“You were searching for me.”
At these words, automatically, Amélie straightened against him.
With his long arm, he’d been able to slant it down her back, curling his fingers in just under her ribs.
But at her movement, those fingers came up and he stroked her upper arm as he voided the minimal space that was between them by leaning in and dipping his face close to hers.
“First Mistress I had, she tried to shove a big cock up my ass, didn’t even prepare it with lube. Barely touched my dick and balls or anywhere before she went in for the serious shit.” He hesitated before he shared his last in a way Amélie didn’t know if he didn’t wish to admit it or if there was more to it he wasn’t giving her. “Only time before her or after I ever said my safe word.”
At that, her body tightened further.
In fury.
“You must be joking,” she bit out.
“Nope,” he stated.
With this knowledge it was little wonder he’d declared in the beginning he wasn’t “big on ass play.”
“Olly, that’s … that’s…” she couldn’t find the word so she put severe emphasis on, “wrong.”
He grinned in the face of her fury as he returned, “Know that, babe.”
“Every Mistress I know would take deep umbrage with one of our own doing that to anybody,” she announced.
“Know that, too, Leigh-Leigh. Not just from the look on your face but because the ones you know are here where that shit won’t happen. Except maybe with that Delia woman. But that’s not my point.”
“What’s your point?” she asked, still angry but now curious because Olly had never gotten this deeply into this particular topic and she’d been curious from the first.
“My point is, if you got something out of it, I’d be your footstool. Totally get off on that just knowin’ you would too. But that isn’t it. It’s how I know you’d get me there. It’s how you’d read me. It’s how you’d know how to do it to make it something that’d work in a big way for me. And that isn’t somethin’ anyone in this room, no matter how good they are at what they do, could give to me. It’s you. And it’s me.”
His fingers stopped stroking her arm and curled around it before he went on even as several expressions chased their paths across his face, none of which she could catch before he simply allowed it to be soft, his blue eyes warm.
“So you were searchin’ for me, Leigh-Leigh. And I was lookin’ for you.”
These words meant so much, Amélie shifted her hand from his thigh to rest it on his flat stomach, only able to whisper his name.
“Olly.”
He used his free hand to find hers at his stomach and he linked them, curling hers so the tips of her nails rested against the insides of his fingers, and likewise his with hers.
“That took us deep, baby,” he said softly. “And I don’t regret it but deep is for our weekend away. Got a lot to tell you about me. Lookin’ forward to knowin’ more about you. I’m fuckin’ glad we had this now. But you…” He shook his head, appeared strangely uncertain for a moment before he started again. “But now let’s get out of the deep and in the meantime, Leigh, let’s have a fuckin’ good week.”
The promise that their weekend would hold the key to many doors behind which were facets of Olly, Amélie could wait.
So she held tight to his fingers and replied, “That’s a deal, darling.”
They stayed in their intimate bubble in a booth in the hunting ground of the Bee’s Honey, holding each other’s hands and staring into each other’s eyes and they did that for a long, golden moment, solidifying the equally golden promise of what was yet to come, before Olly gave her fingers a squeeze and let go.
He reached for his glass.
Amélie followed suit.
They sipped but neither of them moved out of their snug position as they talked for two hours.
During this time, Olivier had two beers.
Amélie only one cocktail.
They finally walked to the front desk, Olly waited until she got her purse, then he walked her to her SUV.
They kissed at her car door.
Just like lovers do.
And he stood there, she knew he did because she watched in her car mirrors, not moving, but watching her drive away.
That night (amongst other things, nothing weighty after the beginning, all consequential because it was about him, or her, but they both felt the need to keep it light, the important discourse would come during their weekend), she’d learned his last name was Hawkes.
It was a strong name.
Perfect for him.
But his last name could be anything, and Olivier Hawkes was so perfect himself, he’d make it flawless.
fourteen
Senseless
AMÉLIE
The next afternoon, Amélie listened to Aryas responding to her concerns about Tiffany and Delia over the phone.
“I’m handling it, Leigh.”
“But Aryas—”
“My sweet, I’m handling it.”
His tone made Amélie shut her mouth.
Aryas did not shut his.
“I get you’re concerned. I get why. You know I am too. So trust me, I’m handling it. And if I need you, I’ll call you. Yeah?”
“Yes, Aryas,” she replied.
“It’ll all be good, honey,” he said reassuringly.
Aryas wouldn’t lie.
“Right, Aryas. Thank you. And I’ll be there for anything you need, if that need should arise.”
“Knew you would, babe. Now, hear you got your room reserved for the night. Have fun with that big stallion of yours.”
That made her smile. “I always do.”
She heard his return smile in his next words, “Right, Leigh. Later.”
“’Bye, Aryas.”
She took the phone from her ear, disconnected the call and went right to her texts.
