When he lifted his head, his eyes flashed and his lips tipped up in a grin.
“Now you can bring on the Mistress if you want, gorgeous.”
Amélie felt her own lips tip up. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you fuckin’ love it.”
God, she did.
She absolutely did.
She allowed herself to revel in that moment just a bit longer, keeping her arms around him, lifting up, brushing her mouth against his and smiling into his eyes.
Then she pulled back half an inch and ordered, “Naked, my Olivier. And bend over the vault facedown, feet to the floor spread wide. There’s a matter of your punishment to see to before we can truly begin.”
She got another eye flash as his arms convulsed around her.
Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and he murmured, “As you wish, Mistress Amélie.”
She had a feeling her eyes flashed too but he let her go and she moved to the side so she could watch him pull his pants (that he’d dropped to his thighs to take her against the door) all the way down. He flipped off his shoes. Then went the rest.
He hung his clothes as she liked him to do.
Then he gave her a look of challenge before he sauntered, casual and beautiful in his nakedness, over to the vault and positioned as told.
She watched him do this, his cum sliding down the side of her thigh, her clit still tingling, her sex bruised from his battering, beside herself he was back. Beside herself they were back. Beside herself that she couldn’t wait to get to this room, but more, he couldn’t either, all but dragging her there and giving her nothing but a kiss before they both lost control and fucked at the door.
As with many things with Olly, she’d never had that. Not in her life.
Only Olly gave it to her.
That was them.
And she stood there, seeing his now only semi-erect cock hanging down between his legs, his balls harnessed for her, positioned, waiting, right there, not over the phone, ready to take so she could give, she realized this was them too.
Indeed, all indications were not saying but almost screaming they could have it.
All of it. Here. Out there. Their lives. Their worlds. Not colliding. Not separate.
Tangled exquisitely.
On that marvelous thought, Amélie went to her bag.
She used a towel to clean him from between her legs and then got what she needed.
She approached him from behind, seeing his neck twisted, his eyes to the short paddle in her hand.
“I’ll not restrain you, my beast. You’ll restrain yourself. Eyes to the vault unless what I give you naturally tears them away. But this time, you do not look at me.”
Even after just climaxing, he was ready and she knew it when he gave her the need, his face saturating with it, before he murmured, “Yes, Mistress,” and looked to the vault.
When he did, Amélie did not delay.
She paddled his fine, sculpted ass.
She didn’t give him much, his transgression didn’t deserve it. Though she reddened his ass significantly, and in so doing, felt another, lazier quickening between her legs.
This was reciprocated by a visible quickening between Olivier’s legs.
Oh, her sweet beast did take pleasure in his punishments.
So Amélie moved their play to other things they both enjoyed.
Immensely.
They ended up on the floor, with Olivier on his back, Amélie having ridden him to splendid orgasms for them both, and she lay atop him, still filled with him, his arms around her, her face in his neck.
* * *
Amélie knew he wanted to see her face when she felt one of his arms move so he could use that hand to draw the hair away from her cheek.
She lifted her head and looked into sated blue eyes.
And she knew, staring deep, she’d move heaven and earth to give Olivier that look as often as she could for as long as she could.
When he had her gaze, he kept his fingers tangled in her hair, holding it back.
“Right, dig all you do to me, Leigh-Leigh, but leaking your wet on my back, feelin’ how much you like makin’ me dig it, that wasn’t inspired. That was beyond inspired, whatever the fuck that is.”
Thinking yet again that he’d had untalented Mistresses in his past, she right then thought they also sadly lacked imagination.
But she didn’t and she gave him that, he enjoyed it, all this making her grin at him.
He pulled her face close and did not grin.
He was nothing but serious when he demanded, “I want tomorrow night.”
He’d missed her.
She knew that with the way their evening began.
But she loved the reminder because she’d missed him too. They hadn’t spoken since she called him Thursday morning.
Though, Friday morning when she was at a meeting, at the time they’d been phoning each other all week, he’d texted her with, You’re on my mind, sweetheart.
She’d texted back, And you are as well, darling.
And Saturday, she’d texted, I’m home safe, Olly. Try not to work too hard this weekend.
His reply came hours later, likely because he was busy as he said he’d be, but he replied with, Good to know, baby. See you Monday.
Even with all that, the break had been too long.
And now it was thankfully over.
“I very much like to please my sweet beast so I’ll give you tomorrow night,” she granted his request, which was actually a demand.
That was when he grinned at her before the grin faded, something lovely taking its place, and he pulled her down and kissed her.
As was their wont, this moved to making out.
When they were done, he tucked her face back in his neck and they lay on the floor, still connected, but she could feel she was losing his cock.
They didn’t move.
“Tomorrow, we’ll be going to the social room, Olly.”
With his communication before their first scene that he didn’t like to be on show (albeit he seemed to have accepted that in a playroom), she expected him to tense. To make a noise. Give some indication this made him uneasy.
He just said, “Whatever you want, Leigh-Leigh.”
And with that, and all that had gone before between them, Amélie had a feeling she’d gotten him there.
