AMÉLIE
The stroking of fingers on the small of her back penetrated the languid oblivion Amélie was experiencing and her eyes opened to see a strong collarbone proudly jutting along a set of wide shoulders.
She tilted her head back, and as she did, she watched Olly dip his chin.
“Hey,” he whispered when their gazes caught.
Dream come true.
“Good morning, darling,” she whispered back.
Something beautiful passed through his eyes before he bent to her and touched his mouth to hers.
It wasn’t enough before he pulled away.
Oh, but she could wake up like this every day and she didn’t even need the kiss. The words. The stroking.
Just Olly.
“You gonna work me, baby, or feed me?” he asked, still speaking softly, like the cocoon of bed and bedclothes would break wide open exposing them to the cold reality of life if he used a normal voice and he didn’t want that.
Not at all.
Amélie loved that, adored it, felt the same way.
Even so, at the same time she felt something prick that cocoon, nagging at her, attempting to draw her attention.
She ignored it.
Instead Amélie thought that she’d tried him greatly the day before. Not further than where she would have taken a rookie sub with his experience (that experience mostly given by her so she had an excellent understanding of where she could take him), but she’d still tested him.
He’d bested her challenge magnificently (unsurprisingly).
But with their activities instigated by Olly earlier that morning, activities she still felt throbbing delicately in her pussy, she felt it was time they both had a break.
“I think it’s best I feed you. We’ll have a lazy morning.”
Olly showed no disappointment, but not in a way that was disappointing to Amélie. He was simply relaxing into her flow.
“Works for me.”
She gave him a soft smile before she gave him his choices. “I have everything, Olly. Eggs and bacon. Sausage. Pancake mix. And those cinnamon rolls you pop out of a tube.”
His smile was not soft but wide and white.
“My Leigh bought cinnamon rolls you can pop out of a tube?”
He sounded like this was something he couldn’t fathom. Not something he didn’t like, but it was still something he couldn’t fathom.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“Then definitely cinnamon rolls,” he decided.
She drifted a hand up his spine. “Have I been remiss in not making you dessert?”
“Babe, you made enough nachos to fell an elephant. I’m not going hungry.” He gathered her closer, his eyes saying more than his next words did. “But yeah, I like sweet.”
She’d give him sweet. She’d bake him cinnamon rolls from a tube every day of his life if she had that opportunity.
That something again stabbed at their peaceful-togetherness cocoon.
“Then we’ll have cinnamon rolls,” she decided, again ignoring the sensation.
“And bacon,” he added.
“And bacon,” she agreed.
“You see to that, it’d be cool I could go out for a short run. You’ve been putting me through my paces, Leigh-Leigh, but not sure how many calories I’m burning. I won’t be long.”
She nodded against the pillow.
Olly’s eyes dropped to her mouth then he rolled into her, pinning her to the bed under his warm, solid weight, and he gave her a kiss that was a good deal more than a touch of their mouths.
When he broke it, he ordered, “Wait for me for a shower.”
She snuggled closer. “If I wait for you to return to have a shower, you eat breakfast sweaty or I can’t bake the rolls until after we’re done. I only have one tube. It’d be a shame they burned while we shower, or we ate them cold. They’re best when they’re all gooey and melty.”
His lips quirked before he said, “You’re right. They’re best when they’re all gooey and melty.” He emphasized those two words in a tone trembling with barely held back laughter. He finished with, “Then hang. I can wait until I get back and get showered to eat. You?”
She gave him his words, “Works for me.”
Olly then gave her another touch of his lips but this time, he came right back in and nipped her lower one.
That was new.
That was nice.
She could have that every day too.
God.
She felt that slither down her chest into her belly and below at the same time her arms tightened and she fought them doing that in a way she’d never let go.
“Run. Shower. Food,” he muttered, his gaze losing focus as his eyes again drifted to her mouth.
“Run. Shower. Food,” she repeated.
Clearly, before he could change his mind, he rolled, not losing hold on her as he did, and they were both on their feet.
Run. Shower. Food.
And eventually their chat.
