“I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t want to give in.”
“Hmm.”
She bucked her hips as his fingers parted her cheeks, allowing the oil to trickle down between them to her entrance. As he rubbed the oil around her bottom, she fisted the counterpane in shame and desire.
“You like this?”
“Mmm.”
“But you aren’t ready for more, ma cherie, not today. Get up, please.”
Gentle hands lifted her up from the bolster and removed the heavy pillow. Lisa was so lost in languorous pleasure that she might have collapsed back down if Olivier hadn’t helped her upright. She sat back, her arms wrapped around her breasts, skin slippery and tingling as he unbuttoned his Levis and stripped them off. He was naked underneath, and his cock sprang out, erect and ready for her.
She reached out a hand to touch him. “Non, cherie. You only touch when I say you can.”
“But I want you.”
“I want you too, but first, lie facedown. Let go and enjoy the pleasure while you can.”
She lay down, and he climbed onto the bed, sitting astride her legs. He trickled oil on her breasts, circling her nipples with it, leaving her breasts glistening and tingling. He rubbed it over her belly. His touch on her clit was electric, making her buck her hips and groan with pleasure. His fingers began to explore her swollen nub, circling it between his fingers.
“Turn over and get on all fours,” he whispered.
Lisa glanced through her knees and saw him remove a small silver cylinder from the small red box.
“This is a bullet vibe,” he said. “You’ve used one on yourself?”
“I’ve tried vibes, but not one like that. It’s so small…”
“But powerful.”
She almost took off from the bed as he laid the vibe against her clit. “Oh God!”
After the paddling and the massage, the effect of the throbbing vibe was instant and sensational. As he moved the vibe between her labia, the sensation drove her almost immediately to the edge of her climax. She moaned with ecstasy. As the metal nudged inside her, her orgasm soared to a new level, and she clutched at the sheets, helpless to stop it. As she began to lose herself, Olivier climbed behind her and nudged his hot cock into her.
“You are beyond beautiful…”
She screamed out her pleasure as he thrust inside her, moving slowly and powerfully. She was lost completely, oblivious to everything except Olivier filling her more completely than any man had ever done before.
Chapter Eight
“Ca va?”
Lisa awoke to Olivier beside her on the bed, gently lifting her hair from her eyes. He wore the paint-spattered Levis, was bare-chested, and his hair was damp.
“How are you?”
She rubbed her eyes. “Fine, but…how long have I been asleep?”
“Thirty minutes, maybe a little more. I took a shower while you slept.”
She pushed herself up, still groggy and suddenly aware of a dull soreness in her behind. Oh hell, she’d been paddled and teased with a vibe and fucked. The blush was impossible to subdue.
Olivier smiled. “It’s okay to sleep. You pushed past a lot of barriers today, and you’ve been working hard.”
She bit back a protest as he stroked her hair. Was this the same man who had been so austere and strict an hour ago?
She sighed as he kissed her more deeply, inhaling the sharp scent of his shower gel. “Relax. Enjoy. You’ve done well so far.”
Lisa felt like a girl being praised by a schoolmaster. “And the hardest part is over?”
He pulled back the sheet, exposing her breasts, and ran a finger over her nipple, which hardened instantly. “Non, cherie. The hard part has only just begun, but for the rest of tonight, you’ll eat and relax. Why not take a bath while I make some dinner? You are hungry?”
“Yes, I am. Very.”
He grinned. “Well, that’s what a good paddling and hot sex does for you. Now, I’ll see you in a little while.”
“What about my clothes?”
“They’re on the chair by the closet.”
“And my knickers? You said I had to earn them.”
“You’ll find fresh ones there. I decided to be lenient as it’s your first time.”
Lisa didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “Olivier, you…”
“Yes?” He folded his arms.
“Merci, maître.” She loaded her voice with irony.
“Mmm. Better get in the bath before I change my mind about your clothes and make you take dinner naked.”