Tamed the beast.
This did not trouble her in the slightest.
“Would you like to get cleaned up, dressed, and go out to have a drink?” she asked and fought her own body tightening, worried about his response.
She didn’t have to fight hard or long.
And she shouldn’t have even worried.
His response was immediate.
“Fuck yeah.”
She smiled against his skin.
It was not unheard of, but usually it was Doms and subs like Penn and Shane, and quite often Aryas and his babies, who played then returned to the hunting ground for a different kind of togetherness.
Amélie had never done it.
Not once.
But she found herself doing it, Olivier helping her off his dick and to her feet. Walking her to her bag with his hand in hers. Crouching in front of her to wipe him from between her legs. Then she pulled on her panties and stood close, touching Olivier, kissing him, with Olivier often returning those touches and kisses as he dressed and she did as well.
Together they walked back out to the common area, again hand in hand.
She guided him to a booth and she did it knowing everyone was watching.
As ever, she cared not in the slightest.
She slid in first, Olly followed her and a server came to them immediately, giving them both a look, a smile playing at his mouth, for he’d been around awhile and he knew what Amélie sitting in a booth with Olly after play meant.
They gave their orders and off he went.
After they’d been served, Amélie took a drink but noticed that Olly was just twisting h
is pilsner glass on the table this way and that with his long fingers at its base.
So she looked to his face.
He had his gaze to the door to the playroom.
“Olly?” she called.
He turned to her, looked into her eyes, and muttered, “Sorry, sweetheart. That woman just hit the playrooms with her girl. And the bitch gives me a bad feeling.”
Amélie turned her attention across the space to the now closed door before glancing back to Olly.
“Mistress Delia?” she guessed.
He nodded.
Her interest piqued. “Did you see something untoward?”
His lips quirked and he murmured, “Untoward. Cute.”
She set her champagne glass down, turned to him, and pressed into his side.
“Untoward. Troublesome. Inappropriate,” she explained.
His eyes flickered with a playful light. “Know what it means, you’re just the only woman I know who’d say it. And it’s cute.”
She loved he thought she was cute.
However.
“Olly … Delia,” she prompted.
A look crossed his face she didn’t quite understand but he didn’t make her ask about it nor did he make her wait to explain it.
“Want my arm around you.”
That made her catch her breath.
He wasn’t quite done.
“Wanna be at ease right now, most I can be when we’re in this room. That cool with you?”
Oh yes.
It was cool with her.
Amélie nodded.
He immediately pulled his arm from where she was pressed against it and rested the upper part on the booth behind her. His forearm, however, he curled possessively around her, doing this tightly, pulling her close so she was pressed against him again.
That felt much better.
She rested a hand on his thigh.
“Mistress Delia,” he took them back to what they were discussing but dipped his face closer so their conversation would be more intimate … and not overheard. “Nothing untoward,” he gave her a small grin when he used that word, “just, I’m a sub and when you and me go back there, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I just know it’s gonna be good. So whatever’s gonna go down, I might be on edge about it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not lookin’ forward to it. That chick she’s got, she looks like she’s being led to an electric chair.”
“I’ve noticed the same,” Amélie remarked.
“Told you that shit ain’t right. It’s still going on and it still isn’t right.”
Amélie pressed even closer. “We must trust in Aryas.”
He gave her a close look, one she found mildly strange. “Do you trust him?”
She was surprised at the question.
“Of course,” she immediately answered.
“Heard about some shit that’s gone down here, Leigh-Leigh,” he told her.
He was talking about Evangeline.
“I think I know what you heard, Olly, and that happened to a friend of mine. It was the first such occurrence at the Honey. And the person who felt it most, outside my friend, was Aryas. Even after that transpired, he had his reasons for taking Delia on. He has his reasons for keeping watch over her. And he’ll not allow anything else like that to occur. I’m utterly certain if he could erase what happened to my friend, he would. But he can’t and to be honest, we were all fooled by the sub who harmed her. Everyone was surprised at what happened. Including my friend. No one blames Aryas, though he blames himself. Thus he’s being very cautious with Delia. But that said, he would have been the same even before what happened to Evangeline.”
Olly nodded and his gaze wandered to the door as he muttered, “Stil not feelin’ good about not bein’ more proactive.”
She liked this about Olly.
Very much.
Then again, Amélie was beginning to think it was time to stop noting all the things she liked about Olly.
She just liked it all.
She gave his thigh a squeeze and when she again had his attention, she noted, “The strictures of this world, our world, make it very difficult for me to wade in.”
She tipped her head to the side and lowered her voice even further before she confided in her Olly.
“I’ve known that sub, Tiffany, for years, darling. Even before I knew her inclinations and she came here. Her parents were friends of my father’s. They’re rather … tyrannical. At least her father is. Her mother is mostly … I’m not sure how to say it except the word negligent comes to mind. Her position in society, her preoccupation with herself, her clothes, shoes, hair, face, these took precedence over her children. One never knows what one is working out in their lives, not only sexually, and when that’s sexually, it’s not only in our world. Even in the mundane, people work issues out sexually. With parents such as hers, Tiffany still so young, she may be working out those issues with Delia and therefore, mon grande, into something darker.”
