“And then we got done doin’ other things and we were just talkin’,” he returned.
“Well, yes,” she confirmed, confused because he sounded like he was becoming irate.
Irate was not a good thing with Olly.
“And now you’re out of town,” he remarked flatly.
“And another yes,” she stated cautiously.
There was a long pause before he started, “Babe, you know—”
But he cut himself off and said no more.
“I know what?” she prompted.
“Right, not really my business but we went there last time we were together, as in there, me inside you, ungloved, so it also is. You got another man in your life?”
She felt the strange sensation, like her heart actually slid up into her throat, and again, with a question like that from Olly, she didn’t know whether to be delighted or offended.
“Of course not.”
“Okay, then—”
But this time, Amélie decided to be offended so she cut him off.
“And just to say, Olly, it actually is your business as we are lovers.”
She could swear he sounded like he was choking back laughter when he replied, “Yeah, think I know that, gorgeous.”
Amélie found nothing funny.
“Is there another woman in your life?” she snapped, fear gripping her belly yet again, but she hung on to the anger to hold the strength of that fear—strength she knew would be paralyzing if she gave into it—at bay.
“Not sure we totally understood each other, or at least not sure you totally understood me, babe,” he began, no longer sounding amused at all, “when we had our little chat after the pussy wrap.”
She understood what he was saying.
And again she felt the release in her midsection but this time she actually bent slightly with it, it was so extreme.
Olly apparently felt no release.
“I’m fuckin’ you, you’re fuckin’ me, that’s exclusive,” he declared.
“I definitely agree, Olly,” she said, now speaking soothingly because he was again sounding irate.
“Fuck, we should talk about this when we’re together,” he muttered.
“I agree to that too,” Amélie replied. “Though we’re talking about it now and for a variety of reasons it’s important to know we’re both on the same page with that.”
“We’re both on the same page with that,” he declared immediately, but he wasn’t quite done. “And I’ll just say, what we got, where I’m at, Leigh, is that, you take off on a plane, or you go to your ranch, I wanna know. You don’t gotta report in, tell me your every move, share what kind of soup you’re buyin’ at the grocery store, but you’re outta town…” He paused then stated, “Anything can happen and I wouldn’t know until I walked into the club and that’s only if someone else knows and shares it with me. If I know where you are and I don’t hear from you…”
He let that hang and she moved on her Louboutins to the window in order to lean her shoulder against it, the stunning view lost on her, his words all that were in her head.
Olly wanted to know where she was. He wanted to know this because he wanted to know wherever she was she was safe.
Outside her father, she’d never had that. Not with a single man in her life.
She felt that warm whisky sensation in her throat again.
“I should have told you I had plans to leave town,” she admitted softly.
“Yeah, you shoulda told me,” he affirmed, his words still slightly curt but she could hear he was letting it go.
A good thing, with Olly’s temper.
“That won’t actually be happening again once I’m back, not for some time,” she informed him, and she hoped she spoke true. Her business, as it was—which was mostly her attending meetings that bored her out of her skull because she wasn’t needed in any form except to nod her yes or shake her no—was beginning to feel like it was wearing on her very soul.
“Right,” he grunted.
Amélie didn’t know whether to smile, burst into tears, or collapse in a bundle of nerves.
So perhaps it was best to let him go so she could turn her mind to other things that might, for brief moments, not be obsessing on all things Olly.
“I have a meeting soon and you’ll be needing to get on with what you’re doing as well,” she noted.
“Yeah,” he said like he wasn’t too enthusiastic about what he was going to be getting on doing, which again made her wish she knew what he did for a living.
She didn’t ask. Her call had been embarrassing, encouraging, heartwarming, promising, and nerve-wracking, a mixture that was more than a little disconcerting.
In the time they had before they met at her ranch, they needed to enjoy themselves and keep it light.
This was not light.
“So I should let you go,” she continued.
Olly didn’t allow her to let him go.
“You called just to talk, didn’t you, gorgeous?”
“Well … yes,” she admitted warily.
“You want me, Leigh-Leigh, you call me. You wanna talk. Something’s up. You wanna play. Don’t hesitate, okay?”
She drew in another big breath, accepting that gift and trying not to allow herself to admit how precious it seemed, but she let it go a lot quicker than the other to reply, “Okay, Olly.”
“When’s your meeting?” he asked.
She looked at the thin, gold diamond watch on her wrist before answering, “Three-quarters of an hour I have to catch a taxi.”
There was more amusement in his voice when he said, “That’s not actually soon, sweetheart.”
She smiled but replied, “You have pressing things as well, I’m sure.”
“You called to talk, that went south, now I got a little time, not a lot, but I’ll give it to you.”
Yes.
Her sweet beast.
“That’s very kind, darling, but—”
He interrupted her to ask, “You do vanilla?”
