His gaze flashed and she grinned. Leaning in to sweep her lips across his, when he lifted his head to get more, she pulled away slightly.
“Olivier, did you get my address?”
“Yeah, Leigh-Leigh, on the way here. Was more interested in getting inside than texting you back. Thought we’d have a drink and I could share the pressing news that the global communication system is still functioning, all systems go, and I got your text. But you hightailed our asses in here so I didn’t get to confirm that yes, I got your address.”
She laughed softly because he was funny.
Then, she asked, “You’ll come after work tomorrow?”
Tomorrow began their weekend at her ranch.
“Yeah. Drive means I’ll be there late, though, sweetheart. Eight, earliest. Probably more like eight-thirty.”
Disappointing.
But she’d work with it.
“Fine,” she replied.
“Baby, uncuff me. Wanna touch you.” He gave her that then whispered, “Please.”
Since that was sweet, she brushed his lips with hers, moved them down his jaw, his neck, his throat, and at the dent at the base, she murmured, “Come to me harnessed.”
“Of course,” he grunted, half insulted, half turned on.
“And plugged.”
His body tensed under her.
She trailed her lips to his nipple and took a bite.
“Fuck,” he growled.
She licked his nipple and ordered, “Plugged, Olivier.”
“Okay, Amélie.”
She lifted her head and saw him dip his chin in his throat to look down at her.
“If you aren’t hard when you arrive, when you arrive, you stay in your car and make yourself hard for me. If you arrive late, I want you to arrive ready.”
“I’ll be ready,” he rumbled, lifting his hips into hers still straddling his cock.
“We play, we spend time together.” She slid up his chest so they were again eye to eye. “We enjoy. We talk on Sunday.”
“Works for me.”
Excellent.
“Now, I feel the urge to lick your lovely sac until you beg to come for me.”
“Christ,” he gritted, his head digging into the pillow but his eyes remaining on Amélie.
“Would you like that?” she asked playfully.
“Are you joking, asking that shit?” he asked back impatiently.
“Would you like my pussy while I do that?”
His eyes narrowed. “Babe. Again. Are you joking, asking stupid-ass shit?”
She got closer, her lips touching his, and lost the playful, watching him carefully as she reminded him, “Darling, I’m filled with you.”
“Gorgeous, that pretty pussy of yours can be drippin’ three loads of my cum and I’d still fucking eat it.”
He was simply perfection.
Amélie grinned against his mouth.
“You gonna grin at me all night or you gonna lick my balls?” he queried irritably.
Her playful came back. “I wonder,” she started musingly, “if my steed wants my tongue on him more, or if he wants his mouth on me.”
“Pussy, absolutely,” he answered. “Now, if you were wrapping that sweet mouth around my cock, that’d be a different story.”
She grinned against his mouth.
“Baby,” he growled warningly.
“You please me, Olivier.”
“Thrilled, Leigh-Leigh. Now, how ’bout you shake a leg and let me keep doing that.”
She allowed her eyes to smile.
Then she slid off his cock, repositioned, and let him “keep doing that.”
He did not lie. He had no hesitation eating her and him out of her “pretty pussy.”
So she rewarded him by spending a good deal of time on his balls but when his growls into her flesh turned pleading, she gave him that different story.
She tasted herself while she did, but in the end, it was just Olivier Amélie took down her throat.
fifteen
Flawed Perfection
OLIVIER
Friday night, Olly drove to Leigh’s house, knowing he was getting close from the GPS.
And knowing that, he was hard as a rock, straining his jeans to the point of mild pain.
Even having had her the night before, he still couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for him that weekend.
But he knew what he had in store for her.
It happened when he was bent over that table and Amélie took on that bitch. He watched her and listened to her and he knew if that woman didn’t take her eyes off Olly, Leigh would have launched herself at the cunt and given her all to do bodily harm.
As he watched that, Olly felt something release deep in his brain.
Something that had been strung tight for so long, threatening to snap, it snapping meant he would snap. He’d lose hold. He’d lose himself. He’d lose something integral he needed to be Olly.
Amélie was right. He was not defined by his sexuality, no one was.
But it was a part of who he was. An important part. One he couldn’t bury without losing a crucial element of himself.
And what got him off …
No, finding Leigh and being free to be just how he needed to be, it all sunk in.
All of it.
He’d watched Amélie take on that woman finally getting with all Leigh had given him—not just to get him off, but in everything—that she’d take care of him. And that was not just with what he liked to get worked, but in every way.
Not simply as his Mistress, but that and as the woman in his life.
And as that hit him, that thing fucking with his head loosened.
Melted clean away.
