AMÉLIE
With a studiously unhurried gait, on Monday evening, Amélie walked up to the Honey, her head bent, hand up, just a woman checking her phone.
But she wasn’t just a woman checking her phone.
She was an idiot woman who was excited beyond reason and terrified beyond words who was checking her phone.
The text string included:
Romy: There’s a big, brooding boy holding up the wall, waiting for his Mistress.
Amélie: Thank you, darling.
Romy: Would you like me to reserve a room for you?
Amélie: Yes, please. Number 17. You’re a love.
Romy: 17? My, my. I hope you keep the blinds up, sweetie.
Oh, she was going to keep the blinds up.
If he was there to deal with what happened between them, they’d do just that.
And then for all the stress he put her through waiting for him to forgive her, she was going to crop his ass.
She opened the door of the club and it felt like the atmosphere hit charged just by her presence the second she walked in.
She knew he was still there. Even though she’d taken time to prepare herself (and give herself time to attempt to calm down, this not working), Romy would have shared he was leaving or had left.
So he was there. She just hoped he wasn’t there to further make a point already well made by finding someone else.
She walked into the club with many eyes already on her.
She found Romy first to send her a nod of thanks. Her gaze caught Stellan next, and noted his attention was on her and he looked strangely unhappy. She further saw Felicia, holding court with two male toys, and she was smirking a knowing (but happy) smirk.
She also noticed Delia was looking at her, and her look was a look that, for some bizarre reason (possibly because Delia never seemed in a good mood and it further seemed she didn’t like anybody), could kill.
Halfway through the hunting ground on her way to an empty booth, she turned her head to the wall and saw him there. Standing right where she first saw him, looking just like he not only was holding up the long wall, but that he could.
God, she wanted him not to be as amazing as she remembered, so if he rejected her entirely and moved on, she could do the same.
But he was just that amazing.
And he became more amazing immediately.
This was because his attention was on her as well. And when her gaze caught his, he straightened from the wall and turned in her direction.
But he didn’t move in her direction. He just stood there, showing her he’d come if called.
In order not to do the real thing, she visualized melting to her knees, such was her relief.
She dipped her chin and twisted it slightly to the side.
It was not a demand he attend her. It was an acknowledgment of his message.
It was also an indication she was going to make him wait.
This could anger him and throw her right back to where she was five seconds before, if not make it worse.
But she saw his lips hitch up at the side before he slouched back with his shoulder to the wall and watched her walk the rest of her way to her table.
She barely got her bottom on the bench when a waitress was there.
“You gonna sit long enough for a drink or you gonna go hit that right away?” the waitress asked.
Yes, they all were talking.
And they were all watching.
Not a surprise.
And Amélie could care less.
For Olivier was here to forgive her.
So all was well in her world.
She looked at the waitress, a new-ish hire she’d seen more than once, but since the woman had never waited on Amélie, she didn’t yet know her name.
In that moment, she also didn’t take the time to ask.
Allowing her lips to curl up, she requested, “A drink, darling, and bring whatever Olivier likes to drink too.”
“Gotcha,” she muttered and moved away.
Moving in the instant she did was Talia, who slid in opposite Amélie without invitation.
“Sooooo…” She grinned. “Do you think it’ll be a stampede to room seventeen?”
That was likely.
“Romy has a big mouth,” Amélie replied.
“Romy saw you jack him on his knees. An already legendary spectacle I unfortunately missed. She wants a repeat performance. We all do. And thus Romy’s putting together your application to be admitted to the Dominatrix Hall of Fame,” Talia returned.
Amélie laughed quietly. “Would that there was such a thing.”
“Girl, you’re giving Sixx a run for her money.”
Sixx used to live in Phoenix. Amélie had trained under her for a time years ago.
She wasn’t a talented Mistress. She was the stick by which everyone was measured.
It was a nice thing to say but it wasn’t true.
“That’s sweet,” she said. “Though, I’ll be taking some time to sit and enjoy my beast and a drink so seventeen will be vacant for that time.”
“Want me to get a slave to call him over?” Talia offered.
“That’d be lovely. Thank you,” Amélie accepted.
Talia didn’t vacate the booth immediately.
She gave Amélie a sweet look and whispered, “So glad he came back, baby.”
Amélie felt her mouth get soft.
Talia took that in then slid out and the drinks were at the table by the time Olivier arrived.
He stood next to her, eyes to hers before they went to her neck. “Mistress Amélie.”