The interruption and abrupt change of subject took her off guard.
“I’m sorry?”
“Vanilla, Leigh. You ever fuck vanilla?”
“Well … I…” she started hesitantly, but didn’t finish.
“Baby, been through this,” he said gently. “Not gonna hunt down all your past boyfriends and erase them from the earth so I can fool myself into thinkin’ I’m the only one.”
That caused another smile.
“Then, yes, Olly. I do vanilla.”
“You like it?”
“If done well, anything is enjoyable,” she told him before asking her own question. “Are you saying that you’d like us to have that?”
“Just gettin’ to know you, gorgeous.”
That kept the smile on her face but he wasn’t finished.
“And just you and me for our weekend, I’ll say now, we’re not doin’ our other thing, want that option available to me if it’s something you get off on.”
She wanted that option too.
She’d had him between her legs in a variety of ways. With this he’d demonstrated beautifully that he had a variety of talents and he was very gifted in using them.
So yes, Amélie wanted that too.
She wanted it very badly.
“That option’s available, Olly.”
“Good,” he murmured.
“So, I take it you also like it,” she stated unnecessarily as he’d shared he wanted that option so that meant he did.
She heard the tease in his voice when he replied, “Done well, anything’s enjoyable.”
“Absolutely,” she returned, hearing the humor she felt injected her tone.
“Not enough on its own,” he said quietly.
“No,” she agreed, feeling their connection snap taut even with the distance. Who he was. What he liked. Who she was. What she liked. How that worked so magnificently for them.
As did other things.
More and more of th
em.
She felt all that draw them closer, even with their distance.
And she liked it.
“Had women in my life and they never…” He stopped speaking but quickly started again. “I never shared.”
Oh, her Olly.
But she understood.
She’d had the same.
“It’s not easy to do that.”
He didn’t reply quickly to that and the silence stretched so long she almost called his name.
But eventually he filled it.
“Guys you had, was it the same?”
She wondered if the delay was jealousy, even after saying he wouldn’t hunt them down and erase them from the earth, the alpha that was him not wanting to get too deeply into this subject.
But the alpha-sub that was him, not quite one with his nature, would find a reciprocating struggle reassuring.
“Yes, Olly,” she told him the truth.
“You, my Leigh-Leigh, not able to be all you are,” he said, not like it was a surprise, or a playful tease, but like he felt exactly how distressing those situations could be.
And he’d just told her he did.
“I’ll just go on record, darling, officially, to state what you must know already. That even though you struggle, I’m glad you’re strong enough to win that struggle. It’s quite…” she searched madly for the right word that didn’t say too much but also didn’t say too little, “soothing not to have that in between.”
“Well, gorgeous, glad you went on record officially with that, though I won’t because I think you already know I agree.”
That was a partial playful tease.
What he said next wasn’t.
It was quiet but firm.
“But yeah, I totally get you.”
“I know you do,” she replied softly, then she finally allowed herself to ask something she’d been curious about for a good long while. “How long have you been in our world, Olly?”
“How about we get into that at your ranch, baby,” he replied, and before concerns he was prevaricating could rise, he continued, “Face-to-face, no one around, just you and me and we can get into the deep stuff.”
That was much better than talking about it over the phone when they were miles away from each other and only had a limited time to talk. Or in the club, even in a private playroom.
So she agreed, “That’s a plan.”
“Good,” he murmured and then carried on, “Though, gonna wanna know how you got your place as the Queen of the Bee’s Honey. Not that I don’t know exactly how you earned it, just that, sub talk, you’re not the leather-catsuit-wearing, whip-wielding, kiss-my-boots Mistress who uses bodies as footstools while she reads a book and still, all the dudes are gagging for it and most of the women too.”
“Would you like me to use you as a footstool, Olly?” she asked in a tease, for she knew the answer.
“Fuck no,” he replied, giving her the answer she knew and sounding like he was smiling. But there was a solidity to that statement took that option off their play table.
Not that it actually was ever on it.
He was right; she was not that type of Mistress.
“How about we get into that over beer and French 75s at the club?” she suggested.
“You’re on.”
She would look forward to that.
Then again, she looked forward to everything that involved Olly.
“Okay, Leigh-Leigh,” he said quietly, causing more warmth to heat her throat because he sounded very much like he didn’t want to say his next. “Now I actually do gotta go.”
“All right, sweetheart.”
“But just to repeat, glad you called and glad I know you’re fuckin’ states away, if after the fact, but you’ll be back with me on Monday.”
She was yet again smiling when she replied ridiculously, “I’m glad you’re glad.”
“Cute,” he muttered.
She felt that in her clit.
“Gonna hear from you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Probably not, darling. I’m trying to pack a good deal in so it’ll be done.”
And when she did, she would no longer have to have her mind numbed by her unwanted activities. She wouldn’t even have to think of them.
