kiss and held her close for a moment, his mind racing. Glancing across the room, he caught sight of the embracing couple in a large mirror that hung over the fireplace. Of course, he realized. What woman wants to be wooed by a man wearing the grime of an overnight train trip and a tire change?
"Let me clean up a bit, before I get you any dirtier. I'll be right back," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead before disappearing into the bedroom.
Maria secretly regretted the disappearance of her disreputable-looking Captain, but she was relieved, too, to have a moment for herself. She was feeling a little overwhelmed by it all – the servants, the plush surroundings, even the sparkling city she could see beyond the terrace, spreading out in every direction. She reminded herself of another time when she'd been intimidated by new and elegant surroundings, during her first minutes at the villa six months ago: the gleaming, rich textures and surfaces, the proper servants. And her formidable employer. But now she was a baroness, and he was the man who loved and admired her. Who would be her companion in this strange new life.
Drawn to his reassuring presence, she wandered into the bedroom, listening to the sound of water splashing in the adjacent bathroom. Within minutes, Georg reappeared, his damp hair neatly combed. He was barefoot, wearing soft trousers, a clean white shirt and a mischievous grin .
"Where is your tie?" Maria asked, and immediately felt like an idiot. A tie? His shirt was completely unbuttoned, and in fact, she was having quite a bit of trouble looking at anything else.
"I don't need a tie for where we're going."
"Are we going to lunch? At that café you told me about?"
"You want me to take you to lunch?" he asked, incredulous, and then repeated himself. "Lunch. Am I hearing you right? Because, Maria, I would do anything to make you happy, but I must admit to some confusion-"
Georg was interrupted by sounds coming from the next room: a discreet knock, followed by the whisper of rolling wheels, quiet murmurs, and clattering china and silver.
"What's that?" she whispered.
"Nothing! Nothing!" he said, hastily closing the doors that led from the bedroom back out to the salon and checking to make sure the lock had caught. "They'll be gone in a minute. As he was leaving, I asked the manager to have some food left out there for us. In case we got hungry. Later, I mean. I know how you get when you're hungry, and I just didn't want to have to stop, I mean, I didn't want to interrupt anything…" he ran out of words.
"I thought you said we were going somewhere," Maria said nervously.
"I said we were going somewhere, yes." The indirect approach hadn't worked well, so he took a deep breath and added. "To bed."
Her face turned pink, but she didn't protest; her eyes seemed fixed somewhere below his face, so he went on. "I was under the impression after last night, and in the taxi, you know, that you were as – ehrm – eager as I was. Or maybe this is some kind of revenge for my having insisted on waiting until the wedding. But the wedding was yesterday, Maria, and now we are here, and I want you. Very much. But if you'd rather go out to lunch, well, then, nothing would make me happier." He shook his head. "That's a lie, actually. There is something that would make me happier. But I'll do whatever pleases you."
"I don't want lunch," she interrupted him. "I do want you. Like I told you on the train. I want you desperately. I haven't been able to think of anything else for weeks. But now that we're here, I was just wondering if it isn't a little bit-"
He could see the struggle on her face. "Isn't what, love?"
"Indecent. Improper. I mean, those people are- " she lowered her voice – "right on the other side of the door. They know perfectly well what we're doing in here. And before. The way they were all fluttering around, calling me Baroness, bowing, and kissing their fingers, and winking, and rolling their eyes."
His mouth quirked with a smile. "You had no reservations about what we did in our own home, before we were married, but now that we are husband and wife in the eyes of God, and surrounded by strangers, you're experiencing a sudden attack of modesty? It's Paris, Maria darling, remember in the train station?"
"Yes, but that was kissing. Not – ehrm – going to bed in the middle of the day." Still, Georg looked unbearably tempting, and she found herself more and more distracted by what lay behind that shirt, and the mental image of his strong arms changing the tire. She looked hopefully at the clock. "It's not that long till tonight, is it?"
"Do you mean to tell me," he asked, as patiently as he could, "that if it were night time, or perhaps even the early evening or, perish the thought, late afternoon, you'd be more at ease?"
"Don't laugh at me," she flared.
"I am not laughing, Maria. I am thanking you for giving me the solution to our predicament." In a few purposeful strides, he was at the first set of French doors, standing where sunlight poured into the bedroom. He took a firm hold of the velvet drapes that pooled at either side of the door.
