Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

[WARNING: Mild adult content below. Read at your own discretion.]

“Will you see me after the end of this leg of the tour?” I repeated quietly. Jeanne turned around to face me, still a bit confused.

“Harry…” She mumbled as she realised the mess I was. My heart rate reached its peak in anticipation.

“Will you?” I insisted, bending closer. Jeanne held my gaze, and said nothing for a second that felt like an eternity.

“Haven’t you something else to do?–––she asked, slightly frowning. Seeing your family? Going home?”

“I don’t even know where my home is, Jeanne–––I almost pleaded. I want to see you…”

“Sainte-Mesme,” she mumbled. I watched her closely, her features dimly lit by the moonlight. Jeanne softly battered her eyelashes and stayed quiet.

“What?” I reacted a moment later, and after that everything felt as if I was stepping inside a dream.

“We can go to my family’s house in Paris countryside, Sainte-Mesme…” Jeanne muttered with a serious expression. I couldn’t stop staring at her, her words resounding throughout my entire being, but my nervousness impeded me to understand.

“Is that a yes?” I retorted.

“Yes,” she smiled. A rush of joy surged me.

“Come here,” I gasped, pulling Jeanne closer to nestle her onto my chest. She laughed, throwing her head back and I slowly started to recover the tranquillity I lost the day I met her. “Tell me about this house…” I said, kissing her forehead, and let my lips just there.

“It was my father’s art studio.”

“Was?”

“My father died three years ago when I came back from London,” she explained in a low tone. I just realised we had never truly talked about the subject, and felt terrible. “He had a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, tightening my grip.

“Thank you,” she mouthed coming to look me in the eyes. London. After we met for the first time. I couldn’t help but to feel sad for her and also, somehow, for us. The revelation added some sort of tragic note to our story.

“Are you OK going there?–––I asked, trying to be thoughtful. We could go elsewhere.”

“No, it is perfect,” she replied, sounding very sure. “Just half an hour by train, a tiny village, very quiet.” Two weeks with Jeanne with its days and nights… I sighed as the idea began to take form in my mind. “Nobody will know who you are,” she smirked. Well, it was already happening in Paris to my surprise, so I believed her. “And the house is big enough to have your minder with you,” she carried on as she traced forms in my chest with her finger.

“Oh, no. Pat is out of the picture–––I blurted. He’ll stay somewhere else. I don’t want to have him on my back.”

“But that is sort of his job…”

“Can he stay in a hotel?” I mused.

“Well, I think he could stay at Maurice’s,” Jeanne answered meditating as well.

“Who’s Maurice?”

“My father’s best friend–––she claimed. He takes care of ‘La biguine’ since my father died. He lives just two houses away.” So the house had a name. I found it adorable. And what sort of name was that? Somehow my mind was already there. I held her closer.

“Do you go often?” I asked curious, bending to look at her.

“Until I left to London I spent there every weekend,” she told me, avoiding my eyes. I ran my thumb along her cheekbone and made her meet my gaze. “Lately I don’t have much time.”

“And your mother, does she go often?” I knew I was asking too many questions. Jeanne wasn’t very fond of interrogations, and if she hadn’t told me yet maybe she had a reason. Three years had passed but perhaps the pain was still there. I didn’t even want to think of the possibility of being in her shoes.

“She hasn’t come back since then,” she sighed, utterly patient. “She doesn’t even live in Paris anymore. Their flat is rented. She lives in Italy.”

“Don’t you have brothers or sisters?” I just couldn’t help myself. What had we been talking all this time we had spent together? I felt as if I knew nothing about her. My hands travelled to the back of her neck.

“I don’t,” she said. I realised she was alone and it just broke my heart. “Lolo is like a brother to me. We are best friends since we were kids and his mother is like a mother to me,” she grinned. I felt so thankful for Lolo. I don’t know why I judged him wrong at the first moment.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, looking deep into her eyes.

“Don’t be sad for me–––she beamed. It’s just life, you know. I keep the best from him and I see my mother quite often. She had travelled a lot my entire life. I’m used to be away from her.” At her words something trembled inside of me. I’m certain I’ll be a complete disaster without my family around, even without this mad kind of life I live. I admired Jeanne’s strength of spirit because I knew she didn’t feel sorry for herself, but I didn’t really know how to express it.

“I miss my mum so much,” I said. Jeanne smiled lovingly, caressing my face with her knuckles. I instinctively brought her closer to me. “I’m glad she has Robin; otherwise I’m not sure I could be doing this.”

–.–.–

We kept talking into the small hours of the night until she fell asleep, and soon later I felt finally able to surrender myself, both physically and mentally exhausted. When Jeanne woke me up to her art session it was quite early in the morning. I was a bit reluctant first but once I remembered where we were going I jumped from bed and got ready in just minutes. It was chilly outdoors and Paris was just waking up so I held her by the shoulder all the way to the bakery and from there to the Academy of Fine-Arts.

We entered the place through a side door, and barely crossed anybody until we arrived to the art studio. As it was still empty I took a moment to glance around and Jeanne went behind a large blue velvet curtain hanging from the ceiling to the floor. The room was very spacious, glazed on two sides, to the main corridor and to the courtyard, and was full of easels with canvas covered with grey fabric. I wanted to peep on them because I knew many perspectives of Jeanne were beneath, but when I was about to drape one off I heard her voice calling for me.

