Perhaps he should intercede, but Lucian ruled the labs with an iron fist. His service record had never suffered, which was why he tended to leave him alone. And even though he wanted to get out of the building, he veered over to the reception desk and stood behind Lucian. Deciding that a nudge now was better than a rebuke later, especially as this was the first time he’d seen the other man in action.
The receptionist, a girl who according to her name tag was Sophie, saw him and blanched, her smile disappearing. Lucian spotted this and turned around with a frown that turned into an easy smile when he spotted the boss looming over him.
“Good morning, Sebastien.”
Bastien nodded, his features set in a serious cast. Only the execs were allowed to call him by his name. Technically, Lucian wasn’t one of them, but he’d never made a move to rectify the other man’s tactlessness.
“Don’t we have a deadline on the new anti-wrinkle cream?” he asked, tilting his head to the side in a mock show of concern.
“It’s all under control.”
Lucian’s confidence had Bastien’s eyes narrowing. “And how would you know that if you’re downstairs chasing skirt?”
His gaze flickered to Sophie, in rapid French, far too fast for Lucian, he ordered, “This company does not pay you to be picked up, or to be asked out on dates. Get on with your work.”
He felt like a bastard, when Sophie looked on the brink of mortified tears, but those tears were fewer than the ones that would fall when Lucian got her into his bed and then dumped her.
He was saving her from herself. She just thought he was being a bastard to work for. Sometimes being the Good Samaritan was a real pain in the ass.
Bastien turned his attention to Lucian. At the same as Devvy had come to work for La Belle sans la Bête, he’d been recruited from a pharmaceutical company in Britain. Apparently his accented French worked a real number on the ladies.
“Well, Lucian?” Bastien asked, polite as can be.
The other man’s eyes narrowed, his head jerking in an irritated nod. “I’ll just go and make sure everything is how I left it five minutes ago.”
“You do that,” he retorted pleasantly and waited for Lucian to head to the elevators, and physically leave the lobby.
Sophie’s head was bowed over the papers she was collating. Bastien rested an arm on the desk and said, in a much softer voice, “Sophie, he might look and sound pretty, and a huge chunk of the female work staff probably agreed with you at one time.” Her eyes widened, her naiveté astonishing him for a second before he continued, “You don’t want to be another notch on his belt, do you?”
She shook her head.
“Stay away from him, then.” He smiled to lessen the inappropriate advice he shouldn’t be handing out, and then strode away deep into the hall. Aware at all times that it was his wife’s influence that had made him help the girl. Devvy had never liked Lucian, didn’t like working with him or his arrogant ways.
While she’d never said anything, Bastien believed Lucian had come on to her at some point. Getting her away from the male slut had been a major factor in his decision to build her a lab on the grounds of their home—as was her comfort, the fact that she hated getting up on a morning, and the fact that he didn’t want her to be bothered by the commute.
He came from a traditional enough background to not want his wife to work. That she loved her research was the only reason he hadn’t gently suggested she become a “lady of leisure.” Devvy and botany went hand in hand. The idea of her not working on some soap or unguent was impossible to imagine. So, he’d settled for a solution that would please both of them. Devvy could work in her own environment, close to nature, and away from colleagues—she wasn’t the most sociable of sorts. He, on the other hand, could rest easy, knowing she was safe and happy in her lab.
Striding down the lobby’s long corridor, Bastien acknowledged that this was his favorite part of the building, and mostly because his wife had helped him to appreciate the luscious indoor garden that ran down either side of the path leading to the reception desk. It had cost a fortune to install, never mind maintain. Enough so that most of his directors had thought him insane.
Thanks to Devvy, he even recognized some of the plants. In all his years of making his grandmother’s recipes, he’d always bought in the ingredients, never grown them from scratch, unlike Devvy who always used the flowers from her garden in her recipes. He didn’t possess a green thumb but he was slowly growing to appreciate those who did, and the beauty they created for people like him.
Considering the company was founded on nature’s bounty, Sebastien had only thought it wise to ensure they didn’t lose touch with what they were actually doing. The first impression of the company was of this indoor garden, and La Belle sans la Bête’s desire to use nature instead of man-made chemicals wherever possible, to use nature to enhance and rejuvenate, was reinforced.
The greenery soothed him as he walked past fragrant flowers, and heard the spit-spat of the automatic watering system. He nodded at one of the gardeners as he pruned a bush. The lobby reminded him of Devvy’s pride and joy, her herb garden. There were less pungent scents here, but the flora did improve his mood.
The journey to Devvy’s favorite restaurant had that mood plummeting a little. Traffic, road wars, jams…the beeps and honks of horns, the stress, and the flustered air of the city at midday, made him wish they’d arranged to eat at home.
Usually, he did. But once a month, they dined out.
Devvy was just as bad as Alex in some ways. She tended to stay at home a lot. Before Alex, she’d rarely gone out at all. Now, she wasn’t as house-bound as before, but he saw no reason to break the habit. Meeting with his wife once a month for a private lunch was certainly no hardship. And thanks to the emergency over in his vineyards, this month’s date was later than it should be.