At least for a while.
“That’s cool. So I’ll see you Monday.”
“Yes, Olly. See you Monday.”
“You call, you want to, babe.”
“I will. And same with you.”
“Workin’ this weekend, all weekend, Leigh. So, just so you know, you don’t hear from me, that’s why.”
He didn’t want her worried she wasn’t on his mind.
Olly.
So very sweet.
“Okay, then Monday, Olly.”
“Monday, baby. Lookin’ forward to it.”
“Yes, me too.”
“Right, Leigh. Later, sweetheart.”
“’Bye, darling.”
She rung off swiftly so she wouldn’t be tempted to wait and listen to him disconnect.
God.
Absolutely a besotted teenager.
Amélie remained standing at the window, running down their conversation, and she couldn’t stop herself from staring unseeing at the bay, her lips curved up and doing that deeply.
Okay, so she was acting like a besotted teenager.
But really, except for a little hesitancy, she could find nothing that would give her any reason not to glory in being just that for a change.
Hopeful without the fear.
And just happy in the moment, what she had, what they had.
Rolling with it.
Getting everything she could out of it at the same time giving and doing the latter even more, if she could manage it.
What was the harm in that?
Nothing.
Not a thing.
So Amélie was besotted with a beautiful, sweet man called Olly whose last name she didn’t know and this thought didn’t make her smile fade. No fear clutched her belly. Not that single nerve end frazzled.
Because she actually was a thirty-three-year-old woman who was besotted.
And for the first time in her life, she was perfectly fine with that.
thirteen
Took Us Deep
AMÉLIE
Monday evening, after handing over her purse to the front desk staff, Amélie walked into the Honey and looked immediately to her right.
Olivier was standing there, where she’d first seen him, holding up the wall.
She then did not go to a booth. She also did not scan the hunting ground.
She turned on her high-heeled sandal and walked in his direction.
She watched Olivier push from the wall and he moved her way but stopped, awaiting her.
She didn’t take her time getting to him.
And when they met, they did not speak or embrace.
They found each other’s hands and moved to the door to the playrooms.
Once Olivier opened it and guided them through, as they kept walking, his hand gave hers a squeeze and he muttered a rough, “Barn?”
Her “Yes,” was breathless.
He led, practically dragging her, not looking left or right, his sole focus their destination.
Amélie looked left nor right either. She hurried her step, nearly trotting to keep up with his long strides.
They made it to her room and Olivier opened the door. And it was he who flipped the occupied switch as he tugged her through.
He also shut the door, slammed her back to it, and moved in.
He had his hand fisted in her hair, his other hand fisted in the material of her dress at her ass, his mouth brutally crashing down on hers before she could make a peep.
Amélie had no intention of making a peep.
She took his tongue, she took his kiss, and with her fingers, she yanked up her dress.
He let her go with his hands only and she felt him working at his fly.
She pushed down her pantie
s and they barely fell to her ankles before she was up; he surged forward and her head flew back and hit the door when he impaled her on his big cock.
She tipped her head down and rounded his shoulders with her arms as she whispered, her eyes vague but still gazing into the heat of his, “Yes, baby, fuck me.”
Olivier did, hard, banging Amélie against the door, audibly and literally, their lips attached but not kissing, his grunts scoring down her throat, her whispered breaths filling his mouth.
“Come,” he grunted.
“Olly,” she breathed.
“Come,” he barked.
He drove deep, pressing her into the door, one hand again fisting in her hair as he held her head stationary and she panted her orgasm into his mouth, her pussy squeezing his cock, whimpers finally releasing.
When Olly got the whimpers, he pulled out and drove in one last time and she felt, heard, and watched him climax deep.
He held her up and kept her full as he came down, using her hair to shove her face in the side of his neck.
Amélie held on and kept that hold tight in every way she could, the climax he’d given her and the one she’d given him very slowly receding.
As she’d shared with Olly, she’d had vanilla sex. It was rare and only with men she’d dated outside this world.
And as they’d discussed, it worked in its way. If done right, it could be enjoyable.
But it was never really fully satisfying.
However, she’d never had a man in any situation take that control, take what she had to give, and give so much in return.
It was another indication that there could be something more with Olly.
No, that there was something more with Olly.
One could play Mistress with a toy during every sexual encounter, she had no doubt.
But it was too good by half to know that if this was what it seemed to be building up to be, there would be variety.
And that variety would be delicious.
Slowly, gently, actually tenderly, Olly lifted her off his cock and set her on her feet, doing this pressing her into the door, allowing her to take her face out of his neck, and once she did, before she could even make eye contact, he kissed her just as tenderly as he’d disconnected from her.
Yes, to the fates, please let it be yes there was something more with Olly.
She melted into him and gave him his kiss, giving herself something even better.
Getting that kiss.