by BETH KERY
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes, I understand . . . you devil,” she added under her breath.
She got another hard one for that.
She bit her lip but couldn’t stop her moan of arousal when he parted her ass cheeks with one hand and paddled the flesh just over her asshole. Her anus tightened reflexively and tingled at the illicit blows.
By the time he stopped and replaced the paddle in the drawer, the surface of her ass burned. She watched over her shoulder with a mixture of curiosity, anxiety, and excitement as he lubricated the black plug. She noticed that it was tapered at the end and then grew wider, but then it narrowed again to a thin stem at the base. Lucien glanced up at her face as he walked toward her, plug in hand.
“The narrowed stem will keep it secure once it’s inserted,” he said, obviously noticing her trepidation and curiosity.
“You mean . . . while we go out?” she asked shakily as he used one of his hands to part an ass cheek. She shivered when he pressed the tip against her anus. It felt cool against the nerve-packed tissue, the pressure stimulating.
“Of course while we go out. No one will know but you. And me, of course. I’m assuming by your reactions that you are a virgin here?”
“If I was a virgin in the other location, do you really think I’d not be one for this?” she asked, exasperated. His low chuckle caused goose bumps to rise along her neck.
“You give head like a seasoned professional, Elise. How am I to know what sexual escapades you got yourself into? I am pleased, though,” he added gruffly, “that you saved this for me.”
His voice rang in her head. That you saved this for me.
He pushed the tip into her ass and her eyes sprang wide.
“Lucien, I don’t think—”
“Stay still,” he instructed harshly when she shifted. He put his hand on her hip, immobilizing her.
“Oh,” she gasped as he gently sawed the slick plug back and forth for a moment, pushing the thicker part farther into her ass with each pass. She moaned uncontrollably. He pushed, and finally the rubber plug was submerged, the base pressed snugly against her buttocks. Lucien caressed a hot ass cheek and she glanced back at him.
“It feels so strange.”
His hand slid around her hip. Her lower lip trembled when he casually flicked his forefinger against her swollen clit. Her ass muscles clenched around the clamp as pleasure stabbed through her.
“Strange?” he queried.
She wondered if he noticed the flush of heat that rose in her cheeks. “Strangely good,” she admitted grudgingly.
He smiled and removed his hand. He started to pull her skirt down over her ass.
“Stay still,” he said sharply when she tried to stand and assist him. He lowered the fabric down slowly over her stinging buttocks, his actions striking her as highly sensual. She remained bent over the bed as he smoothed the fabric around her hips and ass, the movements applying a subtle pressure to the butt plug, exciting her further.
“Ready?” he asked her when he raised her to a standing position and brushed a tendril of hair off her heated cheeks. She watched, going very still, as he removed the medium-sized plug from the box and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He placed a small bottle of lubricant in the other pocket. Her gaze darted to meet his stare.
For this?
“Not really,” she whispered.
He took her hand and kissed a knuckle, even that small gesture sending off fireworks in her overly sensitive body.
“Don’t worry. You will be,” he assured in a low voice that felt like knuckles gently rasping her spine.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucien unlocked the back door of Fusion and opened it for Elise to enter.
“Are we picking something up?” Elise asked him as she trailed him down the long hallway past his office a few seconds later.
He glanced back to answer and his gaze remained glued to the sight of her. He’d never seen her lips and cheeks so pink. She was the very image of a stunning, intensely sexually aroused woman. He had to force himself to look ahead before he stumbled over his own feet. He’d seen her slight wince when she’d sat down in the car earlier and had worried the plug was causing her discomfort. By the time he’d pulled out of the parking garage, however, her color had deepened, and he’d recognized her arousal. If her vivid cheeks and lips hadn’t told him, the teasing hint of her erect nipples visible even through the barrier of the fitted jacket would have informed him loud and clear what Elise experienced.
“No, you said you wanted to dine here,” he reminded her quietly as they entered Fusion’s empty, hushed dining room. “I arranged for the kitchen to be opened and a meal to be served just for us.”