And her giving him that. Her yanking down her panties, as desperate as he was to connect after they’d been apart—no preliminaries and they were fucking against the door. Her opening her legs so he could take her pussy after he delivered his message through her in the social room. Her obvious happiness that things were working out for her girl and her new man. Her calling him to let him know she was out of town, doing that on a pretense just so they could talk, connect. Her sweet. Her candor. Her teasing. Her upfront excitement they were spending the weekend together. Her being there for him any time he called. The real they had, the ease of it, the honesty, while playing or sitting in a booth having a drink, the magnitude of what they shared and how deep it went.
Leigh giving him all that, Olly wanted this to go somewhere.
He had no idea how to make that happen. There was honesty he had to give to her about how he came to the Honey. And his greatest concern, there were serious differences between them—the money she had, his lack of it, and the lives they led because of that—that had to be hashed out.
But she was Leigh-Leigh. She found a way to release that torture that had been screwing with his mind since forever, so he sensed that together, they’d find a way to build something more with all they already had.
Olly knew that because, in understanding all this, he’d come to understand they’d already begun to build it. There was the scene then she sensed innately when it was time to guide him out of it and give him the rest of what he needed.
Not a feeling of normal. He no longer cared about being what others would think was normal (and she’d taught him that too with the ease and dignity with which she lived in that world).
What he needed was to have the sense that he was always Olly, even when he was Olivier, and he always had his Leigh, even when she was his Mistress Amélie.
The GPS in his truck told him he’d be turning left in a third of a mile.
He searched a dark that no city could have, vast stretches of land, a plateau in the northern mountains of Arizona, and he saw it.
Two lights illuminating two sweeping adobe fences that marked either side of a drive. One had the house number of her ranch on it in purposefully rusted iron numbers. The other side had another rusted iron piece, this a horse trotting, neck proud but head bowed.
/> Something about that made Olly’s mouth quirk.
Even if he’d come to his decision about their future, he was still relieved to see there was no grand entryway over the lane to her ranch with some pretentious name sweeping across it.
It was clear since he’d passed the last house half a mile ago that she had land but as he turned in, he saw the house he was driving to and it wasn’t pretentious either.
It wasn’t small but it wasn’t large.
Compact.
Classic adobe, including the beams. He saw some blooms around the front courtyard as his headlights hit the house. The front light was on, showing the courtyard was welcoming, but not elaborate. There was a fountain trickling at the side of the front door that was not ostentatious, just pretty, undoubtedly the sound it made calming and making the entry even more inviting.
He stopped his truck in the neat gravel of the big circular drive, doing this next to her Mercedes SUV coupe, and watched her open the door.
His ass tightened around the small plug he wore that she’d given him during their week apart, his balls drawing up in their harness as he saw her for the first time in jeans.
They were low-slung, tight, faded in a way that came from wear, not made that way in some factory. She wore them with a thick belt, utilitarian, no ornamentation, but it was still cool. She had on a turquoise, flowy blouse that fell off her shoulder, a mess of southwestern necklaces dangling from her neck, and he could also see big hoops at her ears.
Her feet were bare.
Leigh at her ranch.
Not a beautiful woman with a French mother, a load of money, and a way of calling her man “darling” that didn’t sound moronic, but instead amazing.
No. A northern mountains of Arizona rancher who had money but nothing about her shoved that down your throat.
Oh yeah.
They could find a way to work.
He was no longer hoping for that, but instead, with everything she gave him, he was beginning to count on it.
She stood in the door, leaning against the jamb, as he grabbed his duffel off the passenger seat and angled out of the cab.
He walked to her and saw the courtyard had some comfortable-looking furniture, a table, two chairs, intimate in that small space. A place for two people to hang in the morning with a cup of joe, not a place to have a party.
And that courtyard was teeming with lush bougainvillea growing up the walls that delineated the courtyard space as well as the front of the house.
Prettier up close than from afar.
The same could be said for the woman standing in the door.
Olly stopped in front of her.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Olivier.”
He felt the name she chose throb in his cock.
She wanted him too. Just as badly.
It was play time.
All right.
He fought back a triumphant smile.
“Come closer, mon chou.”
Olly came closer and stopped. She tilted her head back to keep hold on his eyes as he moved.
This meant he missed her hand moving but he didn’t miss it when she cupped him over his jeans and at the same time asked, “How was the drive?”
“Over,” he grunted.
He watched her lips tip up.
“Drop the duffel, chevalier, we’ll come for it later.”
He tossed the bag close to the side of the door but other than that didn’t move.
This was good since she did. Slightly.
Her hand twisting, she slid his zipper down and didn’t hesitate even a second to dive in then pull him out.
Olly clenched his teeth against the goodness he felt when his heavy cock finally sprung free of his confining jeans.
She kept locked on his gaze even as she shoved in roughly, tugging him, his lower half swaying as she inspected his balls, then she slid under, jerking him to her as she slid her hand back and found his plug.
His hole tightened.
Oh yeah.
“Mistress,” he whispered.
“Are you ready for our weekend?” she asked.
“Fuck yes,” he answered gruffly.