“Olivier, please slide in. All the way to the back,” she invited.
Clearly thinking that was a lot easier than expected, he assumed a startled expression before he moved to the side opposite her and did as asked.
She slid in farther, closer to him. When she was where she wanted to be, she reached for the drinks, moving his in front of him and taking a sip before she put hers to the table.
“Thought I was supposed to do that kind of shit,” he muttered.
She looked his way, saw him studying the beer, and informed him, “I’m in a benevolent mood.”
“And I bet I should thank Christ for that,” he stated.
He thought she could be cute.
He could be cute too.
She was not going to tell him that, but even if she was, he lifted his hand, curled it around the pilsner glass, and moved his gaze to the room, doing this speaking quickly.
“What I did was fucked, Amélie. I know it. I had a point to make but there was a better way to make it. I lost my temper and that was not cool. I got a bad habit of doin’ that, a habit I gotta learn to lock down. It took some time to get my head together about it and I didn’t come to the Honey like you wanted on Friday and that wasn’t cool either. I fucked up, I wish I didn’t but I did. And,” he drew in a huge breath, “I’m sorry.”
That took a lot and she knew it. He was not that man in life and he was not that toy in the playroom.
So every word meant as much to her as it took him to say them.
That said, she was surprised, with her transgression, it was he who apologized.
It was his place in this world, but again, he was not that man and had made that clear in a variety of ways, most specifically during their last, painful encounter.
This made his words all the more prized.
To show him that, she moved closer to him, close enough to brush his arm with her breasts, as she curled a hand high on his thick thigh.
He turned to her in surprise.
“Mistress Mirabelle, my friend I was talking to that night before I saw to you, had a minor, but important, decision to make. She was leaning the wrong way, a way that, if she took that path, might have caused her some pain. I care about her a great deal and I didn’t want her to do anything she’d regret.”
She squeezed his thigh, getting closer.
“My mind was on you, Olivier, when I was working you. Only you. And I had other plans for you that I felt taking care of a friend took priority over. Not that you aren’t a priority, just that I, too, had a decision to make that night and I felt the right one was to look after my friend. That said, I was disappointed not being able to carry my plans for you through. Very disappointed, my chevalier. Because of that, I’m afraid my mind wandered.”
She said no more. She did not explicitly apologize.
And she wouldn’t.
If some miracle occurred and the them they were became another type of them, and she was more than Mistress to him, there were times when she would (maybe).
Now, she would not.
She felt her breath catch at the warm look he was giving her.
“Not my place to say,” he started. “But with your girl, you made the right decision.”
She felt relief sweep through her and her face got soft.
“I should have listened to you when you wanted to share that,” he said.
She should have shared it before he had to lay it out.
She gazed deep into his eyes, squeezing his thigh, and replied, “There were several shoulds that simply weren’t in that situation, Olivier. You’re sitting here, let’s move on.”
“Works for me,” he muttered.
She gave him another squeeze, saw his hand still on his drink, and realized she’d been remiss. “Partake of your beer freely, mon chou.”
“My cabbage,” he muttered, lifting his beer.
She raised her brows, surprised he knew what mon chou meant.
“You speak French?”
“I looked it up.”
Her belly melted.
“Means pastry too,” he stated, putting down his beer and looking at her. “Which one am I to you?”
Oh, he was definitely a delectable pastry.
There was a teasing light in his eye and she leaned closer.
“It’s just an endearment,” she told him.
“I know. That’s where I found it. On a list of French endearments. Wasn’t sure about it but at least you don’t call my mon cochon.”
My pig.
She laughed softly.
He grinned and lifted the beer to his lips.
She slipped her hand lower, cupping his cock and balls.
He jolted and coughed, putting the beer down without sipping it.
But she was feeling something.
Gently, fingering around his hardening cock, she probed deeper.
“Olivier,” she whispered at what she felt.
“Bought it for you,” he told the room. “Wore it for you.” He shifted as she traced the strap. “And it fits better.”
He was harnessed.
She rubbed her lips together so they wouldn’t tremble.
Her other lips between her legs she wasn’t able to do that with so they carried on.
“This pleases me,” she told him.
“Hoped it would.” He looked to her and dipped his voice. “Glad it does.”
She held him, stroking his lengthening cock with her thumb.
He adjusted again.
She smiled.
“How old are you, my chevalier?” she asked.