“You didn’t call Denise to cook on her day off, did you?” Elise asked, clearly perplexed as she noticed the light on in the distant kitchen.
“No,” Lucien assured, leading her to a secluded private booth he reserved for his own use or for special guests when they requested it. He nodded toward the circular booth. Elise carefully sat and inched toward the middle of the candlelit table, draped with a white cloth.
“Then . . . who is cooking?” she asked when she’d settled and Lucien scooted in next to her.
“I think you’ll approve of the chef. He used to live in Paris. He and his partner, Richard St. Claire, owed me a favor, and they seemed very willing to even things up between us. Ah . . . here is Richard now.”
A very handsome dark-haired man with the slender build and light step of a dancer approached their table carrying a bottle of wine, his fingers twined around the stems of two wineglasses. He set down his burden on the table, smiling broadly. Lucien stood and the two men exchanged a warm greeting in French, shaking hands. Richard took Elise’s hand when Lucien introduced her.
“I hear tonight is a special occasion. So Lucien has finally found someone worthy of him,” Richard said, grinning slyly before he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Emile and I have said forever that no such creature exists. I will be glad to tell him we were wrong.”
“Emile?” Elise asked, politely bewildered.
“Emile Savaur,” Richard said as he began to uncork the wine, not noticing Elise’s mouth fall open in amazement. “We chose this one out of your private stock to suite the meal, just as you suggested,” Richard told Lucien as the cork slid out of the bottle. “Emile was green with envy over your selection, but he personally chose this for the oysters.” He held up the bottle of muscadet.
“Excellent choice,” Lucien murmured, glancing at Elise as she studied the wine label. “I once met an adorable little girl in Nice,” he said, referring to the fact that he’d handpicked the wine from Bellet Vineyards, near Nice.
Elise gave him a small, knowing smile.
“And please tell Emile that he should take another Bellet wine before he goes tonight,” Lucien said.
Richard glanced sideways as he poured the wine. “You can tell him yourself. Here he is,” Richard said. An older man with gray-streaked hair, a high forehead, and patrician features approached the table and set down an iced platter with a flourish.
“Tomales Bay oysters and mignonette sauce—my mother’s own recipe. I serve it only to family and close friends,” the world-renowned chef said briskly. “And I heard what you said about the wine, and you know you owe us nothing, Lucien. Richard and I would come and cook and serve for you ten times over for all you did in getting us that property in Paris years back. And who is this blooming rose?” Emile said, ignoring Lucien’s outstretched hand and turning to Elise.
“Elise,” she said simply, and Lucien was sure she didn’t want to be recognized as the wild-child, spoiled heiress of Louis Martin. And why should she, he wondered, studying her as Emile took her hand, when she had grown into so much more than that . . . when she was so much more th
an that stereotype? He’d once been foolish enough to try to squeeze her into that narrow role, but of course Elise could never be pigeonholed.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for years now,” Elise said, staring up at Emile with an amazed, starry-eyed expression. “I went to your restaurant in Paris several times. Your cuisine took me to a higher state of consciousness.”
Emile beamed at her stark, completely sincere-sounding compliment. “You’re referring to the very restaurant where Lucien found us ideal premises. It was no small favor on his part. That is why Richard and I are here tonight.”
“How is your mother?” Lucien asked Emile quietly as he released Elise’s hand.
“As opinionated as ever. You should hear the way she harangues the cook at her assisted-living facility.”
“And you wonder where you get it,” Richard said smugly.
Emile gave his lover a sly smile. “At your every command, Lucien. Come, Richard, I need some help with the quail.”
A few seconds later, Elise turned and stared at him. She still looked slightly startled.
“You got Emile Savaur to come and cook for us?” she asked hollowly.
“Yes. You know he’s opened a restaurant in town, don’t you?”
Her stunned expression told him that was hardly an explanation.