"Why look at that!" Georg announced. "The day has just flown by. It must be almost teatime, the way it's-" and he tugged the drapes closed, "-getting darker."
He strode to the second set of doors and repeated the act, dramatically swishing the draperies closed, "Yes, I'm quite certain of it. It is getting darker, Maria darling, don't you agree?"
In the dim light that remained, he was irresistibly handsome, with an enticing gleam in his dark blue eyes. His wicked smile stole the air from her lungs and drove away any thought of decency or propriety. She bounded to the third and final set of doors before he could reach them. "Wait. Not these. I want," she swallowed, "to be able to see you. I want you to be able to see me." She threw her arms around his neck. "Because it's Paris. And I'm all yours, Captain," was all she managed to say before his mouth was on hers.
He ravished her mouth, the kind of kiss that was a blatant reminder of the intimacy that lay ahead for them. Her hands traced his broad shoulders and slipped underneath his shirt, finding the warm, solid planes of his chest, covered in muscle and hair. He responded with a grunt of satisfaction and let his hands fill themselves with her curves, skimming upward over hips and narrow waist, and lingering on her breasts. But it wasn't enough. Georg needed her skin.
Suddenly, she broke away from him. "I'm sorry," she panted wildly , " but I must look a mess. I haven't had a bath since Salzburg and I've barely washed up."
"You look beautiful. Everything about you is perfect," he reassured her, and went back to kissing her so vigorously she could barely catch her breath. But after a minute, she pushed away again.
"Wait, wait, Georg, wait a minute."
He bit back a groan. "Now what?"
"Maybe I should change. I have a – well, a costume. The kind of thing a bride is supposed to wear."
"A negligee?" His voice took on a hopeful tone.
"Several of them," she confirmed. "In different colors. There's a black one, and one I think is white, although it's so sheer you can barely…"
"Red?" he choked out a question.
"No, no red," she said regretfully. "The woman said not with my hair."
"She's wrong," he said solemnly. "Not with the right red. That will be our very first errand. Red lingerie." His eyes lost focus for a moment and then he shook himself back to the present, and the winsome young woman looking at him like she wanted to devour him. If he didn't devour her first.
"You can show me another time. Turn around," he directed.
"What?"
"I need you out of these clothes. So I can touch you everywhere. Turn around and I'll unfasten you."
Maria narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin at him. Without a word, Georg complied with her demand and stripped off his shirt. She longed to run her hands across his chest, but he caught her wrist in his hand and turned her away from him, so that he could unzip her skirt and help her out of it. He couldn't resist weaving his fingers s through her soft golden hair to expose the back of her neck, and nipped at her there until she shuddered, leaving a tender spot or two before, reluctantly, he gently pushed her away.
"You do the rest, Maria."
"I'll be right back," she said, turning toward the dressing room, but he stopped her.
"No, no. Stay right there and I- " With a smirk on his face, he stretched out on his back on the bed and propped himself on his elbows. "I'll watch."
She gave him one of those looks that set him on fire – equal parts innocent surprise and smoldering desire. Her eyes didn't leave his face, as though she'd lose her nerve, while she unbuttoned her blouse. "Keep going," he prompted, and she did, until, reaching around back to unbuckle a garter, she fumbled.
"This darn thing, I can't.."
"What's the matter?"
"I don't understand why I can't wear simple elastic garters. They're much easier. But no. A bride's got to have this contraption," and she tugged in frustration at the lacy garter belt. "The front ones aren't so bad, but I can't see what I'm doing around back."
Georg laughed. "Come here. I'll help you."
She approached him warily where he sat up on the edge of the bed.
"I'm not going to bite you, for heaven's sake. At least not right away. But I can't reach around you like that. Put your foot up here," and he patted the space between his knees.
"I'll fall, standing on one foot like that."
"No, you won't. Put your hands on my shoulders. Like this," he beckoned, settling her hands and then drawing her foot up onto the bed. But he didn't seem to be in any hurry to help with her garters. His eyes moved slowly up her leg and then lingered, as though he could see right through the shadows at the top. Being so exposed was unexpectedly exciting, especially since she had to stay still or risk losing her balance. Suddenly, every inch of her prickled with desire.