I went behind the blue curtain and found Jeanne wearing a black silky robe adorned with Asian designs. I knew she was already naked underneath. I glimpsed at everything, her hair up, hands gripping on the edge of a table as she leant against it, pictures, sketches, brushes, figurines, a door to the corridor, blinds down. I moved towards her and boldly slipped myself between her legs. Instinctively Jeanne took her hands to my neck and closed the distance of our bodies. My stomach lurched and a rush of blood flooded my crotch.

“I could make you come in just five minutes,” I murmured. I knew she was thinking the same as me. She laughed.

“We don’t have five minutes…”

“Jeannie !” We heard a male voice calling her from the studio. She kept her eyes fixed on mine. “P’tite Jeanne…”

“Are you nervous?” I asked, Jeanne’s fingers running through my hair.

“I’m not,” she muttered. God, she had me so turned on.

“Jeanne ?” The voice insisted.

“By and by, I come,” she spoke out loud in English. I frowned my eyebrows, grimacing.

“I’m making you come and we are not even having sex–––I said quietly with a cheeky grin. Is it because I’m doing this?” I asked sticking my tongue in her ear. Jeanne gasped and twitched between my arms, pulling me closer. Her legs folded to my sides.

“We’re here…” The guy muttered shyly. ‘Yeah, she knows, mate,’ I thought. I wasn’t letting her go anywhere until I got her as flustered as I was. Jeanne wrestled to pull off but she liked it too much. I could feel the heat growing between us and I knew she was getting all wet so I stopped. It took me a great deal not to slide my fingers on her.

“Are you nervous now?” I inquired, smirking. She deeply sighed, her heart pounding furiously against mine.

“No.”

“Good…–––I muttered. Go on then,” I said pointing at the curtain. Jeanne brushed her body on mine as she got down from the table, adjusting her robe around her chest. I guessed even if she were I was ten times more nervous than her. She set aside the thick fabric discreetly and went away, and I stayed there standing alone with the most painful hard-on.

I quickly moved towards the curtain myself, as I didn’t want to miss a thing, and took a glimpse of the studio from my observation post. Girls and guys around twenty years old were at their easels, looking to the centre of the room. Jeanne was standing near a platform, facing away. She took her robe off, glancing down, and let it fell to a chair. Her back, her waist, the rhombus shape… My heart leapt inside my chest and raced, blood and adrenaline swarming everywhere. She climbed a step and glancing down again she crouched, positioning her head to the side. And instant later she moved her arms, reaching the posture I remembered from the catalogue. Everybody started to draw. It hadn’t been as theatrical as I imagined it would be, but far more natural, and further more arousing.

When twenty minutes of me glued to the curtain had passed I sensed my mobile vibrating inside my front pocket. I stepped back and went to the door. I glanced at the screen. Louis. I decided I needed to answer. Luckily it would take the remains of my hard-on away.

“Have you seen Twitter this morning?” It worked. At his words I automatically began to worry.

“What happened?” I asked as I left the studio, trying not to make any noise as I closed the door behind me.

“Are you with Jeanne?” He blurted.

“Yes, but no–––I mumbled. I’m watching her posing…” That was just too much information for him, I knew it.

“Nude?” He snapped, all excited. My silence spoke louder than words. “OK, OK–––he deposed his attitude. Anyway, you’ve been spotted at the Louvre yesterday.” I stood frozen. “It’s all over Twitter. Some French paper set the alarm.”

“But I went to Twitter by midnight and saw nothing about it,” I complained, frustrated. I had been flirting with the idea but reality scared the crap out of me.

“Well, mate, I guess it blew up later, but that’s not the point. Harry–––he said turning serious. They’re not as good as us–––he sounded pleased. They hardly found out anything about her. And due to the French laws there’s no photo.” My anxiety quietened down a bit.

“Do they know she’s on Twitter?”

“Is she on Twitter?–––Louis exclaimed, puzzled. No, I guess they don’t. It would be on the fans’ retweets…”

“But do they know who she is?” I insisted, getting anxious again.

“No, but you won’t believe it…” He hesitated.

“Tell me, I’m ready.”

“No, mate–––he sentenced. You aren’t ready for this and I suspect you won’t like it at all.” My mind clouded.

“Tell me or hang up for me to go on Twitter!” I exclaimed. To my luck there was no one around.

“Well, although it has been around nobody’s making a great fuss because they think she’s a friend of Gemma or some sort of art consultant…” I shook my head, confused.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nobody thinks you two are actually together…” Louis muttered cautiously.

“What?”

–.–.–

Notes

Well, who was expecting a yes? Get into the queue for me to give you big kiss! But what happened then? Poor Harry! He can't be relaxed for more than a second! Explanations on the next chapter. Coming soon!

I keep shouting out my latest reading: Until Next Time, a Liam Payne's Fan Fiction. DON'T MISS IT. Ciao Niccie and I approve it! You want to read it too.

I can't thank you enough for all the feedback, votes and subscriptions! You know you are curious. You want to know where is the drama... All I can say is that those holidays are going to be a hell of an emotional roller coaster... Thank you so much, everybody, for reading this story and sharing your time with me. Love you all, clever, clever readers.

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