Paris // Jake Kiszka

Amsterdam

You cocked your head to the side and tried to see if a different perspective would make it appear any less grotesque. Your eyes narrowing at the vulgarity. You couldn't bring yourself to linger with it, deciding that it was the most disgusting thing you had ever seen.

Jake was somewhat impressed. Hiding a childish grin behind a curled fist as he pondered over it, even taking the time to read the little blurb about the artist who had sculpted the self-fellating gargoyle from iron.

He caught your reaction from behind his shades. "Not to your taste?"

Your lip uncurled. "Quite the opposite."

You felt his fingers upon your back. Two of them ran down cautiously between your shoulder blades before the back of his hand skimmed around your waist. Your breath hitched in your chest.

"May I be so bold as to point out that it was your idea to come here." He said quietly, his mouth leaning in to your ear as you turned to face him.

You were quick to justify your decision. "I'm quite taken with the phallic statues. But this is just... "

In the empty exhibit hall, Jake lifted your chin and held it between his thumb and finger. Tilting you until he had you beneath his lips.

"A sex museum." He said matter-of-factly, finishing your sentence for you. "About people who fuck, like to fuck, hate to fuck. Fuck themselves, fuck each other. It's what we do..."

You could feel the air escape your lungs as he lifted his shades, pushing his hair back as he rested them above, revealing those dangerous brown eyes you could never deny.

"None of this is like what we do." You replied, breathlessly.

He would have kissed you. But instead his seriousness fell into laughter, releasing your chin and pulling you into the circle of his arms as the exhibit hall began to fill with giggling tourists. Suddenly, you could see the funny side.

"You want to get out of here?" He asked, his head pivoting around at all the gaudy artefacts.

"Yeah." You replied, keeping your eyes on him. "I've had enough of how other people fuck."

Paris had been an extraordinary dalliance. A requiem for the sort of woman you'd hoped to be. You didn't want to admit it, at first, that Jake had claimed your feminine urge to travel Europe in a solo attempt to discover your own soul. Now your urges were his. Your desires were his.

You'd ruined his intention, too. His time for self indulgence. His attempt to carve out a little time for culture amongst the chaos of his life. It had not sat well with you, the way he had thrown his plans to the wayside to follow you to Amsterdam. But there was no help for it. Neither of you had wanted to say goodbye.

He held your hand casually. His other nestled in his pocket, leading you through the streets of Amsterdam much like he had through Paris. Only now there was a resting familiarity that had been nurtured in the way he had not stopped touching you in the last two days.

Two days since you'd felt the cold spill of wine down your front. Two days since you had allowed him to court you in his tower view apartment. Two days since he had claimed you, mind and body.

He lead you aimlessly towards the Prinsengracht, the colourful boats bobbing on subtle canal waves. With your hand snugly held within his, you didn't care where the street would take you.

When he gestured for you sit on an unassuming bench overlooking the water, you smiled at him and tried to imagine how this scenery would have looked if you'd been sat there alone. You couldn't picture it.