That something pricked at her again but Amélie continued to ignore it as she reached for her robe at the same time watching Olly walk naked to the bathroom.
It was an excellent strategy, for watching Olly walk naked to the bathroom put everything else out of her mind.
* * *
Amélie sat in her robe on a stool at her island, cup of coffee held in both hands in front of her, eyes staring unseeing at the countertop, but her mind was not idle.
Olly was off on his run, and without him and his teasing and his good mood and his sweetness as a distraction, she should have turned on music. Stripped the bed and put the sheets and towels they’d used in the laundry to start getting things sorted to shut down the house to prepare for her to load her cats back up and return to the city.
Anything but sitting there letting her mind go to places that were ridiculous.
She thought (or more accurately, hoped) that they were ridiculous because, except for a strange tone in his voice over the phone during their week apart, Olly hadn’t given her any indication whatsoever that the talk they’d be having that day was one with a conclusion she wouldn’t want it to have.
Especially all through last week.
And most especially during their weekend.
It had been far better than she expected and she’d been anticipating wonderful things.
Playing with Olly. Making love with Olly. Getting fucked by Olly. Talking to Olly about her pets, the time she spent at Dr. Hill’s, the nagging concerns she had about the emptiness that had been creeping into her life. Understanding, finally, the niggling thoughts she’d had about his apparent inexperience. Him giving that to her belatedly, but openly, sharing deeper things while doing it, offering her a different kind of trust and vulnerability that she held even more dear than the manipulation of his body.
No man, alpha or no, indeed no woman would give such gifts to someone they simply wanted to bind them and paddle them and make them orgasm.
But there still was that tone in his voice that she’d heard over the phone. There was disquiet in it that wasn’t hidden. It had not been not dripping from every word, but it was there.
This was, however, contradictory to him calling at all, not to mention the frankness he’d always given her (outside his inexperience, which she could understand why he did what he did, even before he’d explained it—she could not condone it, of course, but she understood it), it had been there.
That said, the time they were apart, he’d called and made it clear why he’d called. That being he’d wanted her to “jack his shit.”
He had, of course, called to ask about her parents, dig deeper into what he sensed she wasn’t giving him.
But other than that, outside the club, he only minimally texted, and he did not call, doing this to connect to her or to invite her to do the same. Unless it was to request her to bring him under her command, he didn’t connect except in a marginal way.
She’d asked him for this weekend.
He had not asked her out for a drink or to dinner or to come to his house to watch a game. Even before or after they met at the club, their togetherness was at the club.
Except this weekend, which, again, she had instigated.
Now, understanding his inexperience, it was easy for her mind to trick itself into believing that he didn’t get it. He didn’t get certain boundaries. He didn’t know all he was giving and how it could be read.
He was no fool but it was the plain truth that he might perform with the instincts of a natural sub, one who had a great deal more time in that world. But Olly did not have that.
And Amélie had been in the “game” far too long.
She’d been burned twice.
What was assailing her with doubt and nerves was partially due to that.
Mostly, it was the fact that this time, with Olly, if where they were heading was not where she thought they were heading, she knew it would unravel her.
She couldn’t imagine having another toy.
But more.
She couldn’t imagine wanting to try to build something, with the hopes of that being building a life together, with any other man.
Just the thought of going back to the club without Olly made the back of her jaw tingle unpleasantly against sick sliding up her throat.
She was falling in love with him. Even though she’d never been that deep in that feeling, Amélie knew precisely what it was.
And to have all of Olly and to want more of all that was him and find he did not want the same …
It was unthinkable.
And now Amélie was sitting at her island, fighting back her disposition twisting into a tight bundle of nerves as the time for their chat drew nearer.
She was taking a sip of coffee, attempting to pull up the strength to shake these thoughts off and get herself together before Olly returned, when Olly returned.
Opening the front door, she saw him from her place all the way down the hall.
Cotton, loose-fitting tee. Also loose-fitting shorts that hung low down his thighs. Running shoes and socks.
Dripping in sweat.
