French Kissing: Season Two

by Harper Bliss

  “Bring your hands above your head.” To see Margot in such a different light, so ready to give her all to Claire, made her voice break a little.

  Claire headed to the night stand which had, pre-Margot, mostly been empty, but was now filled with objects Margot had brought for them to play with. She only needed the silk scarf for now. She wasn’t sure any other toys would be necessary tonight, wasn’t sure she had the nerve to go that far. Because as much as she had difficulty surrendering to Margot the way she had done so easily before the whole Inez ordeal, tonight, she was breaking boundaries for both of them.

  She pulled out the scarf and let it slide through her fingers before refocusing her attention on Margot. Did she really need to see her like that? Tied up and at her mercy? Or was it something else she needed. She had apologies—a million of them. She had Margot’s word that she would never break Claire’s trust again. Knowing Margot, she’d rather amputate her own arm than ever display such weakness again. She had her love. That was obvious. If she hadn’t, Margot de Hay would not be lying outstretched on her bed like this, ready to be bound. Then what did she need? What was surrender more than this? It wasn’t Margot who needed to surrender anyway. It was Claire.

  Claire knew in her heart she could never say the words that Margot uttered to her in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t that kind of person. So what was she trying to prove? Surely, no climaxes could come of this. Or was she overthinking the whole thing again, just like she had been unable to stop doing since they’d gotten back together?

  Margot turned her head and looked Claire straight in the eyes. She didn’t say anything but there was a definite question in her glance. What’s it going to be, sweetheart? It spurred her on. She crawled onto the bed, scarf in hand, and proceeded to fasten Margot’s wrists to the railing. Perhaps using handcuffs would have been more daring, but Claire couldn’t separate the cuffs from Margot handling them. It would be sacrilege to use them on her. Silly, but that was how it felt deep down in her gut.

  After she made sure Margot’s hands were securely bound, Claire crawled to the end of the bed and looked at Margot lying there. With her hands above her head, her small breasts jutted out. Her breath came fast, lifting her ribcage up and down. Claire already knew this was as far as she would go. Restricting Margot’s ability to use her hands was a big step. Or should she immobilise those kickboxer legs as well? No, this was more than enough.

  Seeing Margot like that didn’t register as entirely right in Claire’s mind, but it didn’t fail to spark some fire beneath her skin. It was the contrast between the paralysis of her hands and that fighting glint in her black eyes that stoked the fire in her belly.

  “Are you enjoying this?” The question didn’t come out exactly in the tone of voice Claire had planned. “Can you really give yourself up to me?” What aroused Claire even more was the memory of Margot saying something similar to her. Margot could put such threat in her voice, such menace, that the words alone were usually enough to leave Claire soaking wet.

  “I can.” Margot’s words were sparse now. And determined.

  If she could pull this off, Claire could lord this evening over Margot for the rest of their lives—if they had a life together after this. “Remember when you bottomed for me, baby?” she would be able to ask. But, then again, it would only ever take them back to the reason why Claire felt Margot needed to.

  “Can you?” Of course, Margot could see the doubt on Claire’s face. Claire wasn’t having any of that, though. She’d come this far. No matter her trepidation, she wanted to see this through.

  Claire started to undo the buttons of her blouse. She took her time before throwing it to the floor, staring into the darkness of Margot’s eyes while doing so. Her bra came next. She briefly stepped off the bed to slip out of the rest of her clothes, but made sure not to lose eye contact. Was this turning Margot on? She’d have to check.

  Without saying a word, and now fully naked, Claire hopped back on the bed and positioned herself next to Margot’s hips. Margot kept her legs together, but not in a firm clasp. Claire easily slipped her hand in between and trailed a finger over Margot’s pussy lips. She was wet like a river.

  “Jesus,” Claire muttered.

  Margot stared at her, her front teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Could she tell that Claire was about to fall apart? That, inside of her, a battle was raging? Because Claire wanted to be the one lying there, with Margot’s fingers gliding along her pussy lips, threatening entrance, teasing the possibility of a quick relief but never, ever delivering such a thing. Claire knew for a fact she didn’t have that kind of patience in her.