The car slipped stealthily through the traffic. The smooth ride was painless for him, but Bastien could only imagine how stressful it was for George, his driver. Had he wanted to, Bastien could have afforded a fleet of cars, and he could have driven through the city himself.
But, for the same reason he preferred Devvy to use a chauffeur, the stress of driving through the city took any pleasure away from owning a luxury vehicle. And he didn’t give a damn if he was the only person on Earth to think that way.
His two Bentleys and George were quite adequate for their needs. Something that was hammered home when a car shot out of nowhere and nearly blindsided them. George swerved out of the way just in time, and it was with relief that minutes later he pulled up outside of Esprit, Devvy’s favorite bistro.
As soon as he stepped out onto the street, the noise bombarded him once again. He refrained from wincing, just, but slipped on his shades as the light pierced his eyeballs with the precision of a red-hot poker.
Grimacing, he escaped into the bistro. The maître d’ spotted him, and immediately guided him over to the private room they always hired when they came here. The corridor they took bypassed the main hall of the restaurant.
The instant he saw Devvy, her back to the door, looking through the two-way mirror that overlooked the dining room, his heart sighed at the sight of her.
That sense of something loose inside finding its other half, once again reconnecting, had a smile twisting his lips as the door shut behind him.
The best thing about Esprit was the private room and the extras that came with it. For him and Devvy, they always took advantage of the intercom, where they made their orders without having to see anyone. There was also a dumb waiter, which meant they could serve themselves.
This extra privacy made it so Devvy had, more than once, acted as starter and main course in this particular restaurant.
It helped that his security staff had swept the room beforehand.
He was already plagued by threats and blackmail attempts. He didn’t need footage of him fucking his wife in Esprit’s private dining room to be floating around the black marke
t!
Thrusting the current blackmail threat to the back of his mind, the deadline of which was looming, he murmured, “Mignonne, it is not like you to be early.”
She turned around, a cheeky grin on her lips. “Are you saying I’m always late?”
“I would never be so rude,” he retorted, taking in the dress she was wearing with a sigh.
He’d seen women in sexier outfits, tighter and shorter, showing more flesh, but nothing got him as hot as his woman in a dress.
It wasn’t even skintight. It was summery and floaty, a light fabric that swirled about her legs as she moved. The fabric gently swept over her breasts, not cupping and not enhancing, but the deep V neckline was enough to draw his eyes down the length to her décolleté.
“To what do we owe the honor of a dress?” he asked, brows raised. More accustomed to seeing her in little short shorts that she considered lounge wear, but he considered prick teasers, the dress was definitely an unusual wardrobe choice for his wife.
Her grin twisted a little, a bloom of color rose on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with secrets, but she just jerked a shoulder and said, “I fancied a change.”
Humming disbelievingly under his breath, he stepped closer to her, bent down, and scooped her up into his arms. He held her by the butt, she gripped his hips with her thighs, and, in that same position, he walked her over to the next best part about the private dining compartment.
In the dead center of the room sat the table. Dressed for fine dining with pristine white, linen tablecloths, and glass that sparkled like diamonds, the setting fit with the rest of the room. Creamy gold walls, abstract paintings that made no sense, and light fittings that were little glass balls of illumination.
Yet, in the corner, all was dark. Another table sat amid blackened crimson walls. Here, the lights were dim, creating shadows even at the time of day when the sun was at its highest.
Candles sat on this table, with its corner cubicle loaded with cushions, and made for comfort.
Considering he was friends with Esprit’s owner, Jean Gauvin, he knew what the man’s intention had been behind this tucked away corner.
Sex.
In public, but hidden.
Discreet, but still in the middle of a busy, celebrated restaurant.
Bastien grinned, headache forgotten as he took a seat on one of the high loungers. When her knees pinned him to the seat, and he slid his hands along the sleek curves, he murmured, “I think I like you in dresses.”
She pouted. “You think?”
He shook his head. “Okay, I know.” He leaned up and bussed her mouth with his own, a gentle kiss that ended with him nibbling her bottom lip. “But I like you to be comfortable too. So, tell me, why the dress? Because I know you hate them.”
Her cheeks flushed again and she leaned closer to him, her breath brushed his ear as she whispered, “No panties, a skirt…you can be inside me so much quicker.”
A few weeks ago, Devvy would have stuttered through such a statement.
Her shyness had been endearing and proof of her innocence. This creature, who was growing ever more confident, bold, and proud, just blew him away. It was as his mother had said. She was growing stronger just by being at the center of his and Alex’s world.
Unable to help himself, his hands slid higher up the outer curve of her thigh. Farther and farther until he reached her hip, her strap-free hip.
He groaned. “You’re not teasing.”
She tutted. “And why would I tease? Why wouldn’t I tell the truth?”
His grunt made her laugh. She rolled her hips, rocking them over his shaft and murmured, “I think someone’s happy I’m not wearing panties.”
Devvy reached between them, her fingers not fumbling an inch as she slid the zipper down and delved between the folds of fabric. When her hand encountered his cock, he groaned again, sweat already beading above his top lip. His head tilted backward to rest against the cubicle and he watched her face, the studious cast to her features, as she jerked him off.