Spoke to A. He says he’s handling things with D and it’ll all be good. I trust he’s doing as he says. So it will all be good. Does that work for you? she texted Olly.
She didn’t have to wait long for the reply, It’ll have to.
He sent that and then sent another right on its heels.
For now.
That made her smile bigger, Olly’s concern for Tiffany, a girl he didn’t even know.
See you tonight, darling, she returned.
Yeah you will, was his reply.
And unsurprisingly, that made her smile even bigger.
* * *
That evening, Olivier stood before her in her “barn,” ready for his introduction to the social room.
That was, with him standing naked and with the command of motionless in front of her, she’d soft brushed him, oiled him all over, strapped his ass open, plugged it and harnessed his cock.
He’d arrived, as usual, with the same done to his balls.
She moved to stand in front of him and saw the wild was at the surface, unhidden.
All right, so maybe she hadn’t tamed the beast.
This was a lot to give, she knew, for many subs. Mistress and toy in their place in their room, even with onlookers, was a controlled situation. A situation that Amélie sensed Olivier understood (correctly) that, in the end, it was he who held the control.
And also, even with an audience, there was an intimacy to it that could not be denied.
A social room was much different.
She moved close.
“No one can touch you without my leave, beast,” she assured gently.
He gave her one of the many things she loved to get from him. An upward jerk of his head, like a stallion fighting, showing his defiance, at the same time knowing he had no choice but to relent.
Amélie allowed her fingertips to touch his stomach lightly, getting closer.
The wild in his eyes darkened.
“You’ve never done this,” she noted carefully.
“The Bolt doesn’t have a social room,” he shared
. “Members want that kind of thing, they take it off premises for a private party.”
Well, that explained that.
“And you haven’t gone off premises for such a party?” Amélie queried.
He shook his head in a sharp no.
She nodded, hiding her surprise.
It was another indication either of inexperience, or what she realized with their time together was more likely—he’d never had a Mistress he trusted enough to give this gift or enjoyed himself enough with to go there with her.
From what little she now knew of one of his Mistresses, this really was actually no surprise.
She just hoped he’d enjoy himself once he’d gone there with Amélie.
“Right then, chevalier, I’ll explain,” she said softly. “I’ll lead you by your magnificent cock. I’ll take you to a table I select. I’ll guide you to the front of it and when I release you, you’ll lean over the table. You’ll spread your legs wide. You’ll cross your arms under your head on the table. You will not speak at all unless I give you leave, even if another Dom addresses you. And you’ll turn your head my way.”
Amélie got closer and finished with giving him what she knew he’d need.
“I’ll be in your line of vision all the time. I’ll be right there. And remember, my steed, you are mine, no one else’s.”
She got even closer. Flattening her hand on his stomach, slowly, she slid it down the length of dense hair to his cock, feeling those muscles ripple as she did it, at the same time she held his eyes.
“You are mine,” she repeated. “Nothing will happen there I do not wish. And I’ve made my desires clear to you but I’ll do it again. I do not share. What you give in there, you give to me. It is you and me, chevalier, like always.”
By the time she stopped talking, she’d wrapped her hand loosely around his cock and was rolling the tip with her thumb.
His teeth came out and scored his bottom lip.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Ready, Amélie,” he answered, the answer gruff, not firm, a hint of unease in his tone, but his eyes stayed locked to hers.
“So good, my beast,” she whispered with approval, ran her thumb harder around his cock head and watched his lips curl back in that amazing half-snarl. “So good,” she repeated before she released his gaze, turned, and pulling him gently by his cock, she walked to the door.
She also walked him out that door.
And she walked him down the hall.
She did this with her head held high, shoulders straight, gait slow, one foot in front of the other, like she normally walked.
But there was no mistaking the pride in her pose.
It was beyond the elegance ingrained in her by her mother. Beyond confidence.
Straight to haughty.
And she didn’t care. Not that she would normally, but she owned the marvelous stallion following her because she’d earned that claim.
And it was making her wetter and wetter with each step, feeling him follow her, his trust in her, giving her even more, letting her lead him into the unknown, allowing her to show him off in all his glory.
So she deserved to be fucking haughty.
And she was so deep in that glorious moment, she barely acknowledged Master, Mistress, and definitely not toy as she opened the door to the social room and led him in.
This room looked much like the hunting ground, bar at the end, surrounded by curved booths.
However, it was smaller.
And there were raised, oblong stations down the middle, all of them like stages, only the center one having a pole in the middle.
The bright light beaming down on the stages was mostly what lit the room, although there was elegant blue lighting around the bar and that same blue at the edges where the walls met the ceilings, plus very low watt bulbs providing minimal illumination from sconces dripping with crystals over each booth.
This meant that most of the rest of the room was quite dim and there were even some corners that were downright dark.