  Margot spread her legs and showed herself to Claire and, in that action, she took charge. God, Claire wanted her to say something, to release her, dismiss her from top duty, but Margot was not that kind of person. She was in all the way, in this fight to get Claire back. Yet, there was such dominance in Margot’s act of submission. Claire hadn’t given her a command. Margot had waited for that quick look of shock—of coming undone—on Claire’s face to spread her legs. And Claire could feel herself becoming soaked as well, her clit throbbing wildly between her thighs, her desire for Margot flaring higher than ever.

  But it was more relief than anything that coursed through her in that moment. Although Claire was still far removed from actually being in the position Margot found herself in, she realised that she wanted to be.

  She tried to think of something Margot would say to her if Claire was tied to the bed like this, tried to remember those words that seemed to come so naturally to her lover when she did these things to her, but Claire was not a dirty talker—as much as she enjoyed being talked to like that, she didn’t have those words in her, couldn’t get them past her throat without them coming back to her sounding ridiculous and unnatural.

  Instead, she just let her finger slip deeper inside of Margot, whose eyes blinked shut for a split second as she did. This was the true moment of surrender. Claire wouldn’t ask it of her, because she knew there was no point, but if Margot could come for her, like this, then… Then what? What did it prove? Nothing, and everything.

  Claire scanned Margot’s face. Did she ever let Inez do this to her? Was this what would set them apart once and for all? And what was Margot thinking of when her eyes fell shut like that? If only Claire could stop this relentless assault of questions in her mind. To do so, she added another finger and fucked Margot at a faster pace.

  The way Margot met her strokes made her own pussy lips tingle. Claire focused her attention on Margot’s cunt, and how her fingers disappeared inside of her, how Margot welcomed them. Out of nowhere, the memory of Margot showing up at her office that time, and instructing Claire to stroke herself right there, hit her. It made her want to touch herself, while she was fucking Margot.

  Claire let her knees slide open on the bed. Before taking care of herself, she gave Margot one more of her fingers, spreading her wide, the sight of Margot’s filled-up cunt only increasing her need. Then Claire circled her own clit with the middle finger of her other hand, and it was no longer a question of surrender. The letting-go part was removed entirely from this equation. This was pure lust, unseen excitement rushing through her veins, fuelling her clit with more blood.

  Undoubtedly, Margot seeing Claire touch herself spurred on her arousal as well. Her pelvis greeted Claire’s fingers with increasing enthusiasm. Soon, Claire was trapped in a whirlwind of bestowing a climax upon Margot while welcoming her own.

  “Oh, Claire,” Margot crooned. “Oh god.” She tugged at her restraints and it pushed Claire right over the edge. Her clit trilled against her finger as she came much harder than anticipated, the orgasm taking most of her energy.

  Margot’s body had relaxed by the time Claire came back to her senses. Her face was drawn into a serious expression.

  “Jesus.” Claire let her fingers slip from Margot. Speechless, she sat watching her for a moment. She should probably untie her, but the sight of Margot tied up was
still having an effect on her.

  Then, Margot’s face split into a wide, confident smile, as though she knew she was back in. Maybe she was.

  “Untie me,” Margot said, an edge in her voice that Claire couldn’t ignore even if she wanted to. It was the voice of someone who needed to be obeyed.

  Claire obliged quickly, her arousal growing again. As soon as Margot’s hands were loose she pulled Claire close to her.

  “Please remember this feeling,” she said, and Claire had no idea how she could ever forget.

  STEPH

  Steph cursed herself for having promised Juliette that she would call Dominique. Her calls and texts had started to diminish and Steph didn’t want to admit to herself how she really felt about that. Besides, she had a more important task to complete. Draw Sybille out. If she knew one thing, it was that the bitch was easy to seduce. If she was working for Marechal, Dominique’s rival had made at least one grave error of judgement. Sure, Sybille had delivered so far, but now that Steph was no longer vulnerable—no longer attached to Dominique—her claws could come out as well and she would take care of Sybille once and for all.