He lifted his beer and answered, “Thirty-two,” before he took a sip.
“Hmm…” she murmured, still stroking.
“Can I ask, uh … Mistress, how old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” she shared.
“You seem older,” he muttered. “When you aren’t bein’ cute. Then you seem younger.”
She gripped him semi-tightly and his lower body tensed. “You should never tell a woman she seems older.”
He turned to look at her, “Experience, Amélie, not age.”
“Ah,” she breathed out.
She ungripped him only to unzip him.
His lower half went still again and she heard a noise he strangled back when she pulled him out.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
She slid her hand in the opening and inspected the harness more closely.
“Jesus,” he blew out.
“I approve, mon chou,” she told him, lightly cupping his balls.
His, “Good,” came thick.
She gave him a slight squeeze and he shifted in his seat again. “How did you come to the life?”
“What?”
His mind was on other things.
“The life, our life, Olivier,” she explained.
“Used to go to the Bolt,” he told her.
“I’ve never been there,” she noted.
“You’re not missing much,” he replied.
“I’d heard that.”
“Owner’s a good guy, one of them, anyway. He’s a friend of mine,” he offered.
She looked up at him as she massaged his balls. “Yes?”
“Yeah,” he pushed out.
“Please put your arms on the back of the booth on either side of you, Olivier. And don’t take them off. Yes?”
“Fuck,” he bit out. Not in anger, he was again shifting under her his attentions to his balls. “Yeah,” he went on. “Yes, Mistress,” he finished.
He did as told.
“And coming to understand your nature?” she asked. He didn’t answer immediately so she stopped massaging and just cupped him as she pressed closer. “You don’t have to tell. It’s your story and yours to give. That’s nobody’s to command. But I’d be delighted if you decided to share it with me.”
He turned his head and dipped his chin down so their faces were close. She didn’t move and she didn’t ask him to move. This made the setting intimate, just the two of them, when he spoke.
“Black box.”
She was confused. “I’m sorry?”
“Boys jack off. I did a lot of that when I was a kid, all guys do. Shit in my head, though, wasn’t women in magazines showin’ their tits. I guess I had a good imagination. Didn’t know where some of it came from until, well … I did.”
She smiled up at him. “And black box?” she prompted.
“Accidently found my parents’ toy box. It was black,” he told her.
“Ah.” She moved her hand out of his pants to start stroking the long, thick length of him as she said, “And from there you realized there were other worlds out there, that some people hide and are ashamed of, but even your parents participated in, if perhaps to a lesser degree, depending what was in that box. So that opened your mind to who you are and brought you to a place where you could explore it.”
He looked disconcerted.
“Olivier?”
“I just thought they were fucked up,” he told her.
She smiled, stroking him deeply. So deeply, automatically, he dropped his forehead to hers and she felt his breath escalate.
“And now what do you think?” she asked.
“Amélie, you’re jackin’ me, talkin’ about my parents,” he warned her that wasn’t in his comfort zone.
And it was a comfort zone she couldn’t push, but she did want to push to know more about him so she shifted around it.
“Yes. Parents who I hope you know now are not fucked up and neither are you.”
“Mistress—”
She kept stroking him, doing it harder. “You do know there’s very little vanilla in the world. Men who like to wear panties under their suits. Couples who enjoy erotic movies. Having sex in public places where the threat is real they’ll get caught. Having multiple partners during play. Being deprived of their sight with a blindfold or their ability to communicate with a gag.”
“I know all this, Amélie.”
It was nearly a groan.
She stroked the length of him, swirling the tip with her thumb and went on like he hadn’t spoken.
“And I’m going to enjoy you tucking that brute in your pants and walking with me through this room with a massive erection to get to the place I will give you the punishment you earned then take care of you the way you know I will.”
“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, the untamed beast stark in his eyes, fear and hunger at war.
She wanted that but closer, where she could give him the tools he needed to win that war.
So she let him go.
“Tuck yourself away, Olivier. We have things to do,” she ordered.
“Christ,” he muttered, not moving.
“Do not delay. You’ll only make it worse,” she cautioned.
That got him moving. And when he’d pushed his cock back into his pants and zipped up, she slid out of the booth.
He was at her heels when she walked through the room, all eyes on them, and it took a lot not to toss her hair in triumph and smile like a teenager.
She didn’t dally in the halls mostly because she couldn’t wait. It had been too long.
She missed him.