Cleansed and wrapped in a black towelling robe, Lisa followed the aroma of steak to the kitchen doorway. Olivier now wore a shirt with his jeans, a striped tea cloth slung over one shoulder. His mouth quirked in amusement as Lisa hovered on one side of the kitchen counter, rolling back the sleeves of the robe.
“Do you have anything on under that?”
“The French knickers and my bra. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Of course. Does filet au poivre meet with yours?”
Lisa raised her voice above the sizzling from the frying pan. “Love it. Lucky I’m not a veggie, isn’t it?”
He flipped the steaks over. “It is, but I guessed you weren’t, from the way you hit the parma ham and pate canapés at the gallery launch.”
“You were watching me?” She stepped closer to the hob.
“Of course, for about twenty minutes before you noticed me.”
“Oh.”
He grinned. “And I also checked with Mimi.”
“Mimi seems to have been doing an awful lot of talking. What else did she say about me?”
“That you’re smart, ambitious and principled, which is difficult in a job that requires you to bend the truth now and again. You like Monet, hate soccer, love cricket and don’t have time to enjoy any of them because you work too hard.”
She blew out a breath. “Just how well do you two really know each other?”
He reached for a carton of cream from the fridge before replying. “If you’re asking if I’ve had a relationship with Mimi, we slept together once when we were at art college. She’s one of my oldest, dearest friends, but she’s strictly vanilla, and now she’s more like a cousin to me. Can you pass the peppercorns, please? They’re on the shelf next to you.”
Lisa reached for the packet. “And how many others like me have there been?”
He took the pack from her hand. “Not as many as you think, but I don’t talk about previous partners. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Total discretion? Now, tell me how your little niece is doing. Have you called your sister?”
The switch from his private life to her own was swift. “Yes, I spoke to Abi while I had a bath. Bella’s absolutely fine.”
Olivier held the peppercorn packet over a pestle and mortar. “That’s good. Now why don’t you make yourself nice and comfortable on the balcony while I finish dinner?”
He was managing her again, but maybe that was because he didn’t like her watching him cook. Some people didn’t, and frankly, she wouldn’t have wanted a sophisticated French guy as an audience for her own culinary efforts. Or perhaps he was being evasive again…and Lisa was pretty sure that his “nice and comfortable” comment was ironic, especially when she saw that only one of the metal bistro chairs on the balcony had a cushion on it. She considered taking the bare chair for a moment, then decided to be sensible. She lowered her bottom gingerly onto the cushion, winced, and knew she’d made the right choice.
The aroma of sizzling steaks made her mouth water. and she realised how hungry she was. There was a dish of olives on the table and a wine cooler with a bottle inside. She popped an olive into her mouth, savouring the bittersweet taste while marvelling at the view. The city glittered ahead of her, seeming to float in the air. The Eiffel Tower dominated the skyline, illuminated by thousands of coloured lights that changed hue every few seconds.
Olivier arrived with a tray containing the steaks, a bo
wl of dressed salad and a basket of bread. He pulled the cork on the bottle, pulled out the chair and sat opposite her. It was a warm late spring evening, sheltered and still, and the heat from the surrounding walls made it feel even warmer.
“Merci, maître,” said Lisa.
He frowned. “You don’t need to do that when we’re not playing.”
“But I might choose to say it.”
A wicked smile played on his lips. “And I might choose to take action.”
Lisa leaned her elbows on the table. “That’s what I was hoping.”
“So I’d better not do anything at all…” The smile disappeared. “Seriously, when we’re not playing, I’d rather things were more civilised.” He reached out and touched her hand. “For both of us.”
Lisa swallowed hard. Suddenly things seemed much more normal. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who had explored every intimate part of her and brought her to tears and ecstasy barely an hour before, the man who had promised to take her to new limits in the weeks ahead. Olivier pulled the bottle from the cooler. “Is white okay?”