“I can see that, gorgeous,” he replied. “But she’d still get something out of it, a release, or she wouldn’t keep going. She might not be skipping through the halls to the playrooms because whatever they’re doing makes it harder for her to get in the zone. But once that woman starts working her, she’s gotta find that zone or she wouldn’t keep going back. Am I right?”
It was then Amélie’s gaze wandered to the door as she murmured, “Yes, Olly, you’re definitely right.”
“Talk to your guy,” he ordered and her gaze skittered up to his at again getting his authoritative, inflexible tone. “You been around longer. You know this place a fuckuva lot better. He’ll be more receptive to it from you. I get you trust him. I also get what you’re saying about what went down with your friend. One bad apple doesn’t actually rot the whole barrel, it sure as fuck doesn’t rot the farmer who owns the trees. He seems trustworthy and it’s clear he takes the running of this place and the care of the people in it seriously. But just sayin’, Leigh, that shit so isn’t right, you don’t talk to him, I will.”
They were not in a place she should respond to his authoritative, inflexible tone in the way he clearly expected she would.
But in their cocoon of just Olly and Leigh, she also was.
And that was where she was, she realized, at the same time she realized with a warm feeling beginning to shroud her heart, it was part of who they were.
Or who they might end up being.
Olly was Olivier, her alpha-sub, she his Mistress.
But when not in the scene it was different.
It was Olly, the alpha, and Leigh, his woman.
Further, it wasn’t like he wasn’t giving her a choice. He was just stating the way it would be, what her part in that could be, what his part definitely was, depending on her choice.
Damn, even though the knowledge of it shocked her quite deeply, she had to admit she liked that too.
“I’ll speak with Aryas, sweetheart.”
“Good,” he muttered, finally lifting his beer and taking a sip.
Amélie did the same with her drink.
When she placed it again on the table, Olly asked, his tone quite changed from serious, now it was downright roguish, “You ever have a footstool, Mistress?”
She turned her gaze back to him, her lips curled up. “Once, during a week of training with Mistress Sixx, who used to be the premier Mistress at the Honey before she moved from Phoenix.”
“Once,” he said.
Amélie nodded. “Yes, darling. Just once. I do understand the concept, the need of some subs to be relegated to that position, how their excitement heightens not only because of that but the anticipation of waiting for attention from their Dom, not knowing when it’ll happen, just knowing that with each second that passes, the time that attention will come, comes closer.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just not for me.”
He lifted his brows, still teasing. “No catsuits?”
“The first BDSM catsuit Valentino creates, I’ll buy it,”
she returned drolly and enjoyed every second of it—as did others who were either openly (like Stellan, she noted, across the way, though he appeared not to be enjoying Olly’s humor) or furtively, like most of the rest, listening in—after Olly burst out laughing.
“My Leigh-Leigh, all class,” Olly muttered when his laughter died down, taking another sip of beer.
She fought melting into him.
Or sliding into his lap.
Instead, she shared, “I must admit, I’m unusual, though all Doms, as all subs, have personalities in the scene. Things they enjoy more. Things they’re quite talented in doing. Things that do nothing for them so they avoid them or don’t do them at all.” She smiled at him. “I do require service, submission, obedience, as you well know.”
“Yeah, gorgeous, I well know that,” he replied, also smiling, and Amélie couldn’t help but note one other thing she liked.
This banter about who they were, how they were, how easy it was, a casual connection that was all theirs.
Penn and Shane likely had the same.
Trey and Mirabelle possibly had it or were growing toward it.
But Olly and Amélie now had it.
And Amélie had to admit, she didn’t just like it.
She loved it.
“But I don’t desire subservience,” she carried on, then shook her head lightly. “I’ve dallied in it and found it’s just not my thing.”
He was still smiling when he noted, “The reason they’re all gagging for you, even if they get off on the other shit. You prefer to be more hands-on with the buildup. But you definitely don’t hold back on that buildup.”
“You well know this too,” she remarked, lightly stroking the inside of his thigh with her fingers, not a sexual touch, though an intimate one.
But also an affectionate one.
“Yeah I do,” he agreed, the skin around his mouth softening. An intimate look.
And an affectionate one.
“Buildup is a good word, darling,” Amélie stated. “I prefer the buildup, not the tearing down.”
She noted something potent pass through his eyes but she didn’t comment on it when he didn’t share verbally what it was.
Though she did continue speaking.
“I probably don’t need to note that I don’t judge those who desire that, feel that need. I actually understand it. I just don’t enjoy doing it.” She pressed her breasts closer to his side, another intimate touch but this one hinted at sexual, a reminder of all they shared, and if the heat flashing through his gaze was to be read correctly, Olly didn’t miss it. “As you know, my sweet beast, I like the challenge. I’m not looking to tear down someone’s defenses to reach that sweet spot of trust any Dom savors. I’m searching for the break. The difference between the two is a nuance. But that difference remains.”