That level of concentration always did him in. She put her all into everything, into pleasing him, and nothing got him hot as quickly as his wife’s intent to please him.
Her fingers were strong and sure as they gripped his cock, sliding along the length, clenching down as they reached the base. One hand dropped and cupped his balls, while the other returned to the head of his cock. Nimble fingers tickled the tip, rubbing and caressing the glans, making his hips jerk every time she gently pinched the rim.
His breathing was fast, far too fast. She did this to him every time, yet she still doubted her power over him.
The thought, the only one in his brain now, rammed home. His hand slipped under her skirt and he reached for her wrist, gently halting her movements.
“Mignonne,” he panted, feeling on the edge of coming but refusing to do so outside of his wife’s pussy.
“Yes, cher?” she asked, her voice sultry, deep. So unlike the Devvy of old that his heart throbbed and his cock twitched in her hold.
“No matter what,” he whispered, throat working as her other hand continued to play with his balls. “No matter what happens, I love you. You know that, oui?”
She smiled, the simple twitch of her lips so devastatingly sexy, he wanted to explode. “I do.”
The two words, filled with cocksurety, had him grinning. “You do, do you?”
Devvy winked, leaned down, and pressed her lips to his. She rubbed her mouth back and forth, and then retreated to his ear again where she nibbled the lobe. “I love you, too.”
Not by one inch did he show his relief. Instead, his other hand, the one holding her thigh, squeezed slightly. “I think you should show me how much.”
Laughter barked from her. “I should?” she asked, the tilt to her head coy and all the more sexy for it.
She didn’t wait for an answer, instead, arched up, her hips rolling back as his cock collided with the outer lips of her sex. He moaned, fingers and toes clenching down as she teased him. Sliding her pussy along the length of his shaft, nudging her clit with his cock head. She liked to do that, masturbate with his dick instead of her fingers. And he loved her to do it. Every single time, it got hotter. Dragged him to the brink of explosion.
As she worked herself on him, his cock grew wetter with her juices. Her hips started to jerk frantically and he knew she was close. He also knew this was another pair of pants ruined.
All in a good cause, though, hein?
He grabbed her hips and brought her to a halt. A sulky pout was his reward, but his hand slipped between their legs and he angled himself toward her cunt. Gently, slowly, so slow that it killed something inside him, he started to push home.
She mewled as he started to penetrate her, as always, taking his time to make sure she was ready for him. Her breathing whistled past his ear as she collapsed on him, tucking her head against his neck so damp skin could collide with damp skin.
The sounds she made were like a siren call. They egged him on while calling him back, forcing him to be in control, because he refused to hurt her.
It took a good minute for him to start the slide deep, and her cries had him clenching his eyes shut. Finally, when he was tucked inside her, the both of them sat there, already exhausted. Her muscles clamped down, milking him but he wanted her pleasure, too. Otherwise, it was bittersweet.
Devvy had different ideas.
She lifted her hips a scant few inches, and then dropped down. Her inner muscles pulled taut as she did. His hands clamped down on her waist, trying to stop her, but she shook her head against his throat, refusing to stop, telling him silently she was in control here.
He let her manipulate him, enjoying her confidence as she rocked back and forth, clenching down harder each time. She literally milked his shaft with her pussy, dragging out the cum, urging and encouraging it from his cock.
His cry of pleasure ricocheted around the room, as did his panting. Behind his eyes, where the ache of earlier had be
en, fire burned and branded him.
His wife’s fire. His wife’s brand.
He sighed as the pleasure drained away, all tension and stress with it.
Her gasps of need whispered past his Adam’s apple and he tutted, “Why did you do that, hein?”
Her legs twitched as she continued to rock back and forth. “You had a headache.”
He grinned. “You’re my personal prescription of ibuprofen, are you?”
Her head shot back and she glared at him. “You’re my husband. I’m supposed to take care of you.”
“And you’re my wife,” he retorted. “I’m supposed to take care of you!”
Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the hips, dragged her off his limp shaft, and placed her on the edge of the table. Spreading her legs, within five seconds, he had his mouth buried at her cunt. He slurped at the juices, tasting himself, but mostly, tasting her pleasure. Her cries, now, were high-pitched, edgy, filled with need.
He sucked down against her clit, nibbling the little nub, biting it and teasing. He rimmed the small hole that had, moments ago, given him such pleasure. Slipping his tongue deep, he heard her moan of pleasure and flickered his tongue upward again. Sliding two fingers into her cunt, he drew those wet digits down to rub against her butt. Rimming the pucker, his mouth returned to its earlier task.
As he sucked down, the two fingertips edging deeper into her ass, she screamed. The sound made his ears ring, and his lusty chuckle vibrated against her most tender flesh, a move that had her nearly falling back onto the table and destroying a small fortune in glassware.
He grabbed her waist and kept her upright, enjoying the little spasms as she worked through the climax he’d just given her.
When her hoarse gasps had calmed, he returned her to her earlier position on his lap.
“I think we should eat like this, non?” At her tired nod, he just smiled. “Did you order us anything, or shall I order now?”
Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 18