He moved down the hall her way, a paradox of lumbering grace, and she watched, lowering her mug as he came right to her.
Careful of his sweat, he still bent to her with a, “Hey, babe,” before he brushed his lips to hers.
He moved away and went right to the fridge to get water.
Amélie watched as he opened it and she watched even more avidly as he tipped his head back and guzzled half the large bottle.
And Amélie was no longer a bundle of nerves.
Something was tightening and a variety of nerve endings were involved but it had nothing to do with anxiety.
She watched Olly stop drinking and continued watching as he dropped his head, lifting the bottom of his shirt, exposing stomach and some chest as he rubbed the sweat away from his face with the damp material.
She allowed him to right this position and guzzle more water before she ordered, “Olivier, come here.”
His head snapped to the right, his gaze slicing to her, and he stood still.
Amélie held her breath.
They’d locked eyes and they continued to do so as she watched with some satisfaction his start to heat.
She dropped her attention to his shorts and had evidence something else was reacting as well.
Amélie looked back to his face.
“I’m not fond of repeating myself,” she warned quietly.
Olivier took another moment before he kept her gaze as he moved her way, setting his bottle of water on the counter as he walked around the island.
When he was where she wanted him, about three feet from her, she commanded, “Stop.”
He stopped.
She took him in.
His shorts exposed his increasing stimulation.
But she didn’t need to look to his growing erection.
His eyes were telling her everything she needed to know.
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered.
His hands went to the hem and he pulled it up, slouching forward, curling his powerful shoulders in to tug it over his head.
“Toss it aside,” she went on.
He did as told.
“Now, remove your socks and shoes.”
He bent to do this without delay and was again standing before her.
She allowed her eyes to roam everywhere and this took time because there was a vast area to cover.
All of it, as ever, divine.
“Mistress,” he whispered.
Her gaze cut back to his face. “Pull your shorts down to your thighs.”
“Amélie,” he growled, his eyes darkening, for some reason suddenly feeling in the mood to resist.
It was not lost on her that this particular order took Olivier back to his beast. For some reason exposing himself to her at her command brought up rebellion.
Rebellion that was luscious.
Rebellion she knew she could guide him through.
“What did I say about repeating myself?” she asked
Olivier took another moment, this one much longer, forcing Amélie to consider an additional element to their scenario that would require her to leave the area and find a paddle (unless she spanked him with her bare hand, a thought too luscious by half to have in her current state, so she banished it), before, with another growl, this one unintelligible, he pulled his shorts to his thighs.
His cock sprung free, fully hard and hanging low, so beautiful nude to her grooming.
She fought shifting her legs against the sensations gathering between them, drawing away her focus.
God, he never failed to entice her.
Watching his cock, she put her mug down to counter and turned her stool fully his way.
She then flicked one side of her robe open, exposing a leg, but nothing else.
She looked to his face and saw his gaze fastened between her legs.
“One step closer,” she commanded.
No hesitation, he took that step.
“On your knees,” she ordered.
He dropped down, heated gaze locked to the material covering her pussy.
She flicked the other side of her robe open and another growl sheared through the room when she gave him part of what he was wanting.
Time for more.
Amélie darted a hand out, caught Olivier at the back of his head, and his hands automatically shot to her thighs as she opened them for him, pulling his face into her sex.
Her next instruction was husky. “Do not eat.”
“Baby,” he groaned between her legs.
“Not until told, chevalier, understood?”
Another hesitation before, “Yes, Mistress.”
Her eyes fell to his ass, and when they did, she shifted forward on her stool, feeling her pussy hit his mouth. She gripped his hair and rubbed his face in her.
His fingers clenched into the flesh of her thighs so powerfully, they caused a hint of pain.
Enchanting.
“Push your Mistress’s legs open wider,” she demanded.
His hands moved from the tops of her thighs to the insides and he opened her wider, which naturally slid her bottom down the seat of the stool and shoved her deeper into his face.
The growl that rolled out of him into her nearly signaled she was done.
She had to hold out just a little longer.
“Tongue out, Olivier.”