They hit room seventeen, the blackout blinds down, the lights on, and when they entered, she flipped the switch that declared the room occupied and moved into it.
He stopped at the door he’d closed.
“Remove your clothing, Olivier. Deal with it as usual,” she commanded. “Then stand by the center table.”
She was moving to the side table, the only thing outside a sink and its vanity in the room.
Except, of course, for the centerpiece in the middle that even a novice would know its use.
Olivier knew and Amélie sensed him not moving, staring at the table, knowing, partially, what he would get that night.
“Again, my chevalier,” she said quietly, sifting through her bag. “I would not delay.”
She found the things she wanted, brought them to the top, but didn’t pull them out. It would not do for him to see some of them too soon.
She grabbed what she needed right then and turned to find him where she’d told him to be.
He was naked, hard, balls harnessed in a very nice set of straps, and watching her warily.
“Turn around and put your hands to the table, please,” she ordered.
He hesitated only briefly before complying but she noticed his breathing go unsteady.
“Legs apart,” she said when she was close behind him.
“Jesus, fuck,” he muttered but did as told.
She made her way to him and once there moved economically, ring to his cock, straps leading from it up to his upper hips, one around his hips, she buckled it securely. Then she bent and reached between his legs to grab the other two straps.
“Right, Olivier, hands to your buttocks, open them for me.”
Another hesitation, this one longer, as he puffed out a breath, two, then his hands went from the table to his ass.
He opened for her.
She clenched her teeth to control her reaction as she lifted the straps and fastened them to the hip strap, tightening them, spreading him further, strapping him open.
He’d had them before, but even so, the puffs of breath came out faster once she’d finished.
“Lovely, mon chou,” she whispered, gliding a hand up his inner thigh. “You may let go then please position on the table on your back.”
She stood back and watched as he did it. He did it slowly, but he did it.
She went to the control panel that, in this room, had a number of other controls.
She hit some switches and watched his chest heave as his gaze followed the apparatus trundling mechanically through the air, dangling from the ceiling.
She moved back to him. Coming close to his head, she laid a hand on his chest and stroked him there.
“You’re pleasing me greatly, my beast,” she said gently.
And he was. It was early in their play and she was already soaked.
“Fuckin’ thrilled, Mistress,” he replied, going for the cheek but the wild was in his eyes and she had to assuage it.
“Breathe, Olivier, deep, and look at me. I’m here. Right here. All for you.”
“Yeah.” A gust of breath. “Yeah, Amélie. Yeah.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll see me or you’ll feel me close. Tonight, like every night, every time we have together, is all about you.”
He bit his lip, let it go, and said, “Yeah.”
She nodded. “Good?”
He nodded back.
“Good,” she replied softly and bent to touch her lips to his. She lifted away and asked, “Now, would you please lay your arms along the lengths?”
He swallowed, his throat convulsing, and did as asked.
She made light, but tender, work of it. Strapping him wrist, forearm, elbow, biceps, and shoulder to the long arms that led out from either side of the table. As she did, she touched him, stroked him, kissed him, ran her lips along straps, then moved on.
The same to the thicker, heavier straps that she pulled from under the table. One at his chest. His rib cage. His waist.
She moved back to his head.
“Now, Olivier, I need to ask you to give me more,” she shared quietly.
He nodded, the wild still there, knowing what was coming, but she sensed he was beating it back, there to prove to her he’d put their last session behind him, just as she was there to prove to him he could trust her to make that worth it.
And with all that, she thought he was never more beautiful than in that moment.
“I’ll guide you,” she said gently. “Go where I’m guiding you. I’ll be patient but don’t take advantage of it.”
“You got it,” he rumbled, perhaps bravado, perhaps psyching himself up.
She bent over him again. “After this, you’ll request this room from me. I promise you, my beast.”
It took a moment for him to get there but he made it.
“Okay, baby,” he whispered, staring in her eyes.
She gave him another smile, another brush of the lips, and soothed his hair off his forehead.
Then she moved to his legs. Lifting one at the heel, she set it in the padded stirrup cuff, tightening it around his ankle.
She did the same to the other so he was resting, his knees bent, ankles in stirrups.
She folded the table down in order that his buttocks were at the very edge, slightly hanging over.
She also saw his erection was hard and heavy, lying on his stomach, his balls bulging at the sides of his harness. She took needed time to pay attention to him there, too, with licks and strokes, giving it enough his cock was distended, looking like it was aching, his legs trembling in their stirrups.
