by Kitty French
The mellow sounds of a piano underscored the low level of chatter and the clink of silver on porcelain. It was all so very civilised. Except for this.
She couldn't look at Lucien.
"Excuse me. Butterfingers," she said, rolling her eyes. She was fairly sure her cheeks were glowing.
"Is there something wrong with your egg, Sophie?" Lucien asked, his face a mask of polite concern.
She cleared her throat and reached for her wine glass rather than answer him straight away for fear of what she might actually say.
"No, no, it's very nice," she said after a fortifying glug of wine, disconcerted when her voice came out in a helium squeak.
"Nice?" he frowned, clearly displeased with her bland choice of words. The vibrations of the egg intensified.
Christ. She cleared her throat desperately and glanced at Peter Carmichael in the hope that he'd start a conversation about anything in the world except for eggs. Her body throbbed.
"Lucien tells me you're new to the adult entertainment industry, Sophie. I hope you're not finding it too shocking."
Okay, so that didn't help. "Well, it's never dull," she managed, wishing she could say more but finding it hard to engage her brain and her mouth because Lucien had flicked the egg onto pulsate.
She couldn't eat another mouthful, and her cheeks must be redder than ripe tomatoes. Surely the Carmichaels must have realised that there was something amiss? But their conversation continued, flowing around her as if everything was perfectly normal.
How could that be? She was knickerless and being massaged internally by her lover whilst he conducted a conversation about the uptick in sex toy sales following the recent explosion of erotic fiction onto the adult entertainment market. She fought the sensations inside her with every ounce of self-control she possessed, struggling to keep possession of her thoughts and expression. She glanced at Lucien’s poker face. Nothing to see, nothing to plead with.
The plates were cleared, and Sophie could have sagged with relief when Lucien ceased his ministrations as the waiter circled the table topping up their glasses. She even managed a couple of minutes’ worth of impressively lucid conversation with their guests as their main courses arrived. Sophie’s first thought was relief that her plate was egg-free. She glanced across from her divine-looking pink lamb to Lucien's snowy white fish. It sat centrally on a bed of pale green baby leeks, accompanied by not one, not two, but three whole little coddled quail’s eggs.
She swallowed painfully, and looked up at him, panic-stricken, as the wine waiter momentarily distracted the Carmichaels’ attention.
"Lucien, please don't," she hissed through a clenched smile, and in response he speared one of the eggs and raised it to his lips.
"Don't what, princess?" he asked, low enough for only Sophie to catch. "This?" He clicked the love egg back into life and held her gaze. Where was that remote? The Carmichaels would know it instantly if they saw it. They'd probably made the damn thing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Every nerve ending in her body responded, and it took more effort than Sophie had ever dreamed she could muster not to jolt, nor groan, nor allow any flicker of emotion to cross her face.
"Or this?" Lucien glanced at the Carmichaels to ensure they were still distracted, then licked the tip of the egg. "Did you enjoy sliding the egg inside you this morning, Sophie? I enjoyed imagining you doing it." He slid his lips all the way over the egg and devoured it with a satisfied swallow. "Tastes good. I bet you'd taste even better if I dropped to my knees right now under this table." He stabbed a second egg, and then ratcheted up the vibrations in Sophie's body. She couldn't be certain that she didn't whimper.
"I want to eat you."
He turned the love-egg up to full speed just as the waiter drifted away and the Carmichaels turned back to them.
"Where were we?" Elron smiled, picking up his cutlery.
Even in her unprecedented situation, Sophie felt fairly certain that 'I was on the verge of orgasming while my boss lewdly sucks eggs' wasn't an appropriate response.
"We were just about to toss a coin, actually," Lucien said with a smile. "Notre Dame or The Louvre? Sophie can't decide which she'd like to visit this afternoon. As it’s her first time in Paris I feel honour bound to give her a little time off."