This, Aryas’s genius way of providing a chic atmosphere at the same time allowing, should a Mistress or Master have desire of it even in that social setting, privacy.
She noted distractedly that when they entered, there were a goodly number of people there, but only two of the five stations had a sub performing for (and with) their Dom.
Amélie barely glanced at any of them. This was because, if those performances were getting attention, they’d lost it the minute Amélie and Olivier entered the room.
She felt Olivier hesitate and rounded the head of his cock with her thumb reassuringly even as she didn’t miss a step and kept pulling him inexorably to a booth on the opposite side of the room, its situation centered, her intent to parade her steed for all to see.
She did and she almost wanted to guide him right back out, return to their room, so she could unharness the splendid brute she held in her hand, climb his big, powerful body and bury him in her pussy.
She didn’t do that.
She stopped him at the front of the table at the booth she selected, released him and looked to his face.
He was looking down at her, the wild even in the dimmed, blue-tinted lighting unleashed. So out of control, she feared he’d bolt.
She felt her clit swell, her nipples harden and her stomach warm when his jaw clenched but he did not bolt.
He bent over just as instructed, legs wide, arms crossed, head on them, torso to the table, strapped, plugged ass offered for display.
She slid her hand over the cheek of his ass, gliding her fingernail lightly down the outside of the strap as she murmured, “You please me.”
As instructed, Olivier said nothing.
She then moved into the side of the booth, her gaze going direct to his to find his locked on her, and he didn’t hide his desperate need for her to be right where she was.
Amélie again reached out, this time stroking the small of his back.
“Calm, Olivier, I’m right here.”
He didn’t settle so she stroked him and continued to do that.
“It’s in your power to share with me if you need to leave. And I’ll share with you that this will not displease me,” she assured him. “Now, mon grande, do you need to leave?”
It took a moment but he held role and instead of answering audibly, he shook his head on his arms once.
She flattened her hand on him and showed him her pleasure through a soft smile.
“A drink, Mistress Amélie?”
She turned to the female server and nodded. “Yes, please.”
Astutely, the server made no mention of Olivier at all, which would call to his attention that he was the center of attention, not only from the server’s admiring eyes on his backside, but from most of the room.
It was, to Amélie’s shock and considerable dismay, Delia, fortunately without Tiffany for once (the only fortunate thing about it), who approached first.
“Please tell me that hole is on offer and not just for show,” she begged and regrettably continued, “I’ll have my cock strapped on and fuck him raw before any of the boys can get their bids in.”
Olivier tensed under her touch, an unfortunate response for it made Delia’s eyes drop and her face fill with greed as she stared at the bunched muscles of his ass.
“Pay you to drive deep in that,” she muttered reverently.
“If you do not take your eyes from my Olivier, you’ll struggle to see through them after I put all my effort to scratching them out.”
Her tone was no threat.
It was a warning and Delia’s attention snapped to her.
“You brought him to social and displayed him,” she rapped out.
“He’s mine to do that and we both enjoy that fact. Alas, I didn’t know you lurked in social or I would have selected another evening, one when you were not here.”
“I can put my eyes where I wish, Amélie,” she bit out.
“Not if that’s my steed,” she ret
urned coolly.
“I’m no slave, honey,” Delia shot back acidly. “You can hardly tell me where to look.”
Amélie shifted only an inch and her voice was ice-cold when she retorted, “Try me.”
“I think this Mistress has made her wishes clear as it comes to her stud, Delia.”
Amélie’s gaze moved to Aryas, who was standing close and positioning closer, shuffling Delia back and away at the same time hiding Olivier with his considerable bulk from the odious woman’s eyes.
“I would assume you’d require her to respect your wishes if you asked the same for one of your slaves. Respect that’s mandatory at the Bee’s Honey, as you know. So I believe with no further exchange, we’re done here,” Aryas concluded.
“I’m uncertain how I feel about how you run your club, Master Aryas,” Delia sniffed.
“I’m uncertain I give a shit, Mistress Delia,” Aryas fired back.
She gave him a glare, another sniff, then stormed off.
Aryas turned his attention to Amélie.
“Thank you,” she said shortly, still angry.
“Don’t mention it,” he murmured, glanced down at Olivier, gave her an audacious grin that was reminiscent, if not as effective, as one of Olivier’s, and he strolled away.
Amélie looked down at her beast.
He was biting his lip and she didn’t know if he was doing this to stop laughing, stop speaking, or stop himself from shouting.
She glided her hand from the small of his back up to his lat and bent close.
“You may say one word, mon chou, are you all right?”
“Yes.” It was again gruff but this time gruff with amusement as well as something else that was pleasant.
Amélie felt her eyelids go hooded and she leaned back, gliding her hand to retrace its movements but not stopping at his back.
She stroked the cheek of his ass and partially down his back thigh.