"M-my garter," Maria prompted him.
He didn't say anything, just ran his fingers along the bottom edge of the garter belt, slipping underneath and then, with a quick, deft movement, unfastening the buckle.
"There."
She began to roll her stocking down, but quickly found herself wobbling dangerously.
"Hold on to me, remember? Let me do that ," Georg said, flicking a teasing glance in her direction, and slowly unrolled her stocking, as carefully as though she was made of fragile glass. The brush of his fingers against her skin was unbearable. "And now the other one." She lowered one foot and lifted the other, but this time, he took her foot into his lap. He didn't make any attempt to hide his arousal from her.
And then it began all over again. His steady blue gaze examined her carefully, starting at her knee and working all the way up her leg, until her cheeks caught fire. But this time, after unfastening the garter, his finger skated lightly back toward her center and gently prodded the edge of her knickers. She was melting, drowning, aching for more of his touch, when she heard the sudden hitch in his breath.
"Maria? " he whispered. "That day you were playing that game? When you took off my tie?"
She swallowed hard at the memory. "We were both playing," she reminded him.
"Were you like this for me?" His hand gently cupped her damp heat.
His words so shocked and aroused her that she couldn't form a reply, and then before she knew it, he slid his hands onto her hips and pulled her roughly into his lap, holding her tight against his body.
"Because," he rasped, "this is how I was for you. On fire." His mouth found one breast while his thumb teased the other, and when he rubbed himself against her, her cry of delight almost undid him. Her legs tightened around him, and her hands were everywhere, scrabbling at his chest and lower.
Over the sound of blood roaring in his ears, her soft cries drove him on. He reached down, pushing her fumbling fingers aside. All he needed to do was free himself from his trousers and he would be inside of her.
And then something stopped him cold: the memory of the joy Maria had brought him during the hours she had spent in his bed. That night had wiped away fears he had barely let himself acknowledge. The only time Georg had taken a woman to bed after being widowed, he had been crushed and disappointed; although his physical needs had come roaring back, his heart wasn't in it. No, Maria deserved for him to take it slowly, to take all the time it would take to show her what she meant to him. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "No." he whispered. "Not like this. Not this time."
Georg wanted to make love to his wife: a simple enough statement that couldn't capture the astonishing miracle that had swept into his life in the last six months. Holding her close, he deftly rolled her onto her back and pushed her inquisitive hands away long enough to remove the rest of his clothing and hers too. A moment ago, he'd been on the edge of losing control, dangerously so, but now he was overcome by a wave of tenderness as he drank in the beautiful sight of her lying alongside him, wearing nothing but a blush and a question on her face.
"Why did you stop?" Maria couldn't lie still, not even for a moment; her skin felt exquisitely sensitive, and every inch of her ached for his touch. She could see that he was so obviously aroused; what was taking him so long? "Georg. No more waiting. I thought you wanted…"
He swept her damp hair away from her face and gently kissed her eyelids. "I'm not stopping. Let's take our time. If you can have a little patience – if we can have a little patience," he corrected himself, "there will be even more pleasure. It's better that way. "
"Better for who? You?" Maria said archly.
Her pink mouth was so temptingly swollen, he couldn't resist stealing a kiss, but he tore himself away when she tried to deepen it. "No. I mean yes, but better for you too."
"But I thought you were in such a hurry to go to bed!"
"I said I was in a hurry to get here. I'm in no hurry to leave again." Propped alongside her, his hand traced lazy circles everywhere, around her breasts, across her belly, down the inside of one leg and up the other. His mouth traced the column of her neck and lingered on a sensitive spot behind her ear. Every caress left fire in its wake and made her hungry for more.
"But I thought we were going to…"
"Shhhh," he said, "be still for a moment." He studied her face carefully until, at last, he smiled, as though he'd solved a mystery. "You know, we've only been married one day, and I've already learned something new about you," he mused.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean . You already know everything about me. There isn't anything I haven't told you."
"Shhh," Georg repeated, leaning over for a slow, gentle kiss. Then he propped himself back on his elbow and the gentle, relentless caresses resumed. "You may not have a whistle. But in your own way, Maria von Trapp, I think you like being in charge."
"What? Are you mad, Captain? she scoffed. "Control must be your middle name!"