Peter Carmichael took the bait, and Sophie nodded her way through the merits of each as she picked unfocusedly at her lamb and tried her best not to react when Lucien changed the egg’s rhythm. It was exquisite torture. Pulse. Vibrate. Wave. Pulse. Vibrate. Wave. She wanted to squirm in her chair. She wanted to gasp out loud. She wanted Lucien.
He stilled the vibrations as their plates were finally cleared again, and Sophie glanced around for a possible escape route to the ladies’ room. Lucien caught her eye and shook his head slowly, a clear warning that he was onto her plan and disapproved of it. He couldn’t disguise the wickedness of his smile.
"Dessert next, Sophie. It's one of my favourites."
"It is?"
"Oh, definitely," Lucien nodded conversationally, as two waiters arrived at their table bearing dessert wine and their final courses to go with it.
How bad could a simple pudding be? Sophie hardly dared look down.
Very bad, as it turned out.
Fresh figs lounged indolently on her plate. Halved, they were eye-wateringly, scandalously feminine displays of glistening pink flesh, damp with beads of honey, dark juices pooling in their centres. Their burst open skins were seemingly unequal to the struggle of containing their rosy nectar, their sweet, seductive scent was a waft of delicate perfume.
It was, in short, the most indecent pudding Sophie had ever clapped eyes on. And predictably, Lucien chose the moment she touched a fork against it to reignite the vibrations inside her body. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.
Enough was enough. Sophie laid her cutlery down and reached instead for her wine. She needed to take charge of this situation, and that called for a bolstering shot of Dutch courage.
Selecting her spoon as her weapon of choice, she glanced around the table with a light laugh. "This looks almost too pretty to eat." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips for Lucien's benefit. He didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed a little, and his finger pressed the button to increase the egg’s intimate vibrations.
Sophie tensed her stomach muscles against the sensation and plunged her spoon into one of the glistening figs before sliding the pink flesh between her lips. She didn't have to fake her enjoyment. It was heavenly.
"Gosh, these are sweet and juicy," she murmured, licking her spoon at Lucien as Peter and Elron, clearly devoted pudding-lovers, were engrossed in their desserts.
His grey blue eyes blazed, and Sophie revelled in the satisfaction of taking back the upper hand. For a moment.
Lucien went nuclear on the egg's control button. Wave, pulse, vibrate. Wave, pulse, vibrate. Faster, deeper, harder.
Sophie had herself under control. Just. She scooped out the rose flesh of another fig and held eye contact with Lucien as she took it slowly into her mouth. This was way more than dessert. It was a battle of wills.
Elron was marvelling at the perfect fusion of the wine and dessert as she savoured the velvet flesh in her mouth. She managed to nod politely in agreement, while only just refraining from banging her fists on the tabletop and noisily orgasming there and then.
What was this? A test of how many rom-com references could be crammed into one lunch date?
Sophie just hoped no one said 'I'll have what she's having.' Because no one was having Lucien apart from her.
"A gastronomic triumph." Peter Carmicheal rubbed his well-fed gut. "Coffee?"
"Sounds perfect," Lucien said, making Sophie want to stab him with her bread knife.
"But I'm afraid Sophie and I will have to leave you gentlemen to it." He glanced at his watch. "There's somewhere we need to be."
Chapter Eighteen
Lucien all but dragged Sophie into the back of the limo when they stepped out on
to the pavement.
"You vixen." His mouth was on her ear. His hands were everywhere. He lunged to
slide up the privacy screen a second before he pulled her across his lap and pushed her skirt up.
"I've wanted to do this since the moment you walked into the restaurant."
Sophie couldn't hold the groan in when he flicked the egg back into life again, because she was straddled over his erection.
"You seemed to enjoy your dessert a little too much, Ms. Black," he murmured, pulling her mouth down onto his as she yanked his shirt free of his trousers and unfastened his belt.
Sophie sucked down air when Lucien tugged experimentally on the string of tiny pearls that led to the egg.
"I take it from the look on your face that you like your Easter gift?"
He increased the vibrations and flicked the pad of his thumb up and down over her clitoris, small, targeted movements that had her squirming.