Wow. Puligny-Montrachet Grand Cru. Lisa loved the vintage when she got the chance, because the odd sip at a corporate event was about the only time she could afford to drink it herself. “Perfect…” she said.
“I thought the occasion deserved marking,” he said. “How’s your seat?”
“I think you know,” said Lisa, the memory of her correction making her press her clit against the cushion. “At the gallery, you said you’re not into the BDSM community,” she said, picking up her knife.
Olivier filled her glass with the straw-coloured wine. “I hate that phrase, just the same as it’s applied to any community. It implies we’re all part of some kinky retirement village, meeting up in village halls with our whips and chains, ruled by some committee of elder Doms and subs.”
She laughed and sipped her wine, the scent filling her nose. The flavour was dry and delicate.
“But there are rules,” she said when she’d swallowed the wine.
He popped the bottle back in the ice bucket. “Yes, the scene has its etiquette and rules, its own language. I did try it for a while. I even trained as a Dom in a small, discreet club for a while. That was worthwhile.”
“Trained? What does that mean?”
Olivier had started to tackle his steak, and when he’d swallowed, he replied, “It does sound weird, but you can’t just pick up a paddle or cane and thrash someone.”
“Oh no, of course not. But how…” She shifted in her chair, aroused yet again.
“By giving and receiving, naturally. We had a long list of subs desperate to be disciplined by Gisela. She’s a very sought-after Domme, and the best way of training us to know exactly what a sub feels like was to be on the receiving end ourselves. A few carefully selected would-be Doms like myself had to practise our techniques under her watchful eye, and if a sub complained, our technique was corrected in front of them by Gisela.” He plunged his knife into the steak. “On the offending Dom, of course.”
Lisa dropped her knife on her plate. “Oh my God. Did you enjoy it?”
He threw her a sexy glare. “What do you want me to say? Which would turn you on more?”
Would it turn her on to see him flogged? Or to wield the paddle herself? Both scenarios were blowing her mind. “I…couldn’t say…”
“Then, perhaps we’ll have to experiment. To answer your question, I suppose I was excited the first time. Gisela was beautiful and sexy, and, as you know, your first taste of discipline comes with the thrill of the unknown.” And how. Lisa forced her steak down. Olivier had presented scenarios to her she hadn’t even known she found sexy. He went on. “After three months of weekly canings and floggings, however, I’d had more than enough. I didn’t want to be a switch, but I am glad I experienced it. It taught me more than I could ever have known about discipline and domination.”
Lisa licked her lips, trying not to grind her sore nether regions into the chair. Boy, was she glad of the cushion. “Did you…um…pass the training course?”
“Yes. In fact, Gisela offered me free membership of the club if I would be her—to abuse a hunting phrase—whipper-in-chief. Now, aren’t you going to eat your steak before it goes cold?”
“Oh yes. Of course.” Lisa cut into her steak. It was seared to perfection on the surface, coral pink in the centre with ruby juices oozing onto her plate. The filet almost melted in her mouth, and the complex flavours burst onto her tongue. Olivier’s confession about his days at the BDSM club was all she could focus on. Whipper-in-chief? Was he teasing her? Tantalising her? Trying to intimidate her? All of those?
He refilled her glass and skilfully switched the subject to more mundane topics while they ate their meal. They chatted about the gallery launch, a new Monet exhibition, a restaurant that had opened near her home—anything other than his skills as a Dom. When their plates had been cleared, he emptied the rest of the wine into their glasses and pulled his chair away from the table.
“You asked me about the BDSM club and why I don’t do the scene anymore. It’s because I hate the rules and conventions. I don’t want to conform to them, and I don’t want my women to conform to any rules,” he said.
“But your own,” she corrected.
“Exactly. All that ‘oh, do you let your sub do x and y’, and ‘I wouldn’t allow that’. It’s like talking about a pet or a naughty child. I want to do things my way, change the rules and break them.”
Lisa sipped her wine. The effects had made her limbs feel heavy. “But we do have a safe word. That’s a rule.”