“I didn’t want a Fusion employee to come and do it, and you said you wanted to eat at Fusion,” he said, shrugging and unbuttoning his jacket. He handed her a glass of wine.
“He’s my absolute idol.”
“Then you prove what I already knew: you have excellent taste. I tried incessantly to get Emile to cook for me at one of my restaurants, but he prefers a self-owned establishment. He and Richard work exceptionally well together. I understand why he doesn’t want to change a perfect recipe. Emile’s mother lives here in the area, and has been unwell. That’s why they moved here and started a new restaurant.”
Elise still looked dazed following his explanation. He nudged the bottom of her glass. When she sipped some of the light gold fluid between her lips, he took her glass and set it down.
He placed his hands lightly on her rib cage and kissed her, catching her tiny gasp on his tongue. Her scent filled his nose—her familiar perfume mingling with the intoxicating smell of her arousal spicing her skin. He could never get enough of the fragrance of her.
“I love that wine, but it takes on a whole new dimension of deliciousness on your tongue,” he said a moment later next to her lips. He slipped the button of her jacket from its hole and lightly trailed his fingertips over the buttons of her sheer blouse, feeling the heat emanating off her skin, relishing the small shudder that went through her. He unfastened the top button of her blouse and reached into the opening. His cock lurched in excitement when he flicked his finger over a nipple. It was hard and swollen from the metal loops. They must be exquisitely sensitive.
“How are you feeling?” he asked in a hushed tone as he lightly tugged the nipple chain and a burst of air flew past her puffy, pink lips.
“Breathless?” she asked, panting slightly as she sat there motionless and he returned to tweaking her nipple.
He studied her somberly. “You are being a very good little slave for letting me play with you without protest. Don’t you want to tell me to stop?” he purred as he lightly pinched just the very end of the center nubbin of a crest, making it even more defined than it already had been. She dragged her front teeth across her lower lip when he turned his attentions to her other breast, and he knew she was trying to prevent herself from groaning.
“No. I know I agreed to this. But I am uncomfortable,” she gasped. “Because I’m afraid Richard or Emile will return while you’re . . .”
“Don’t worry,” he said when she faded off. “Richard and Emile believe in the intimacy of the dining experience. They won’t return until it’s time for the salad. They would want us to enjoy the wine and the oysters. And each other,” he added in a low voice as he leaned back and unbuttoned her blouse farther.
“Lucien,” she began, but she paused when he spread back first her jacket and then her thin blouse so that he could see her delectable breasts. Her nipples were a dark pink contrast to her pale skin, fat and erect and mouthwatering. The nipple chain trembled slightly between them. Perhaps she noticed the awe in his gaze combined with the sheer hunger, because she didn’t further her protest. Leaving her breasts exposed, he reached for the iced platter of oysters. He spooned on just a dash of the mignonette sauce and lifted one to her mouth. She kept her eyes on him as he placed the shell next to her mouth.
The oyster slipped between her lips.
She closed her mouth and her eyelids fell shut. His cock throbbed at the rapt expression of sensual pleasure on her face. He ran two fingers over the sweet swells of her upper breasts. Her mouth moved as she enjoyed the flavor of the fresh oyster to its fullest, squeezing the fragrant juices onto her tongue. He wanted to do that to her: savor her until he was drunk on her, ravish her until her taste filled his mouth and ran down his throat . . . absorb her into him.
“You’re exquisite. I have never wanted another woman more,” he murmured, running his lips over her flagrantly pink cheeks even as his fingertips did the same to the skin of her breasts, feeling her heat. You won’t ever want another woman as you do her.
The sound of a pan hitting a metallic surface jarred him from the unexpected, powerful thought. Elise jumped, her moment of rapt pleasure fracturing.
“Shhh,” Lucien soothed, kissing her temple. “Have you never dropped a pan before?” he asked, running his hand along the bare skin of her ribs and feeling her tremble. He loved how delicate she felt in his hands, how responsive.