  Steph didn’t know yet how exactly she would go about it. She had to think first. And call Dominique. Not that she believed that Juliette and Claire wouldn’t go through with promoting her if she failed to deliver on that promise—Steph knew she had far more to offer than a phone call to a desperate, top client—but part of her was rather keen to hear Dominique’s voice.

  She sat alone at the bar of L’Univers. She wanted to be in a public place for it, to not turn it into an intimate moment. And this way, she was also close to Le Noir if she needed a distraction afterwards. Or perhaps tonight would be a good night for her rentrée at Les Pêches. She couldn’t stay away forever. She just had to get over that initial awkwardness.

  Her phone lay defiantly on the counter in front of her. Nerves tore through her as she reached for it. What would she say? She would just let Dominique do the talking. The last time they had spoken was when Steph had told her they should stop seeing each other.

  She tapped the screen a few times until Dominique’s number came up. A quick sip of her beer and she clicked the green phone button. It was ringing. Maybe she wouldn’t pick up. She was always busy. Maybe there was an MLR meeting going on, or she was being admonished by Xavier Laroche—

  “Allo? Stéphanie?” The sound of Dominique’s voice destroyed Steph much more than she could have imagined. The edge of hope in it crushed her. “Allo?”

  “Yes. Hey.” Steph failed miserably at trying to sound casual.

  “Meet me.” Dominique cut to the chase. “Please. Five minutes. Please.”

  Oh shit, so much for doing this in a public space. Tears stung behind Steph’s eyes. “I can’t.” Steph couldn’t convince anyone with those lame words, least of all Dominique.

  “I’ll come to yours. I can come now. Please. Just five minutes.”

  “It’s not a good idea.” Steph tried to steel herself. “It won’t change anything.”

  “Listen to me, Stéphanie.” Dominique said it in her most toppy voice. “I’m going to be waiting at the front door of your place”—she paused, possibly to check her watch—“in thirty minutes. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

  What could she say? That she wasn’t planning on going home tonight? She would never show such blatant disrespect to this woman she was having such a hard time getting over. “Fine.” This was the exact reason Steph had not answered Dominique’s calls and messages. She knew that if she talked to her there was a good possibility this would happen. “I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.” Dominique didn’t hang up immediately and Steph couldn’t bring herself to either. But then it got awkward, the pair of them breathing into the phone, and they disconnected.

  Steph would have to hurry if she wanted to make it to her flat within thirty minutes. Unless she splurged on a taxi. What the hell, she’d probably become a partner at Barbier & Cyr soon. And she needed another beer before she could face Dominique.

  * * *

  When the taxi pulled up in front of her building, Dominique’s car was already there. Steph hurried up the stairs and found Dominique leaning against her front door. The sight shocked her, waves of anguish and regret washing over her in thick gulps.

  “Hey.” Dominique looked as though she was modelling for a fall catalogue in her Burberry overcoat, brown leather boots and beige turtleneck.

  Steph was overcome with the crushing desire to kiss her, but she didn’t. Where would that lead them? Instead, she clumsily fished her keys out of her jeans pocket and opened the door. Pierrot ran towards her like a mad cat. Dominique crouched down to scratch him behind the ears.

  “Hey, little fella,” she said. “I missed you.” Steph had to swallow hard.

  “Can I get you anything?” Steph squeezed the words out of her throat.

  “Oh Stéphanie.” Dominique had risen again. Pierrot was meowing for food, but Steph ignored him. “Please. I just want to…” She stopped there.

  “Wine?” Steph offered, willing herself to stay in the spot where she was standing. Dominique looked, at the same time, so un-like herself and yet so quintessentially Dominique Laroche. There was determination in her eyes, but also sadness.

  “Steph, please listen to me.” Dominique regrouped and shrugged off her rain coat. “Can I sit?”