She felt his tongue immediately and used her hand in his hair to position him, tongue right at her opening.
She settled her gaze to his ass again and whispered, “Eat, my beast.”
Pure Olivier, he did as asked and did it magnificently. Pushing her thighs even wider, he buried his face deeper into her pussy, fucking her with his tongue, laving from near to the rim of her anus to her clit, drawing that hard nub in deep.
Amazing.
When she’d had enough, her head having fallen back, she yanked his hair so his was back, too, and then dropped hers forward, vaguely caught his eyes and breathed, “Fuck me, baby.”
Again, no hesitation, Olivier tore open the belt of her robe and before she understood his intent, he’d swept her hips in the curve of his arm and she was off the stool. It seemed she was flying through the air but she was in his hold the whole time he stalked to the couch that had its back to the kitchen. Then she was face-and belly-down on it, her arms forced back as Olivier ripped her opened robe off.
Then her legs were forced wide and she was taking him.
Apparently, she’d pushed him further through his rebellion then she’d been aware.
Delightfully.
She knew this as his grunts of effort exploded through the savage beauty of his thrusts, one hand in the couch beside her, body arched away for leverage and power.
And she knew it when he buried his thumb up her ass.
“Olivier,” she breathed.
“Ride that, Leigh.”
She didn’t have much room to move with him powering her into the couch but she did what she could, unable to stop herself (not that she wished to do that), shifting a knee slightly into the cushion to ride his cock up her cunt and his thumb up her ass.
The thumb disappeared but only for a second before he shoved two wet fingers deep.
Amélie’s head jerked back as a throb instantly gathered and grew between ass and pussy, and she cried out, “Olly.”
“Gonna fuck that sweet ass, Leigh. Gonna take it, baby, and you’re gonna beg me not to stop.”
“Don’t stop now,” she panted, desperate—facedown beneath him taking only what he was giving—to get more things Olly.
“You gonna let me fuck your ass, Leigh?” he grunted, fucking it already with his fingers while his cock drove deep.
Take that big brute up her ass?
“Yes,” she pushed out.
“You gonna beg me?” he clipped.
“Yes, Olly. I’m going to beg you to fuck my ass. Fuck it now with your fingers, baby. Please. God.” Her frame started shaking as the power of that throb grew and grew. “Oh my God.” Her hands clenched into the couch as her body started uncontrollably bucking when that throb exploded. “Olly.”
He drove his fingers deep, pumping into her pussy, encouraging gruffly, “That’s it, Leigh-Leigh. Fuck yeah, baby, take what I’m givin’ you.”
She took it, and gave it, shuddering violently as her mind scrambled and she continued to take Olly’s pummeling.
And she kept giving it to him, pulsing around him with her pussy, her body trembling on the couch, when he orgasmed through his final, brutal thrusts, slipping his fingers out of her ass to grasp her hips to hold her to him as he shot his seed.
Finally, he went still, filling her completely in a way that seemed to her like he was straining, and she imagined him arching into his climax in that glorious way of his, before he relaxed. She felt the warmth of his body drop to hers, held up by a forearm in the couch, his forehead on her shoulder.
“Fuck, baby, fuck, you do it for me.”
She closed her eyes as relief poured through her.
There it was. Just what Amélie needed to release the things that were now fucking with her head.
She felt him kiss her shoulder.
“Don’t ever lose your imagination, sweetheart,” he said, the relief vanished and she tensed. “Every time, every fucking time,” he pressed his hips into hers, his cock pushing deeper, giving unmistakable meaning to what he was saying, “you knock it outta the park.”
And there it was.
Indication that for Olly, it was all about her knocking it out of the park.
With a shocked gasp, she felt him pull out and abruptly she was teetering in front of him beside the couch, both of them on their feet.
Before she could even tip her head back to gauge the look on his face, he had the fingers of both of his hands tangled in her hair at the sides of her head, his lips declaring, “Time for our shower.”
And then with a quiet cry, his hands were gone from her hair, she was naked, up over his shoulder, and a naked Olly was prowling through her house toward her bedroom.