“Good,” she replied softly. Her gaze still direct on his, she found the tip of the plug and twisted it.
That drove straight up his ass, through his balls to his cock, and unable to stop himself, Olly lifted a hand and grabbed the jamb over her head.
“I have much planned for you, my stallion,” she said softly.
It was his turn to say, “Good,” but his came out harsh.
“I have a gift for you too,” she told him. “Would you like it now or later?”
“Which way do you want it?”
“The way I want it is to know if you’d like it now or later.”
He stared in her eyes, his focus shifting from his ass to the look he saw shining there, and he knew the answer.
“Now.”
Her lips tipped up at the sides again, this time slowly, and as they did, she slid her hand out of his jeans but latched onto his cock and gave it a gentle tug.
“Come,” she ordered.
If she wasn’t careful, he’d do that in way she didn’t mean.
By his dick, she led him into her house and he had the presence of mind to close the door behind him.
Other than that, he didn’t have the presence of mind for anything else so he didn’t take much in. He felt his boots hitting rug under his feet, distractedly saw the tile at the sides of the runner, the adobe walls, paintings, furniture, other decorative shit, felt the coolness of the air, the smell of piñon vague but pleasant.
But his attention was riveted to the back of her rich, shining, unfettered auburn hair hanging down to past where her bra strap would be and all he thought was that he didn’t mind at all his Mistress could lead him around by his cock.
She turned into a room that had soft lighting, candles glowing, and a big four-poster bed in the middle with white sheets, lots of fluffy pillows, and towels laid over the comforter.
It also had restraints dangling from the back posts, more coming up the sides and end of the bed.
Fuck yeah.
She released him, turned to him, and immediately went for the buttons of his shirt.
“I’ll be undressing you this time, Olivier,” she shared as she started doing just that.
He nodded before he dipped his chin down and Olly watched as she exposed his chest. And he kept watching as she pulled the shirt over his shoulders and a look settled over her face he was getting used to.
A look he fucking loved.
Her face got soft at the same time hungry.
In a room at the club, she’d get that look but she withheld from him until she found it time to give in to what she needed.
This was always after she gave him what he needed.
Here, she did something about it.
Even as she moved her hands to his jeans to undo the top button, she bent in, nuzzling her face to his chest, and it took a lot not to lift his hand, cup the back of her hair, and plant her face there.
Olly managed not to do that just when she tipped her head back.
“Please take off your boots and socks,” she ordered.
She then stepped back to allow him to do that.
He did it, straightened, and she came right back to him. Fingers in his waistband, she yanked his jeans and shorts down.
“Step out,” she commanded, crouched in front of him, holding his clothing steady so he could step free.
When he was, she straightened, latched onto his cock again and gave a tug.
She led him to the foot of the bed, let him go, and curled into him, front to front. Sliding her hands from his waist back and down, she cupped his ass, again with her head tipped back.
“When I release you, climb on the bed, on your knees. Settle them near the restraints.”
“You got it, Amélie.”
She grinned, rolled up on her toes, and touched her mouth
to the base of his throat.
Olly again fought the need to hold her head there, among other things.
She slid away.
He climbed into bed, settling as he was told.
When he was there, she didn’t fuck around. She touched him sweet but she didn’t take her usual time when she restrained him at the bend of his knees, his ankles, this with his thighs spread wide.
“Now lift your arms, beast,” she ordered.
His eyes to her, he did and she shackled him with what felt like fur-lined cuffs, his arms up and outstretched. There was slack, not much. There was less movement in his legs.
Once she had this done, she glided a hand around his hip as she walked on her knees on the bed to get to his front.
As for Olly, restrained, hers to do with as she would, his dick was hanging low and heavy, his balls ached, and his jaw was again clenched, now against begging her to touch him. Take his cock in her fist. Squeeze his balls. Do fucking anything.
He kept his silence because he knew she knew better.
And she did.
To his disbelief, and pure fucking elation, while he watched, she pulled off her necklaces, her hair swaying as she did.
She dropped them to floor at the side of the bed.
Then off went her blouse.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
After that, she undid her belt and jeans and drew them down, with her panties, to her thighs, falling on a hip to allow her access to clear them from her legs.
She tossed them aside then she was again on her knees, unusually naked before him.
His dick started throbbing as his eyes took her in, her full tits, the swell of her hips, that sweet pussy with the strip of trimmed hair leading to her gorgeous nub he wanted in his mouth so bad he could taste it already.
“I’ve told you often but I’m uncertain you know how beautiful you are, Olivier.”
His eyes went from her clit to her face.
“Perhaps you’ll understand after I’m done with you,” she went on.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he returned and got that look on her face, her eyelids lowering, features softening.
“My sweet beast,” she whispered, but she didn’t touch him, come in for a kiss.
She shifted back on her knees, and fuck him, fuck him, she bent, and with no preliminaries what-so-fucking-ever, she sucked his cock deep in her mouth.