“Put me on the floor. Sit on my face,” he demanded, his fist jacking his cock brutally. “I want my cock in you, but right now, the minute you took me, I’d shoot.”
“When I ride your face, you’ll be restrained and at my mercy.” His face darkened with more need. He wanted her to give him that too. “Olivier, you have what you’re going to get. Now, take care of it, please.”
The order registered and his focus intensified on what he was doing with his finger.
And he proved further he knew what he was doing.
All he’d given her that night, with delicate breaths whispering through her lips, she held his eyes and allowed his magic to work.
It took very little time.
Slowly closing her eyes, her hand coming to land on his chest, her fingers curling in, nails scraping through his hair, she trembled against his hand as she gave into the sweet release. Letting it wash over her, Olivier behind her eyes, his strength between her legs and evident under her hand on his chest, exquisitely elusive shivers slithered over her skin as she pressed her hips into his hand.
“Jesus, baby,” Olivier whispered through her orgasm. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
At his words, still climaxing, she felt her mouth curve up.
“Jesus.” He was still whispering, now almost reverently.
She opened heavy lids and cast her gaze on him.
“Give me your seed,” she demanded.
His face registered the order and then registered surprise, like he’d never been ordered to come on demand before and was shocked it could happen, before his head dug into the vault as his cum streamed up his belly.
He was milking his dick, his legs still prone to the sides, that outstanding display likely to be just as the first he’d provided that night, used mentally by whoever was watching to get them off later … and spectacularly.
She bent over him, reaching out a hand to his cheek.
He was still in the aftermath of his climax but that made it perfect when she bent deeper and took his mouth in their first kiss.
She added tongue, stroking his, and there was an enticing musk to his taste as well.
She lifted away and asked, “Is my beast appeased?”
Humor lit his gaze as he muttered, “Your beast got his rocks off twice in a big fuckin’ way, Amélie. So yeah. Definitely.”
“Cheeky.”
His gaze stayed lit even as it grew slightly sober.
“Nice kiss,” he whispered.
God, on his back on a vault with his cum on his belly, his orgasm witnessed probably by more than a dozen people, and he was flirting.
“Now you’re a flirt.”
The grin hit his mouth.
“Sit up, Olivier. On the edge of the vault, mon chou. I’ll clean you.”
She bent forward and brushed her mouth to his. Contrary to what he’d been taught, he pressed up to deepen the contact, but relaxed back before she could take him to task for it.
She moved away and found him sitting up when she came back to him.
She positioned between his legs, cleaned his cum from his belly, and then walked back to the bin.
She returned to her steed, again between his legs.
“You may hold me loosely,” she allowed.
His lips quirked but he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her loosely. Arms that were so long, they crossed at the back and his hands rested at her front hipbones.
“Something funny?” she asked.
“You’re cute when you’re bossy.”
She opened her mouth but he lifted his chin in a “shut up” gesture and kept going before she could get a word in.
“Cute but hot. When you’re workin’ me, it’s just hot, Amélie. So don’t get pissy.”
“I decide when to get pissy.”
Fucking hell.
That came out petulantly.
She never broke role. She never slipped. She never did because she wasn’t in role.
This was her.
So she certainly never came across petulantly.
Wisely, Olivier caught it, she knew it by the flicker of hilarity she saw hit his gaze, but he kept his mouth shut.
Damn, but if he didn’t let up, that hope this could become something more wouldn’t break through.
It’d explode.
“I want you here Wednesday night,” she demanded. “Nine sharp. I’ll call you to my table or to a playroom when I arrive.”
As she spoke, she saw his expression shift strangely.
“Olivier?” she called his name as a command for an explanation.
“Wednesday? Amélie … Mistress, that’s four days away.”
He wanted to see her sooner.
Oh God.
“Four very long days for you,” she stated tartly. “Since you’re not allowed to touch yourself until I have you again.”
His brows went up before they relaxed but the instant they did, he blinked.
“Come again?”
“You may not touch yourself, jack off, shoot a load, masturbate, while you’re away from me.”
“Okay,” he stated immediately. “Due respect and all, Mistress, but are you crazy?”
She couldn’t fathom why he asked that and she had to tamp down her need to burst out laughing at the way he did.
“Explain why you think I’m crazy,” she commanded.
“Right, well, I jacked off Tuesday night, and that was after the colossal orgasm you gave me and, Amélie, not sure you saw it but the slick you forced out of me onto the floor was so big, you could freeze it and make an ice rink.”
She felt her body begin to tremble as she continued to fight back laughing.
“And, just sayin’, that shit worked on me, as you know. So I jacked off in the shower Wednesday morning, when I got home from work Wednesday night, when I hit the sack, when I got up the next day … I need to go on?”
Powerless to fight it, and luckily being a Domme she could do what she fucking pleased, she melted into him.
And since she could also allow what she damn well pleased, after she did and his arms tightened around her, she let him do that too.
That said, there was a great deal he was saying, it was funny as well as gratifying, but it was also a little disconcerting.