In an odd twist she’d never allowed in any relationship, Amélie found herself powerless.
And what made that odder was she did not dislike this at all.
So she supposed it was time for their shower.
Then it was time to chat.
And that she didn’t like.
* * *
They were in her front courtyard, plate of bacon consumed, three-quarters of the cinnamon rolls gone (and Amélie had had no bacon and only one roll).
She’d been right, her Olly needed a great deal of fuel.
After their shower, they’d both put on jeans and T-shirts. While accomplishing this, for some reason she didn’t understand, Olly looked at her tee the second she’d pulled it on and then had given her a big, satisfied grin that had the added charming component of being vastly amused.
He didn’t offer a reason as to why he had this reaction.
And Amélie was so deep in her head, she didn’t ask for one.
They’d sorted the food, shuffling around the kitchen together (something Amélie had never had with a man in her life and she liked it immensely). Olly also had situated the chairs outside so that they were side to side while they ate, eyes to the road at the front of the house, the fountain flowing comfortingly behind them.
Amélie was not comforted.
No, Amélie felt that cinnamon roll sitting in her stomach like an anvil, weighing her down.
“How much of this land is yours?” Olly asked and she looked from her preoccupied perusal of a road no car had come down since they took their seats to Olly.
“Fifty-five acres,” she answered.
“Mm,” he mumbled, lifting a cup of coffee he’d told her while they were preparing breakfast he could “take or leave, usually only drink a cup with something sweet.”
This was good to know for she hadn’t caffeinated him as well as not feeding him before she’d played with him the morning before.
If things went as she hoped, in future, she’d make a note to provide him fuel.
But it was nice to know she didn’t have to offer him caffeine.
“Olly,” she called but it was more a blurt.
She wanted to relax. Spend time with him. Have one of their non-taxing, enjoyable conversations that still led to her learning more about him, every morsel she was hungry for. Have the lazy morning she said they were going to have. Push it into a lazy day. Maybe take him riding. Avoid the chat altogether and just continue the beauty they had, ride it wherever it was going.
She most assuredly wanted all that.
But she couldn’t wait a second longer to know where they stood.
He looked to her, face relaxed, in a good place, and God, please God, she hoped it stayed that way.
“Yeah?” he answered her call.
“I’d like to see you,” she began.
A big, white smile spread on his handsome face making him breathtaking.
Yes, please, God, she wanted him to stay just that way for as long as she was breathing.
“I go somewhere?” he teased.
She wasn’t in the mood for teasing, even though she loved it when he did that.
What she was, was in a state.
And even her, Amélie Hélène Strand, Mistress of pretty much everything, she couldn’t pull herself out of that state.
This was too important.
Olivier Hawkes was way too important.
“See you, as in, out on a date,” she explained.
She watched his relaxed look melt into confusion before it changed to something else and it felt like a slap in the face when he tipped his head back and burst into loud laughter.
His uncontrolled laughter was always lovely to hear. In fact, it was beautiful.
Or it was on any other occasion but that.
She didn’t see what was funny.
“Is something amusing?” she asked.
He did not read her tone.
But he did turn his attention to her, doing it still laughing, and also laughing, he asked, “Wasn’t it you I fucked on the couch?”
“It was,” she confirmed.
He looked away, now only chuckling, through which he said, “You wanna date, Leigh, I’ll date.” Before he muttered into the coffee cup he’d raised to his lips and unfortunately didn’t stop speaking. “Lookin’ forward to what you come up with on a date.”
At that, Amélie experienced the intensely painful feeling of all her innards compressing into a hard, fiery-hot ball.
What you come up with on a date.
He was not talking about interesting conversation and getting to know her better.
She turned her attention to the road.
“Leigh?” he called.
“Yes,” she said to the road.
“Baby.” His tone had changed considerably but Amélie was too busy feeling that hard ball burning in the pit of her stomach and wondering how long it would take for the flame to go out.
She also wondered if it ever would.
“I miss something?” he finished on a query.
“No,” she answered and then looked at him. “I believe it was me who missed something.”