She moved back to his head but reached out a hand to stroke his cock.
“First your punishment, mon chou,” she informed him.
He nodded jerkily.
“Then your reward,” she promised.
“Great,” he gritted out.
She smiled and stood back, his eyes following her.
It was then she put her hands into the material on either side of her hips, pulling the clinging jersey of her cobalt blue dress up and yanking it off.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed.
She was wearing a black lace bustier, sheer black panties that shadowed her but also exposed her, ties on the sides, black thigh highs with lace tops and stiletto-heeled black platform pumps.
“Amélie.”
The need.
He liked what he saw.
She smiled inside, not allowing herself mentally to admit that she was relieved he did, and went to the control panel.
“Fucking hell,” he grunted as the electric pulleys lifted his ankles, up and up, until his legs were straight. She hit another button and they moved out, spreading them apart. When she noticed him straining, his jaw clenching, she gave it another inch and then hit another control, lifting him even farther so his bottom half was slightly raised, his legs stretched wide and taut.
She studied him, his chest now heaving, his hands in fists, his cock, Amélie fancied, was visibly throbbing, and decided she could watch him in this pose, at her control, giving her all control, making him vulnerable to her for anything, everything. Giving her access to hand him the world.
But she couldn’t stand there forever.
It was time to hand her steed the world.
She went to the table, coming back with her crop.
He eyed it, the beast at the surface.
“Do not come, Olivier,” she ordered firmly.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“Did you hear me?” she pressed.
“Yes, Mistress,” he pushed out.
She nodded smartly and turned to his backside.
And there she cropped him, fighting back her own orgasm, one she knew would be extreme, as he took it magnificently. Legs and hips, indeed his entire body jerking and lurching against the restraints as she cropped his ass, his back thighs, his inner thighs, and again to his ass. She avoided his balls with her blows but stood at the end of the table, and with the folded-over leather tip of the crop, lightly slapped them side to side.
That was when she got him. He let loose his pleasure for her to hear, groans this time, not grunts, long ones, shearing through the room while his legs strained, his fists clenched and unclenched. His hips bucked in ways that she didn’t know if he was free, if he’d push forward for more or rear away.
“Baby,” he growled, sharing he was at his end.
There it was.
She smiled.
He’d push forward for more.
And he was going to have to take more. She’d say when it would end.
She gave his balls more.
Then she cropped him more.
His head was digging into the table, hard jaw totally exposed, body nearly inert with the effort to hold still when she went to the other table again, prepared her next and walked back to him.
His eyes shot wide.
“Amélie—”
“Do I own all of you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he clipped.
“Then, as it’s mine, I’ll enjoy what’s mine,” she declared, moving to the control panel.
She hit the control and the blinds started sliding up, both white … and black.
She heard his rumble but ignored it as she moved to the table.
And she held his eyes when she put her foot still in its platform pump on the little step, lifted up to a knee at the table by his ribs, and hauled herself up.
She positioned, settling with her pussy over his face, her face to his privates.
His body kept straining.
“You do not even lift your head to get to me until I give myself to you, yes?”
“Yeah,” he gritted.
She reached down to pull the ties and then tugged her panties away.
“Torture, Amélie,” he whispered. “Fuck, so pretty.”
And so wet. He wouldn’t have to eat. She’d drip on him.
Time to get to that; he needed it and so did she.
She grasped his cock, lightly stroking as she set the tip of the liberally oiled plug to his hole.
“Tell me when you’re ready for more,” she ordered.
“Fuck,” he bit off.
“I’ll need you to tell me, my beast. My mouth will be busy and I won’t be able to ask.”
“Fuck,” he groaned.
“Will you tell me?” she prompted.
“Yeah,” he confirmed immediately.
She took the head of his cock in her mouth as she slid the tip of the plug in an inch.
It said a good deal that even stretched taut, the stirrups and their chains rattled violently.
She gave him another inch.
“Fuck, shit, Christ,” he chanted.
She stroked him with her mouth, not taking him deep, and stayed still.
She gave him time.
Then she twisted the plug.
“More,” he blew out.
She gave him more of her mouth and he learned quickly the more he took the more he got.
She watched as he widened for her, accepted her, in the end lifted for her as she bobbed on his dick, taking as much as she could get, and then she took his plug home.
“Blow me, baby, fuckin’ hell, I need this pussy, God, fuck, please,” he begged. “Give me your pretty pussy.”