"The night you came to my room, you said you wanted me – how did you put it? – unbuttoned. Now it's your turn. I want you to let go and trust me the way I trusted you. You have been taking care of yourself for a very long time. What do you think would happen if you just relaxed and let me give you what you need? Could you do that for just a few minutes? Because," his mouth grazed her breast, "because I really want nothing more than to make love to my wife."
"I suppose-" and she gasped at the wet tug of his mouth "-you're the one who's going to be in charge?"
"On the contrary. I loved the way my Fraulein took charge of that little game. The very thought of it kept me awake every night since. But you know, we can take turns. For now, let me show you how much I love you."
His mouth found her breast again, while his fingers pushed her legs open and didn't hesitate for a moment to find their target. At the first warm slip of his fingers, Maria opened to his touch without a moment's shame or self-consciousness. There was nothing to think about or wish for, only the way he knew where she ached for him the most, and the amazingly gentle touch of such a powerful man. Then his touch grew firmer, faster, more demanding, until her fingers clawed at the bedding and she could hardly catch her breath. "Please," she choked out-
"Not yet, love." The rumble of his voice in her ear, and the rush of her own heartbeat. She felt his weight shift and her eyes flew open to see him kneeling between her legs as a second hand joined the first. His burning gaze was fixed on the place where he was touching her, touching her everywhere, deep within and outside, teasingly light one moment, insistent and firm the next.
She was shaking uncontrollably now, and a little frightened by the desperate feelings surging through her.
"Don't fight for it," Georg murmured. "Let it find you, Maria."
She let his touch, and the sound of his voice, drive her on until, with a wordless command, he led her over the edge and wave after wave of endless pleasure broke over her until she was limp, as light as a feather.
She welcomed his solid weight as he climbed over her, bracing himself on his elbows. "I love you so much," she told him, breathlessly. He stroked her hair and fed her kisses as though he was content to do nothing more, but with every kiss, she could feel him growing harder and heavier against her. Wanting to feel the shape of him, her hands crept downward. "Let me," she whispered, but he brushed her away.
"Maria. I need to be inside you. Inside your beautiful body."
"But I want-" The rest of her complaint was forgotten, becoming a sigh of relief as he filled her up slowly, completely, watching her face intently.
Maria pushed upward into him, again and again, letting her hands stroke his hot skin, everywhere she could reach. She watched in awe at the powerful way he lifted himself up and threw his head back, groaning deeply before dropping down to devour her mouth. Together, they found their rhythm, languid and slow, moving without an inch separating them. She loved everything about it, how he drove ever more deeply within her, spreading fire everywhere. The rasp of his voice in her ear muttering words of love and passion and a few words she couldn't quite catch; and the way he buried his face against her and bit gently at her throat.
"Your legs. Around-" he grunted, and remembering the motion from their last morning together, she slid her legs around his hips.
"Higher, more-" he growled.
"I can't," she said, but he pushed her legs higher until it seemed she could, after all. He pressed more deeply inside her, moving with desperate intensity until, with a shout, he shuddered violently within and then slumped against her.
They lay entwined for some time, so utterly at peace with each other that there was no need to speak. She ran her fingers over his strong arms, his shoulders, and then along his jawline before he brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss. He was moments away from drifting into a comfortable sleep when glanced down to see a question in her eyes.
"What is it, love?"
"Nothing," she smiled, with a little shake of her head.
"No holding back, remember?" he chided her.
"I was just thinking. That was our third time together. How many times, do you think, before I lose count?"
"I don't know, but I'm looking forward to finding out," he said drowsily.
"Also," she went on, "did you say that there was something to eat in the next room?'
"Eat?" Georg repeated. "We're back to discussing lunch? You leave me almost unable to move and you want to eat? Would you care to tell me where I went wrong?" His laughter ended in an enormous yawn.
"One appetite has nothing to do with the other." She rolled out of bed and shrugged herself into his discarded shirt. "I think I'm going to like Paris quite a lot," she twinkled at him. "It's remarkable, how energetic I feel!" and she performed a little pirouette in front of him, his shirt billowing in every direction.
At that moment, he resolved that the next time, he might worry a little less about being considerate, and instead try a little more to exhaust her. For now, all he could do was laugh.
"You are going to join me in a snack, aren't you?" Maria coaxed. "We've got to keep our strength up."
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