“Sorry?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. Leaning forward in her chair, she started to tidy their plates, going on, “We should tidy up and then perhaps you’d like to go with me to take the horses out for a ride before you—”
Both of her hands stopped moving even though he only caught one of her wrists.
He did this saying, “Hey, whoa. What just happened?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Release my wrist, if you would, please, Olivier.”
He didn’t release her wrist.
His eyes narrowed and he said in a strangely dangerous voice, “Olivier?”
“That’s your name,” Amélie remarked.
“You bein’ my Mistress now?” he asked.
“No, I’m asking you to let me go.”
“And I’ll let you go when you tell me why you just completely shut down on me.”
“How about we make a deal and you release me then I’ll share where things are with us and after that, you can decide if you’d like to stay or if you’d like to go.”
The danger she’d heard in his voice filled his face and Amélie felt a bizarre hint of fear.
“Where things are with us?” he queried softly.
She ignored the fear and inquired, “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
He let go of her wrist but leaned into her aggressively, invading her space. “Are you gonna stop actin’ like a bitch all of a sudden and tell me what the fuck just happened?”
The pain subsided but only because his words snagged at her temper.
“Do not call me a bitch,” she hissed.
His narrowed eyes sparked fury she should have taken note of.
She very, very much should have taken note of it.
For she knew intimately how Olly allowed his temper to blow.
But she didn’t take note of it before he threw up a hand and exploded, “Jesus Christ, talk to me.”
She turned more fully to him and he shifted back but an inch while she did it.
Other than that, he didn’t move.
“All right, Olivier, you’ve been very forthcoming this weekend so I’ll share a few things with you too,” she said to begin and didn’t hesitate to continue. “Unfortunately, I read certain things wrong and I had hoped that this weekend, we’d discuss where this is going.”
“This?” he bit out.
“Us,” she snapped, doing so watching him lift his brows, his chin jerking back slightly, doing a slow blink. “You’ve just given me indication what this is to you and, as I said, I read certain things wrong and I’ll share I find that disappointing. I had hoped to discuss having more with you, outside the club and…”
She shook her head vaguely, using her anger to fight that ball of fire that had seemed tiny but felt like it was growing.
She allowed her eyes to slide to the house to make her point before they moved back to him and she went on.
“Other places. You’ve just made it clear where we stand, and although I’d hoped for something different, something more, at least I now know where we stand.”
As she spoke, the anger dissolved from his features as understanding set in but that ball was growing far too swiftly for Amélie to care.
It was imperative she fight back the pain before it consumed her.
“Now,” she turned again to the table, beginning to reach out to plates, “as that’s where we stand—”
“Baby,” he called in a low, soothing, sweet tone that could beat back any blaze if a woman was open to hearing it.
Unfortunately, Amélie felt new things sparking from that ball of pain. Not just anger and despair but humiliation.
She didn’t grab on to that first plate before she had his hand curled around the back of her neck and he used it to force her attention to him.
“Olivier—”
“Okay, Leigh-Leigh, seems a little bit ago, I didn’t get where you were comin’ from and reacted wrong. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His hand at her neck gave her a squeeze. “But in my defense, you were talkin’ about wantin’ to go out on a date and, Leigh,” he shifted closer, “I just spent the weekend at your house. I know every inch of you and you know the same about me. A date was not what I was thinkin’ our chat was about. Hell, I didn’t even know we’d started our chat. I thought it was you bein’ cute, as you can be, and I’ve told you that. And it is cute, you wantin’ to go on a date.”
All the first was good.
The last was not the same.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand how it’s cute,” she noted sharply.
His lips tipped up in a careful grin. “It’s cute because we’re beyond dating, Leigh. You wanna go out, I’ll take you out. We’ll eat. We’ll drink. We’ll go to your place in the city, or mine, make love.” His smile deepened. “And if we’re at your place, I’ll try to survive the night ’cause I’ve seen that urchin lurking in there once, but she’s got a death wish for me if her trying to suffocate me while I’m asleep is any indication. So, I’m happy to take you out, but we’re beyond dating.”