She blew him, moving faster, stroking the parts of his cock she couldn’t get to with her mouth in a tight fist (because she had a good control on her gag reflex, but as sad as the fact was, he was an impossibility), she went back to the plug and started gently fucking him with it.
He was bucking, trying to fuck her mouth and get his plug.
“Fuck yeah, Mistress, fuck … yeah, Christ.”
She fucked him harder.
“Fuck, baby, fuck that. That’s it. Fuck it for me, fuck,” he grunted.
She gave him more every way she could give.
“Fuck me, Amélie, fuck my hole. Harder, baby. Suck my dick. Jack my ass. Please. Fuck me,” he begged.
He was ready.
She rammed her pussy on his face.
He started eating immediately, laving his tongue from back to front, dipping it deep to pull out her juices, pressing it flat and hard against her clit, then rolling, then flicking.
He was good at that, too, a sub who was a master.
Ecstasy.
She rode his face, sucked his dick, fucked his ass, and the table shuddered as she shoved herself deeper into his face and he accepted, gratefully, eating her savagely.
She had to pump his dick with her fist, shoving the plug home to feel his grunt of acceptance reverberate up her cunt as her torso came up, her spine arched, her head flew back and she came.
She’d been right and wrong.
Her orgasm was not extreme … but instead extreme.
Rocking on his face, jacking his dick, crying out quiet, short, but constant mewls of pleasure as it rolled over her, everything her beast had offered, everything he’d built, everything they were.
Magnificent beauty.
He ate her through it, not stopping, not gentling, consuming her.
Still in her glow, she sat farther up, tugging on his dick. “Come for me, Olivier.”
He blew at her command, his cum splicing up his chest, some splashing on her thigh.
And then he continued to blow, his body convulsing in its restraints, hips curling up as much as they could to fuck her fist, cum gushing and gushing and gushing.
She stroked him through it, gentling when his eruptions started easing, milking him to the end as he lapped at her, eating her clean.
She bent over him, kissing the underside of his cock, his balls, the insides of his thighs, before she said quietly, “I’m climbing off, mon chou. But I’ll be back.”
She lifted off his mouth so he could say, “Okay, Mistress.”
She climbed off. Moving to her panties, she positioned them and tied them.
Then she moved to the control panel.
Down went the blinds to Talia putting her hands in prayer position, silently begging she not stop the show.
Amélie shook her head but did it with a slight smile on her face.
Stellan was there again, still watching her, still looking peeved.
Whatever was up his ass, he could communicate it. Frowning at her through a playroom window was ridiculous.
The blinds whirring down, she quickly went about the business of lowering Olivier’s legs, elongating the table, cleaning his cum from his chest and her wet from his face and unstrapping him completely.
He didn’t push up or ask to, especially when, right away, she mounted him again, lowering herself, straddling his hips, chest to his chest, eyes to his face.
“And how did you like your reward, Olivier?” she asked.
To her (delighted, it must be said,) surprise, his arms flew around her, holding her tight, squeezing the air out of her as he burst out laughing.
That filled the room, too, the deep resonance of it echoing through the air, gliding across her skin, a sound almost too delicious to be real.
She grinned at him and was still grinning when he got enough control to ask, “I don’t know. Do you mean finally getting to eat your very sweet, seriously pretty pussy? And baby, your pussy is very pretty and very sweet. Or you blowing me while you fucked my ass?”
“All of that,” she answered, still grinning.
“Then I liked it, Amélie, it fuckin’ rocked.”
She was still grinning so couldn’t quite pull off an authoritative tone when she replied, “I’m pleased.”
“I got the sense you came hard for me, Mistress, don’t know. Too busy tryin’ to keep my dick from exploding. But my guess would be I’m more pleased.”
She started laughing, feeling her face flush because she was so scrumptiously excited he’d liked what she’d done, something that had been a given for so long for her, she’d lost the thrill of it, and hoping he thought that pink in her cheeks came with her humor.
He held her tighter.
When she sobered, she stilled at the look on his face.
“I fucked up. I was a dick. I blew my stack ’cause I got a temper. Been kickin’ my ass for days, worried as fuck you’d blank me. I’m glad you didn’t, Amélie, because I missed you.”
God, that openness. His honesty.
He was sucking her in, in a way she didn’t want to crawl out.