“You’ve never had a Master or Mistress order you not to touch yourself between sessions before?” she asked.
“I’ve never had a Master, one. Mistresses only. And straight up, never had one jack my shit as good as you. So that question is moot since it’s about the good you give which I can’t get out of my head that makes that command, Mistress Amélie, damn near impossible.”
Very nice.
Very.
“Then, my steed, you will please me greatly, which will mean I’ll please you greatly, when you best that impossibility.”
He stared into her eyes.
Then he gusted out the word, “Fuck,” to the ceiling.
“Olivier,” she called, again grinning.
He looked back to her.
“Wednesday, mon chou. Be here at nine. Yes?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
So good. So beautiful. Her magnificent beast.
He deserved one last reward.
She gave it to him, a long, carnal, wet kiss that included her allowing him to grope her ass while she ran her hands along his back and then fisted them as best she could in his hair.
She gave a light tug and he lifted away.
“Get dressed, my chevalier.”
He bent and touched the tip of that extraordinary nose to hers before he drew away.
She shifted from between his legs and assumed a position of side of her hip to the vault to watch as he put on his clothes.
A thought occurred to her as he moved away, his fingers going directly to the straps still harnessing his balls.
And she made a decision.
“Oh no, Olivier,” she called. He stopped moving, twisted his torso, fingers still to his sac, and looked to her. “I want you to wear
the harness home. You may take it off to sleep. You may leave it off except when you’re alone at home. There, I want you to strap yourself so you can be reminded who owns those fabulous balls, who owns that big, gorgeous cock. Leave it on at least an hour. And wear it again when you come back to see me.”
She watched, enjoying the show, but did so with bated breath, hope and fear fighting their own battle in her belly, as he waged internal war.
With jaw tight, the look in his eyes a mix of hunger and uncertainty, he nodded.
“Thank you, mon chou,” she said, her words weighty with feeling, those words holding meaning he knew.
By allowing her to play with him out of the club, this meant their play had expanded significantly.
This utterly thrilled her.
And with terrifying honesty, she had to admit, it scared the hell out of her.
He went to his clothes on the hooks.
Her eyes moved to the windows only to assess that their audience had disappeared after the show was obviously over.
Only one onlooker remained.
Stellan.
He again was not watching Olivier. His attention was on Amélie.
And when he got hers, his handsome, dark head tipped slightly to the side and his gaze slid to Olivier briefly.
Then he pushed away from where he was resting his shoulders against the windows of the darkened playroom across from hers, turned, and with the loose-limbed grace of that long, lean body that for years she’d desired to have under her command, he sauntered away.
five
Courtesy
AMÉLIE
Wednesday evening at nine-thirty, when Amélie walked into the hunting ground, as it was not a difficult task, she spotted Olivier immediately.
He was standing, wearing another very nice suit, facing the door at a bar table in the middle of the room with his big hand wrapped around a pilsner glass of beer, three female subs sitting on stools around the table.
Amélie felt a pang of something she’d never felt before, it was unpleasant and extreme, before he noticed her arrival, smiled, and said not a word to his companions as he moved away from the table, taking his glass with him, and started walking toward her.
Denying her discomfiture even at the possibility she’d just experienced the wrench of jealousy, she watched his big body move.
He walked with an athletic bearing, but there was a slight lumber to his movements that she suspected any man of his size couldn’t quite get past, his frame not that of a linebacker, but a defensive end.
She stopped to await his arrival, and when she got it, he looked into her eyes, then at her mouth as he said, “Mistress Amélie.”
“Good evening, Olivier.”
He seemed to find that amusing, something she found enthralling, and to control that reaction, which was far more intense than it should be simply being in his presence for three seconds, she looked from him to cast her gaze around the room.
She felt her focus shift when she saw Mirabelle, alone, in a booth.
Where was Trey?
She looked back to Olivier and her focus shot right back.
She took half a step closer, and as he should when he didn’t have her permission to do anything else, he held his place.
He was in the mood to be good tonight.
That was titillating.
Though, she hoped he again felt in the mood to misbehave, and soon.
“Did you come to me as I asked?” she queried.
He gave her the gift of his teeth appearing, scraping his lower lip for only a beat before he answered, “Yeah.”
An altogether different pang hit her at knowing he’d harnessed himself for her.
She rewarded him by edging a little closer. “And, my chevalier, did you follow my instructions?”
This time, his answer was a disgruntled, “Yeah.”
She studied him, pleased to see it wasn’t that he disliked what she’d asked him to do, just that, in a good way, he disliked what she asked him to do and now was very ready to play.
“Excellent, mon chou. Go back to your friends.”
His heavy brow drew in at the bridge of his nose but she kept talking.
“Finish your drink. I need to have a word with Mistress Mirabelle.”
He shifted as if to scan the room but obviously decided against it, likely not being around long enough to know who Mirabelle was so taking his attention from her wasn’t worth it as he wouldn’t know where to look.
She lifted her hand and rested it lightly on his broad chest.