“True, but you won’t need to use it.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ll have failed if you do.”
Despite the heat still pouring off the brick walls, she shivered. Making Olivier fail felt like Lisa would have failed herself, and she didn’t want to do that. She wouldn’t use the safe word—hey, had he just manipulated her into feeling she wanted to please him?
“Dessert?” he asked. “It’s chocolate mousse.”
“I don’t normally, but I am very hungry. I wonder why?” she teased.
He laughed. “I can’t possibly imagine.”
After they’d finished the mousses, Olivier brought out coffee and a cognac bottle. Lisa decided the time was ripe to try to find out more about his normal life.
“So you own the Gallerie St Pierre, but Mimi said you’re an artist too. Are you working on anything at the moment?”
“If Mimi has told you I’m an artist, she’ll also have told you that I’m not working these days. I haven’t painted or sculpted for almost two years.”
“She didn’t say that, actually…but I don’t know why you’ve stopped painting. I saw some of your older pieces on a website, and I thought they were incredible.”
“Incredible? Well, I certainly can’t imagine how I produced them now.”
“Why not?”
He rubbed his eyes. He looked weary for the first time since she’d met him. “Thanks for your concern, but please accept that I’ve had enough of my brother and friends trying to get me to start work again. The gallery takes up all of my time, and it will only waste both our time to discuss my lack of productivity. I’d be happy to talk about your work if you like, and tell you about the gallery, but I’d prefer it if we didn’t pursue this further.”
“Will you punish me if I do?”
“Bordel! Non!” His cup clattered against the saucer.
Lisa knew she’d had a raw nerve, but just how raw surprised her. He was clearly unwilling or unable to talk about painting again. In fact, she’d go so far to say he seemed afraid of discussing it.
“Okay. Okay. I just thought…”
He took her hands, as if he needed to compose himself once more. “I said before, punishments—corrections—are for play. When we’re in the zone, you will obey me to the letter, but outside of those times, I want us to have a relaxed, fun time. In fact, I’d love it
if you were free tomorrow.”
“Hmm. Let me see. I was going to get my work suits dry-cleaned, and then I need to have my central heating serviced, and I had thought of…”
“Stop.” Momentarily, he’d seemed to believe her, then he shook his head. “If I really thought you would do any of those things instead of seeing me, I’d put you over my knee right now and sizzle your behind the colour of the steak.”
Heat raced to her sex at the idea of being spanked on the balcony, but she managed to get a grip on herself, enjoying teasing him. “As you pointed out, we’re not playing now, maître,” she said coolly.
His pupils darkened. “The game can change very fast.” Olivier relaxed his grip and said, “Tomorrow, we’re going to see some Monet.”
“Okay, that wasn’t what I expected, but I think I can fit you in.”
He wagged his finger. “You’re in dangerous waters, but I’ll let you off this time. You did say you had the next few months free.”
“Won’t the galleries be heaving with tourists at this time of year?”
“You’re right. The Louvre and the Musée d'Orsay will be a nightmare, and I don’t fancy being elbowed out of the way by a camera-toting horde. I’ve got other ideas.” He tilted up her chin with his hand. “If they meet with madame’s approval.”
Chapter Nine
Olivier slipped his arm around Lisa’s waist as they lingered, awestruck in front of Monet's famous water lily murals in the Musée de l’Orangerie. It intrigued her to think that anyone seeing them would assume they were lovers, in every sense of the word, not just the sexual one, but she knew that love was the one thing off the menu.
The Orangerie was still bustling but not overrun in the way of some of the hotspot galleries. She and Olivier had spent the morning walking from his flat through the Tuileries Gardens to the Musée Marmottan. It held the world’s largest collection of Monets, but until now, Lisa had been far too busy working to visit it. After lunch in a pavement bistro on the Ile de Saint Louis, they had moved on to view the lily murals that were kept in the Orangerie. Looking at the pictures through the eyes of a real artist had been a revelation for Lisa.
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