"Better than chocolate," she managed, and he moaned as her fingers surrounded his cock. Christ, he was so ready, and he had her drenched as he wound the pearl tether around his fingers and slid the still vibrating egg slowly out of her body.
Lucien's hot, probing tongue slid around inside her mouth as he settled her over his cock.
"Thank God," she breathed as he buried himself inside her then held her against him hip to hip.
His bold smile pressed against her lips. "Better now?"
"Much better." Sophie unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over the hard, warm expanse of his chest. He shifted his hips a little in response and groaned as he moved inside her with slow, satisfying thrusts.
Lucien's hand snaked between them and his other hand clamped over her mouth when she squealed with shock as the vibrating egg in his hand buzzed against her clitoris.
"Shhh," he laughed softly and held her steady, perfectly aware that she was going to come hard and fast within seconds.
He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body against his naked chest, the vibrating egg wedged between their bodies. He thrust purposefully once, twice, three more times before her body arched rigid with the intensity of release, magnified by the fact that Lucien's body bucked sharply at the same time.
A few breaths later, he stilled the egg’s vibrations and covered her mouth with the slow, blissful kisses of a sexually satisfied man.
A couple of hours later, Sophie stood in front of the Mona Lisa and wondered what must have passed through the sitter’s mind. Her perfectly rendered ambiguous expression and enigmatic smile certainly suggested that she knew something the rest of world didn't. Maybe Leonardo Da Vinci had been naked when he painted her.
Sophie caught herself and wondered at the path her mind had just taken. If she'd come here with anyone but Lucien she'd no doubt have admired the painting in a more scholarly fashion. Being around him seemed to pare away her layers of respectability and leave her five steps closer to her cavewoman ancestors.
Was it a better way to live? It was certainly more fun in the short term. But this wasn't short term for Lucien, it was his life. Sophie wasn't sure who had a better outlook on the world. Then she lost her train of thought completely when Lucien placed his hand on her hip and kissed her neck.
"Seen enough?"
She sighed happily and turned around. "I think so. Thank you for bringing me here. I didn't seriously expect you to show me the sights."
She’d thought Lucien was making small talk with the Carmichaels when he'd asked for their opinions on the best landmarks, but she’d been wrong. Their clothing straightened and features relatively composed after their steamy clinch in the limo, they’d been dropped off at Notre Dame. After a leisurely inspection, they’d sat down for strong French coffees at a pavement cafe, then spent the last couple of hours strolling around the Louvre.
Lucien had proved himself a remarkably knowledgeable guide in ways Sophie hadn't anticipated, offering snippets and anecdotes as they made their way around. She very much doubted whether many other Parisian tour guides would have informed her that the traditional champagne coupe glass had reportedly been modelled on the shape of Marie Antoinette’s breasts.
"I like playing hooky with you," he said now, guiding her out of the museum and past the huge, sharp-edged glass pyramid, so fabulously, incongruously different to the grand palace wrapped around it.
If their chauffeur had any idea of what had taken place in the seclusion behind his privacy screen after they’d left the restaurant, he didn't allow it to show on his face as he held Sophie's door open for her to climb in. Lucien slid in beside her, and as the car moved away into the heavy traffic Sophie leaned wearily against him. He stretched his arm along her shoulders and stroked her hair.
"Tired, princess?"
His fingers settled on the curve of her neck, a slow, firm, massaging pressure that made her tip her head back onto his arm in pleasure.
"Bushed."
"No clubbing tonight for you then?"
Sophie's feet ached from sight-seeing and her body ached – admittedly pleasurably - from the sexual marathon of the last twenty-four hours.
"Can we maybe just stay in?"
Lucien frowned. "With Paris on our doorstep?"
Sophie rolled her head sideways to look at him. "We can look at it from the balcony."
His eyebrows were still lowered.
"What's wrong?" Sophie lifted her head and scrutinised him.
He shrugged. "I just don't want you to get the wrong idea."
She laughed softly. "Staying in is too domesticated for you?"