“I wasn’t being cute, Olivier,” she retorted.
“I’m getting that,” he muttered.
She needed distance from him. She needed to gather her wits. She needed to think.
And she needed all that before they continued talking.
But even as she put pressure on her neck, indicating quite clearly she wished him to let her go, he held her secure.
Amélie did not like that.
Therefore, she requested tartly, “Could you please take your hand off me?”
His eyes narrowed again even as his fingers curled in deeper.
“Are you hearing me?” he asked.
“I heard you, I’d still like you to release me.”
He didn’t let her go.
He growled, “I got a feeling you’re listening but you’re not hearing me.”
“I said I heard you,” she retorted.
“And I can see just lookin’ at your face you fuckin’ did not.”
She pulled at his hand harder and snapped, “I won’t ask again, Olivier, take your damned hand off me.”
He tugged her an inch forward. It wasn’t gentle, it didn’t hurt, what it did was make her go alert as the anger again flared in his gaze.
“So Mistress Amélie’s got a bite,” he clipped. “Good to know.”
“I don’t want you touching me,” she clipped back.
He let her go so abruptly, her torso shot back half a foot.
“Yeah,” he stated, not just anger in his blue eyes that had gone midnight. Now it was fury. “Good to know.”
“What?” she bit out.
“This whole gig.” He swept up a hand between them to indicate her. “The jeans. The tee. The courtyard facing a dusty road. Cinnamon rolls from a tube. All that’s a big fake. Mistress Amélie in jeans or in heels with her horses and her ranch in the mountains and her shit ton of money is right up on that pedestal, not about to climb down. And you best be on your knees, preferably with your pants pulled down, looking up, gagging for it, because that’s the only way she wants you.”
On that, her torso swung back another half a foot.
“That’s an incredibly insulting thing to say,” she hissed.
“Yeah? Truth hurts?”
What he said hurt but it was far from the truth.
“If you think that of me, then—”
“I didn’t, baby, you had me fooled.” He shook his head but didn’t stop talking. “Came up here, rarin’ to go. Ready to set whatever I had to set aside to look to the future with you, even put my tail between my legs, figuratively and, it would turn out, literally,” he sniped, “willin’ to do whatever to give it a go with you.”
Suddenly, that ball in her belly grew spikes and twisted, tearing through flesh.
“To give it a go with me?” she asked, her voice sounding choked.
He ignored her and continued on his bent.
“But sometimes, shit comes out early, even if it’s still too late. That said, good to know you get pissed, you hold on, close down, get uppity, showin’ your true nature and that would be you not letting anything fuckin’ in because this is Amélie’s world, we all just live in it with her, including me.”
Another blow and the ball tore the other way.
“Olly—”
“I’m a firefighter,” he ground out.
Amélie blinked in surprise, not only at receiving this astonishing information but also his swift declaration of it at this juncture in their discussion.
He mistook her response.
“Yeah, baby, you’ve been slummin’, jackin’ the shit of a scholarship. Still cut deep, what Weathers made me pay to join that club, but it was a fraction of what you pay. What the others pay. I’d never get in the door if he didn’t give me a discount. Works in his favor to do that, though. I see that. New meat for his Mistresses to play with. So even if it didn’t come out early, good for you it’s not too late.” He jerked his head to her house. “Don’t got some shit-hot job that pays me a fortune to get you another house, another Mercedes. Fuck, I probably couldn’t even afford to buy you one of your pairs of shoes. Definitely not take care of you in any way you couldn’t do it yourself if we had a future that went the distance and we made a life together. Kids. College tuition?” He shrugged. “Leigh’s got it covered. We have a daughter and she wants a big wedding?” Another shrug. “Not a problem. You’ll fly her to Paris to have her gown custom made.”
Kids.
A daughter?
Her torso caught fire.
“Please, Olly—” she tried.
But failed.
As he had when he lost his temper before, he didn’t let her get but two words in and he didn’t hear either of them, even though he was angry, it seemed, because he thought she hadn’t heard his.
He kept seething.