She kissed him, couldn’t stop herself from kissing him, she let him kiss her back, and she let them both do this for a long time before she lifted up and admitted, “I made my own mistakes to loosen the hold you have on that impressive temper, my chevalier. You were not wrong in what you said, as we both know. How you communicated it, I don’t have to mention because you’ve apologized.” She touched her lips to his briefly before she finished, “But I hope you know, I missed you, too, Olivier.”
At that, he lifted his head and kissed her.
And she let him, his hands in her hair holding her to him and everything.
It took a couple of tugs back to break the kiss before he got the message and they were both breathing a little uneasily when she lifted her head.
“I want you back on Wednesday, Olivier.”
“I’ll be here, Amélie,” he said instantly.
“And I want you to consider a weekend with me up in the mountains at my ranch,” she blurted.
He blinked.
Damn!
Mirabelle had been with Trey for weeks; all her vacillation, not jumping in. Amélie had four sessions with her beast and she was inviting him for a weekend away.
And she meant a weekend away. Not strictly a play weekend. They’d definitely play, but she wanted to know the man who laid under her.
Damn.
When he stared up at her with intensity, like he was trying to see through the windows to her soul, she quickly explained, “I have a setup. It’s nice. I … it’s play. A weekend of play. You’ll like it. Trust me.”
He grinned. “Bet I will.”
She relaxed on him. “You will.”
“You got a ranch?”
“House here, ranch where I can escape the heat in the summer. And where I keep my horses.”
“Now how did I know my Mistress had horses?” he asked her like he wasn’t asking her.
She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek, slid her fingers through his hair at the side, and watched, captivated, as he turned his head and kissed her wrist.
“They’re beautiful beasts,” she whispered.
He looked back at her.
“Yeah,” he replied, but he wasn’t talking about horses.
Good God, if she didn’t stop this, she’d melt all over him.
“I’ll figure out a weekend. Tell you, yeah?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Now, Mistress, am I gonna wear that thing home or are you gonna pull it outta my ass?” he prompted.
“That’s much too big to wear home, chevalier. The ones I’ll send you home in are smaller.”
He looked to the ceiling and muttered, “Great.”
“But tonight, and when you come back to me, wear the harness, please.”
He looked back to her, giving her a squeeze. “Gotcha.”
“And please don’t touch what’s mine, Olivier,” she went on.
His eyes darkened and the tone was deeper when he repeated, “Gotcha.”
“Thank you for my harness, it’s lovely,” she told him.
“I’d say you’re welcome but not sure that’s the way to go,” he replied.
“It bought you less of a cropping,” she shared.
His brows shot up. “Less?”
She nodded.
“Well thank fuck I’m generous with sex shit I buy that I gotta wear but it’s for you.”
She laughed quietly and stroked his jaw with her thumb. “Don’t pretend you don’t like your punishments.”
His hand still in her hair cupped the back of her head and brought her face closer to him.
“That ball paddling shit you did? A light touch with a bite? Fuck, baby. That was inspired.”
Another compliment on something she knew all too well was “inspired” and she fought giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Anything else you’d like to use to flatter me for reasons unknown?” she asked.
“You give phenomenal head.”
She couldn’t stop her laughter at that. “You’re incorrigible.”
He lifted his head up so their faces were a breath away.
“Yeah, Mistress, and don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
She felt herself melting, she just couldn’t stop.
And she did it gliding her hand to cup his jaw and slide her thumb lovingly across his lips.
“I allow you way too many liberties,” she murmured.
“Thinkin’, havin’ some more time to check out the talent out there, it’s time you had a challenge.”
He was not wrong.
“Perhaps before you earn my switch, we should get that plug out of you.”
He nodded but lifted his head farther doing it, brushing his lips against hers.
“Cheeky,” she whispered, following him down and kissing him hard.
They made out like normal people on a torture bed in a public dungeon room until she stopped it, crawled off him, took care of his ass and its straps, and gave him leave to get dressed.
She pulled her dress on as he did and flipped the switch to say the room was vacant as he tucked in his shirt.
He came to her.
“Wednesday,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied.
Then she grabbed his hand and linked her fingers in his. That way, she walked them through the playrooms, through the hunting ground and to the foyer.
She stopped there and curled into him.
He squeezed her hand and dipped his chin deep.
She pressed up to touch her lips to his.
“Wednesday,” she whispered there.
“Yeah,” he replied.
She let his hand go, he let his eyes linger on hers, then he turned and she watched him walk out the front door.