He looked down at her and she again had his complete attention.
“When I move toward the playrooms, you’ll follow me. Yes?” she ordered.
“Yes, Mistress.”
She struggled against her need to caress his cheek, sift her hands through the hair on his forehead, run her fingers along his jaw.
This struggle further concerned her as to her reaction to Olivier, for Amélie was known to be affectionate with her toys but not so publicly, unless it was a rare occasion where she led one to the social room.
He’s getting under your skin, Leigh, and fast, her mind warned.
“Go, my beast,” her lips said.
He nodded, stepped back a step that for other men would be two, shifting to the side.
Yes, he was being good. Not turning his back on her, as a good toy would do, he simply got out of her way.
She gave him an upward curve of her lips before she made her way to Mirabelle.
“Not going to immediately pounce on that?” Mirabelle asked as Amélie slid in the opposite side of her booth.
“I was,” Amélie replied, eyeing her closely, “until I saw you here without Trey.”
Mirabelle looked to the hunting ground. “He’s got a business meeting tonight.”
“He’s got a meeting and you’re here because…?” Amélie prompted.
Mirabelle looked back to Amélie, and clearly done with holding it in, she let fly.
“He’s not giving me any signs. He’s not giving me any openings. He’s certainly not asking me out. He’s not giving me anything. Except it’s clear he wants me to play with him, make him come hard, then he’s good to go away.”
Amélie harked back to Trey’s silent response to Mirabelle’s words about Bryan, obviously misinterpreting them as his Mistress having interest in the other sub, and not liking it.
It was unusual for Mirabelle not to be exceptionally attuned to her subs. She might miss something if she wasn’t looking, but if the reaction Amélie saw indicated how Trey felt, he would be giving other things away.
Perhaps with her heart getting involved, she was missing things.
Or perhaps Amélie had misread his reaction.
“So I’m just checking things out,” Mira went on. “There are some fresh, sweet babies out there that Aryas has approved. Trey has been all I’ve done for weeks. Maybe I need a new experience to clear my head.”
“So now it’s not once bitten, twice shy. It’s once bitten, two thousand times shy.”
Mirabelle, a friend but also a Mistress, narrowed her gaze sharply.
“You were the one who advised I be cautious,” she said in a tone as sharp as her gaze, a tone Mira was usually incapable of when speaking with a friend.
In fact, a tone she was usually incapable of using outside the occasions she’d need to use it in a scene.
A tone she took that shared with Amélie just how deeply rooted her feelings were, feelings that Mirabelle was assuming were unreciprocated.
“And now I’m the one who’s wondering if you’re doing this for the sole purpose of it getting back to Trey so you can see if he’s jealous,” Amélie remarked with care.
“You’re the reigning Domme at the Honey, Amélie, and respect for that. You know you have that from me and everybody. But this isn’t my first time doing this. I’ve been around the block.”
“I know that,” Amélie said calmingly. “But just to ask, this block you’ve been arou
nd, particularly with Trey, is he serving you outside the club?”
“You know I’d tell you if we did my house, his, or had a play weekend away.”
“What I mean is, are you giving him instructions to carry out when you’re not here?”
She looked to her glass. “Yes.” She looked back to Amélie. “But you know that doesn’t mean dick. Just that he likes serving me.”
“It’s eking into life, chérie,” Amélie pointed out, trying not to think about how she felt about Olivier allowing the same thing and so soon in their play. But she finished pointing out what was in most cases quite true. “So it often can mean a great deal.”
“It’s still part of the game,” Mirabelle made her own very good point.
Amélie nodded, conceding it.
Then she made a very difficult decision but it was one that had to be made.
As Mira could often come under the spell of her subs, the lovely Mira could also often do things that were rash.
They weren’t always destructive.
But they were sometimes thoughtless.
And unhealthy.
An odd trait in a Mistress and one that she strictly controlled in a playroom, which made Amélie wonder if it was one of the reasons that drove her to a playroom.
“Can I make a request?”
“Sure,” Mirabelle replied.
“Please don’t make a choice of someone to take back to the rooms until I’ve taken care of Olivier and returned to you so we can talk some more.”
The stubborn set of Mirabelle’s face softened. “My lovely, it’s sweet you want to look out for me but I’m not going to wait for hours while you—”
“What I have planned for tonight”—or what she’d just changed her plans to for that night—“for right now won’t take long.”
Mistaking her, Mirabelle grinned.
“Go take care of that stallion. I’ll be here.” She lifted her hand when Amélie opened her mouth to speak. “And I won’t choose a playmate until you get back.”
“Thank you, Mira.”
“No worries, Amélie.” As Amélie slid out of the booth, Mirabelle finished, “Enjoy.”
“Oh, I will, darling,” she murmured, casting a look that made her friend laugh softly then turning her attention to the room.
She caught Olivier’s eye momentarily but she didn’t need to check to see if he was watching. He’d returned to the table as commanded but now his body was at an angle so he could see her and she barely took her first step before he lifted his beer to down it.