Honeymoon in Paris – The City of Love
Paris glowed golden at night, the Eiffel Tower sparkling behind them as Keifer pulled Jay close, his lips brushing her temple. "Finally mine," he murmured, voice rough with both wonder and want. "Mrs. Watson… but I'll just call you Jay here. Just Jay. Just mine."
Jay rolled her eyes, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her. "You act like you haven't been mine since forever."
"Oh, I haven't been yours," Keifer teased, pressing a kiss just under her jaw. "I am yours. Difference."
Their honeymoon was a blur of laughter and stolen touches. Keifer had promised her they'd do everything—visit museums, boat rides along the Seine, coffee shops on cobbled streets. And they did. But Paris had a problem. Every time Jay turned her head, every time she laughed, every time she leaned close to whisper in his ear, Keifer couldn't resist.
It started with kisses—quick, teasing pecks that grew longer, deeper. In the elevator of their hotel. At the back of a cab. In quiet corners of the Louvre until Jay shoved him off with wide eyes, whispering, "Keifer, there are cameras!"
"Let them watch," he grinned wickedly, brushing her lower lip with his thumb.
On the Seine river cruise, as Paris lights danced across the water, Keifer pulled her against him, his mouth trailing down her neck until Jay's fingers dug into his arm. "You're insufferable."
"Insatiable," he corrected. "With you? Always."
And when they finally stumbled back to their suite, Jay's dress wrinkled from his constant tugging, Keifer backed her against the door, lips crashing into hers like he'd been starving all day. "You're killing me, Jay," he whispered against her mouth. "Every look. Every laugh. Paris isn't making me fall in love—it's just reminding me I already have."
Her soft laugh was cut short when his hands traced down her sides, her gasp swallowed by another kiss, desperate and sweet.
The bed stayed untouched for a while, because Keifer couldn't wait. Every corner of the suite turned into their playground—the balcony overlooking the city, the marble bathroom, even the velvet armchair by the window where he pulled her into his lap, whispering, "God, Jay, do you know what you do to me?"
And through it all, he called her name—not "Mutya," not "Mrs. Watson," but Jay. Whispered, groaned, breathed like a prayer.
Paris had its museums, its pastries, its lights. But for them, it became something else entirely—a city of stolen breaths, fevered touches, and love so overwhelming Keifer could barely contain it.
Because wherever they went—under the stars by the Seine, under the Tower's glow, behind closed hotel doors—Keifer made sure she knew one thing: in the city of love, she was all he'd ever want to love.
-------
Hey guys so I made a new tiktok where i will actually post about my books go and follow it
It's called @Author_Alys