Lucien's mouth twisted to the side. "I don't do cosy nights in."
"Lucien, you are officially the least cosy man I've ever known, okay? I'm just knackered." It crossed her mind too that a night in at the incredible penthouse was hardly the same as slumping on a suburban sofa in front of a soap opera.
He scanned her face for a few seconds and then sighed.
"Fine. We'll stay in. We can eat on the balcony."
Dinner for two on the balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower had romance stamped all over it in bright red ink, but Sophie refrained from mentioning it. It sounded beyond heavenly, and she knew that if she did he was likely to suggest something far more exhaustingly depraved as an alternative.
"Can we watch a movie too?" She pushed her luck for the hell of it.
"Only if it's porn."
"An Officer and a Gentleman?"
"Emmanuelle?"
Sophie smiled and closed her eyes as she rested her head back on his arm.
"I'll meet you in the middle. Nine and a half weeks."
Lucien pressed send on the thank you email he'd just composed to Louis Duval, one of his oldest and closest friends. A man who'd grown up in the school of hard knocks, Louis had recognised a kindred spirit in Lucien the moment he'd shown up for a job interview as barman at one of his adult clubs in the French capital. The older man had seen the spark behind the young Norwegian's scowl, and he'd taken the time to mentor his protege from barman to businessman. Over the intervening years they'd remained firm friends, and it was as Louis's guests that Lucien and Sophie now stayed in the penthouse. The man himself was overseas at his Barbados residence for the winter; he was a warm-blooded man who liked to follow the sun.
Lucien looked up from his laptop, distracted by Sophie as she padded through from the bedroom, fresh, fragrant and flushed from the bath.
"Dinner will be here soon," he said, inhaling the scent of her as she passed the antique desk. "I'm almost done here." He gestured towards the paperwork scattered around the computer.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Remembering her PA responsibilities almost guiltily, Sophie hovered at his shoulder.
"Yes." He plucked at the belt of her robe idly. "Get out of this, or get out of reach so I can finish up."
No guilt required, then. Not professionally, anyway. Sophie leaned down and kissed him, her open mouth warm and inviting over his for a few brief seconds before she straightened. "I guess
I'll go and watch that movie then."
He smacked her bottom as she moved away, retribution for leaving him alone at the desk trying to think straight despite his now swelling cock.
He breathed deeply and centred his thoughts on work, but he heard Sophie laugh at some British comedy she'd found on the TV and found he wanted it to be him she was laughing with instead.
He could still smell her bubble bath, and he could see her reflection in the mirror over the desk. She was curled on the end of the sofa, drying her freshly washed hair with her fingers, the subdued light of the TV illuminating her in hues of pale blue and silver as she smiled.
It was no good. His concentration was shot. He threw his pen down, clicked the laptop shut and got to his feet.
"You're a distraction." He leaned against the doorway with his arms folded.
"Sorry." She patted the sofa. "Come and watch for a while until dinner arrives."
He paused for a second, about to refuse, but his legs had other ideas and carried him over to her. She swivelled around as he sat down, lying herself flat along the sofa with her head in his lap. Okay, so that was unexpected.
"Tell me it's not a slushy movie." He rubbed her hair dry, damp silk in his fingers.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't panic. Dinner will be here in a minute and save you from the romance."
"I can think of another way to pass the time," he said, but she stilled the hand he'd been about to slide into her robe and held it to her cheek instead. Her lips brushed warm on his palm, and he curved his fingers, cupping her face as she closed her eyes.
It soothed him to see her serene and untroubled, properly at ease for once. He'd known all along that bringing her to Paris would force a make-or-break situation between them, but had gambled that it would be worth it, because having her around him in the office day in day out without being able to touch her was definitely more hindrance than help. These last couple of days she'd finally allowed the other Sophie Black out to play again, and already she looked a more fulfilled woman for it. Was the bloom in her cheeks the lingering result of time spent in the warm bathroom, or something more? She opened her eyes and looked up at him, a sparkle where there had been only dullness of late.