  “Sure,” Steph muttered, already falling apart. She took one step towards the kitchenette to grab a bottle of Pinot Gris from the fridge.

  “Please, just sit with me.” It was the pleading Steph couldn’t deal with. If only Dominique would yell at her. Call her a coward for ditching her the way she had. Or express her disappointment in a different way than sitting here in that threadbare Ikea sofa that barely held it together as well. “I don’t need wine. I just need to talk to you.”

  What if Steph needed wine? Dominique didn’t have that sort of hold over her anymore, where when she said something in a certain tone, Steph would automatically oblige.

  “I understand why you did what you did.” Dominique didn’t wait any longer. Maybe she was on the clock. Had somewhere more important to be. “I do.”

  Steph didn’t have the strength anymore to hold on to the bottle. She placed it on the kitchen counter and leaned against a cabinet. Even if one person was in the living room and another in the kitchen, Parisian studio apartments always facilitated intimate conversations.

  “But I know you, Stéphanie.” Dominique continued, with a slight hiccup in her voice. “I know you won’t show it, but I know you’re hurting as much as I am.”

  “Jesus.” Steph clasped her fingers tighter around the kitchen countertop. “Is that why you came here?” She only had rage to hide behind. “Don’t you have something more important to worry about? Like that Marechal woman? Or that anything else from your past will be leaked?”

  “I came here because I’m worried about you.” Dominique shuffled around a bit, but Steph knew she thrived under attack. “And no, nothing or no one is more important than you.”

  “Don’t say that.” Heat flared in Steph’s gut. “What about Lisa and Didier and the things they hear about their mother? Doesn’t that trouble you?”

  “Don’t.” Dominique rose, making Pierrot jump. The poor cat still hadn’t been fed. Dominique’s heels clicked loudly on the shabby hardwood floor as she took two steps in Steph’s direction. “Do not bring my children into this.”

  Another coward move. Steph had been making a lot of those. Yet, she remained convinced she had acted in everyone’s best interests—except, perhaps, her own.

  “Do you enjoy being a martyr? For me? For my party?” Dominique shook her head. “You despise the MLR. So it must be for me.” Dominique stood so close Steph could feel her breath rush over her cheeks. “Because I don’t need anyone to suffer for me. Least of all you.”

  “I don’t expect you to thank me, but I’m glad that you at least understand.” Offence was Steph’s o
nly defence when Dominique was so close Steph could smell her perfume.

  “Oh, I understand, Stéphanie. I do.” Dominique tipped her head, narrowed her eyes. “Tell me one thing though. How many women have you slept with since you broke up with me”—she curled her fingers into air quotes—“for the cause?” She dropped her hands and planted them next to Steph’s on the counter. “Hm? And how many times were you thinking of me when you did?”

  “I need you to leave now.” Steph leaned her head backwards. “My private life is no longer any of your business.”

  “Do you really want me to leave?” Dominique must have known she was starting to break through Steph’s defences. Her hands crawled closer to Steph’s, their fingers touching. “Or is this just your typical Steph way of asking me to stay? You know, like when you said we shouldn’t see each other anymore?”

  “Don’t be so naive.” Steph’s heart thumped in her chest. “I saved your political career. Do you think you’d be where you are now, left with a fighting chance, if I’d stayed with you?”

  Dominique shot her a small grin. “Oh Steph. Do you really—”

  “No. Stop.” Steph needed her to fully understand once and for all. “You were smitten. You couldn’t see things clearly. Living in this insane dreamworld where you and I could successfully be together while you what? Became our country’s first female President?” Steph straightened her posture, fully facing Dominique. “I knew all along that this would have to end sooner rather than later. I knew when I saw you vote for same-sex marriage, and I knew when you were being interviewed alongside Goffin. Hell, I knew the second I stepped into my rental car after our holiday in Juan-les-Pins. If that makes me a martyr in your eyes, so be it, but in my world—as opposed to the planet you’ve been living on the past few months—that makes me the only sane person in this room.”