“My guess, you got my face shoved in that sweet pussy of yours, pants around my thighs, it’s all the same to you. But heads-up, I’m not a keeper for a woman like you. Depending on where you’d wanna go for our date, babe, not sure who’d be payin’ for it, but it might be somethin’ I’d have to cut back on gas for a month so I could afford it.”
“You really need to stop talking,” she whispered, anger, but mostly hurt scoring her soft tone.
“Yeah.” He stood. “Actually, I do.”
On that, he turned on his boot and stormed into the house.
Amélie took in one deep breath and followed it with another.
Yes, she thought, I really should have taken note when Olly started to get angry.
On that thought, she got up and hurried after him.
She found him in her bedroom, his bag on the bed, him shoving in clothes.
“Olly—”
“Olly, now,” he muttered to his bag. “No more Olivier she can bring to heel. Her toy’s ready to leave early, taking away her fun, she turns on the sweet.”
And that ball of pain scored another path of agony through the inferno it had already created.
“You’ve said a number of hurtful things, sweetheart, please take a moment to take a breath so you don’t say anything further that will cause more damage.”
He didn’t say anything, just shoved a pair of jeans into his bag.
She kept going.
“You’ve got an explosive temper and—”
His head shot up. “And yours?” He gave a fake shudder that was actually quite impressive. “Ice-cold.”
Although this was true and he had a point, his response to her shutting down, in her opinion, was not deserved.
That said, she didn’t think it was wise in that moment to get into debating their different reactions.
She had to get through to him, calm him down, at the very least to civility so they could discuss things that were crucial, it seemed, to both of their future happiness.
Amélie kept trying.
“What I’m saying is that we got started out on the wrong foot. We should collect ourselves and—”
He hefted up the bag and again interrupted her, “I’ve collected all I need.”
Panic set in and Amélie shifted positions to bar the door and she did that quickly talking.
“I think there’s a great deal at play here, for both of us, especially you. You have some—”
He was making his way toward her as she spoke but he stopped in front of her and cut her off.
“What I got is a desire to get the fuck out of here, Leigh. So get out of my way.”
She looked up into his angry face. “I’d like you to stay and calm down so we can talk.”
“Tried that,” he bit off. “Didn’t know where you were leading when you started, fucked up. I apologized, you didn’t let it go. Got your Olivier thrown at me like you could bring me to heel. Yeah, you get me off with that shit and I don’t gotta tell you that. You know. But that’s not all there is to me, that wouldn’t be all I want to us, and straight up, Leigh, it’s not a future I’d dig having. Livin’ in your nice houses, you buyin’ me cars for my birthday, horses in your stable, only thing I got to give is lettin’ you tie me to the bed, ass in the air so you can jack it. You get pissed, it’s Olivier and I’m on my knees with my face shoved in your pussy.”
“That’s not what I meant when I called you that, Olly,” she whispered.
“So it’s me who fucked up again and you weren’t closing down on me?”
“I was but I’d like to explain and then maybe we can explore all you’re saying because it seems there’s a good deal you’re struggling with and I’d like—”
“No, actually, this scene, not strugglin’ with dick. Again, you’ve made it crystal.”
Amélie closed her mouth.
He stared down at her and she saw something in the backs of his eyes but there was no chance she had to read it since her focus was on beating back the pain.
“You gonna get out of my way?” he ground out.
She stepped aside.
He stalked out of her room.
Amélie stood looking for a moment at the mussed bed they’d woken up in in their warm, lovely cocoon before she turned and followed him.
Not to the door.
To a window that faced the drive.
She stood in it and stared out it, watching him round the drive, his truck kicking up gravel and dust and it kept doing that all the way down the lane.
She felt Stasia winding around her ankles but Amélie didn’t tear her gaze away from the window.
Olly’s truck still left a trail of dust once he hit the road and drove away.
And Amélie stood there even after he was long gone because she was unable to move.
That thing inside her exploded, obliterating everything it could reach.
But she was Amélie Hélène Strand so she remained standing.
Still, it took some time.
But eventually she felt the wetness as it coursed down her cheeks.