“Lucien, we shouldn’t. Not when they might see us.”
“They won’t,” he assured, glancing into her face and seeing her anxiety. “But if the choice is worrying you, I will take it away from you. It is my desire to play with you while I feed you this delicious food and wine. And as my slave, you will fulfill my every desire without protest.” His tone was gentle, but he made sure she heard the edge to it as well. He would not be denied the smallest thing when it came to Elise tonight—not her sweet sighs of pleasure, her body trembling next to his hand, her wide-eyed look of surprise when she shocked herself by surrendering completely to him.
He removed the key from his neck. Her eyes grew large now with that mixture of amazement and arousal that he prized. He drew her wrists together. After he’d locked her bracelets together, he reached beneath the table and began to inch her skirt up her thighs. He felt her gasp against his neck.
“Lucien, must you?” she asked in a strangled voice when he lifted the hem of her skirt just above her mons, giving him access to her pussy.
“I must, and so you must allow it,” he said simply before he flipped the edge of the tablecloth over her restrained hands and her lap. “Now,” he said, reaching again to touch a plump nipple, “it’s time to enjoy this delicious fare set before me.”
* * *
Her body trembled and vibrated like a plucked harp string as Lucien played with her breasts and tugged gently on the nipple chain, pausing every once in a while to feed her the creamy oysters spiced with a dash of the piquant mignonette sauce or to lift her wineglass to her lips. The combination of flavors on her tongue was sublime, what he was doing to her body the sweetest agony. She swam in a bright sea of vibrant sensation. She grew so wet, she knew there would be a damp spot on the fabric of her skirt just beneath her pussy. Had Lucien chosen the color black for her skirt because he’d known how aroused she’d become?
Another oyster slipped between her lips and Lucien bent to kiss her as the flavor filled her mouth. Once she’d swallowed, he plucked at her lips with his own, and then caught the lower one between his white teeth, abrading the flesh gently.
“Your lips are turning as red a
s your nipples,” he murmured.
She groaned softly. “If you keep biting them, they will turn redder.”
“Then I will keep biting them,” he murmured before he nibbled at her more, his pinching fingertips on her nipple and his sensual kisses making her desperate.
“Lucien, please touch me,” she begged softly.
“Where?”
“On my pussy. It aches so much,” she whispered as she slid her lips feverishly against his. She followed when he leaned back slightly, her mouth seeking out his.
He examined her face. “I will not touch you there yet,” he said, avoiding her lips until she made a sound of frustration at being deprived from the heaven of his mouth. He pinched at her swollen nipple and she moaned in rising agony, her hips shifting on the leather seat. “But you may come, if you can, while I play with your breasts.”
“Oh,” she gasped in a mixture of frustration and intense arousal when he tugged on the chain, and pleasure spiced with pain tore through her. “Do you require a little help in that mission?” she heard him say as if from a great distance.
“Yes,” she hissed.
She felt his hands on the chain, and saw he was loosening the bead below her right nipple. She gasped. Pain tore through, thousands of nerves firing at once at the sudden release of the taut clamp.
“Shhh,” he soothed roughly before he bent his head and took the nipple into his mouth. At the same moment, he lifted her bound hands an inch off her lap, making it impossible for her to press on her pussy from above.
A sharp cry fell past her lips as he drew on the throbbing nipple, and she began to shudder in climax. It hurt. It felt so good she could barely stop herself from screaming. Her hips bucked on the leather seat, but she couldn’t get the full friction she needed on her sex, giving her orgasm a tight, cramped quality.
She was disoriented when he lifted his head a moment later and hastily reattached the loop to her nipple, Elise wincing at the familiar pinch. He just as quickly fastened her blouse. Richard appeared a scant second after Lucien buttoned her jacket. Elise watched as if through a heat haze as Richard served them a lovely white-asparagus and mushroom salad. Richard opened his mouth to speak when he was finished, then glanced at Elise and closed it again. He quickly refilled their wineglasses.
