by Tilly Greene
Yesterday, after finalizing the agreement with the French government for the Saint Marie project, both men had made an easy decision. After all the muck they've maneuvered through, it was time for some pussy.
James lifted his head and looked at his brother. “I think I might call a few people who were at the dance and see if anyone knows more about Liana."
Last night their intention was to go out to fuck, nothing else. They hadn't counted on meeting up with Liana and how much she'd left them wanting more.
"Good idea. She's still in my head and I don't feel like we've had nearly enough of her."
"Hmmm. I'll get on it tomorrow."
Walking over to a door separating their houses, Thorn turned around and looked at his brother.
"She's different from all the others."
"I think so as well."
Shutting the door separating their houses, Thorn walked up his stairs to his bedroom and started to strip. Lifting his arm, he brought his forearm up to his nose and sniffed. Roses and her scent still clung to him. Before pulling his pants off, he took his wallet out of his back pocket and set it on the dresser. Next, he reached into one of the front pockets and took out a trinket. Looking down at the palm of his hand he gave it a little shake, closed his eyes, and listened to the bell ring as it had while they'd fucked the lovely Liana.
But Thorn couldn't enjoy it as much as he thought he could. Before he regretted it, he went back to his brother's place and found him ready to take a shower.
"James, I found this in the pink room."
His brother's eyes widened at what he saw.
"She left it?"
"No, I imagine she didn't realize it wasn't in the wig when she picked it up."
James was silent for a few moments, before he looked up at him. “Do you think we can trace her through it? Is there maker's stamp or something similar, marked on it?"
"Shit man, excellent idea. I'll start tomorrow.” Gripping the bell in his hand, he thrust it back in his pocket and started to leave.
"Are you okay?"
"Oui, all of this feels very different."
"We'll make it work.” There was no doubt in Thorn's mind they'd figure this woman out, the challenge would be gone, and they could move on.
Once again, he entered his bedroom, walked over to his bedside table, and placed the bell on top. Looking down at the three-inch piece of silver, he thought about how that last thought didn't quite ring right with him. There was something more about this woman they needed to figure out.
* * * *
Liana was living life as she wanted.
Following in her mother's footsteps, she chose to study art history with a couple of different emphases and a minor in fine arts. Once she'd finished with her master's, she'd headed over to the Fine Arts department full time to pursue a doctorate and, with her professor's help, came up with a dissertation to cover both areas. Thankfully, the French government and Grand Palais board of directors had accepted her request for a special exhibition on haute couture through the ages. Now she was here and working flat out to make it even better than she envisioned.
Sitting at her desk in an icebox for an office, she again looked over her tight timeline to organize the show. She'd already made visits to the Bibliothéque Nationale de France and the archives of the Ministry of Industry and had been loaned the gowns she'd wanted from them. At this stage, they should all be in storage waiting for the shows final assembly.
People outside the fashion world often misunderstand what haute couture was and she hoped to shed a new light on the extraordinary craft. It was a French institution, and as a label, officially open only to French fashion houses that adhered to strict principals. She understood why people used the term to separate ready-to-wear designers from those who created high fashion, only it wasn't correct. There was more this unique area of fashion than the simplistic view implied. Her doctorate was based on presenting a definition and timeline to the public showing there was a difference.
The exhibition would start in the 1850's with the House of Worth—Charles Worth, who was actually English—and run through Callot Soeurs, Patou, Fortuny, Lanvin, Chanel, Schiaparelli, and Dior. Her proposal had allowed for a half dozen spotlight areas for contemporary designers who'd found their way through this highly structured realm of fashion. Lagerfeld, Lacroix and Gaultier, and a few others, had all been very cooperative with her and gave her open access to their collections, both old and new. There was also a section for foreign designers who were honorary members of the restricted club.
Valentino and Armani had both been interesting to speak with and most helpful. In fact, the latter had offered her a position to sketch one of his lines for promotional purposes. She'd been flattered, but at this point in time, she couldn't see beyond the show. Liana wasn't stupid, and she'd asked to contact him about the job once she had her doctorate in hand.
Everything was running relatively smoothly, although she was expecting hiccups, both big and small, to crop up before the opening. Unfortunately, with nothing out of the ordinary demanding her time and attention, her mind wandered.
Work tested her mind professionally and she was content there. Her body and soul should be pleased after the Depravity Dance because the twins had definitely given her what she'd wanted. Two men to play around with and expend some built-up sexual energy on had been her saving grace. She'd needed to feel her body quiver with anticipation, cunt weep with need, and heart pound with excitement. They'd given her all this and more, and were running wild through her dreams.
And that was her problem. Three weeks later, she still wanted them. They hadn't talked much about anything personal and she'd been fine with it. They'd fucked her until they had all passed out, the perfect way to end an evening of unreserved lust. Even now, with them mastering her playing in the back of her mind, her pussy grew heavy with need and her nipples hardened further as if preparing for the men to play with them.
Picking up her cup of coffee, she took a sip of the cold sludge. She remembered thinking in her debauched state they were like Energizer bunnies and couldn't hold back the smile tickling her brain with the image. They just kept going and going, the first possession as good as the last.
Carefully she placed the cup back on her desk, and tried to refocus on her e-mail from the firm making the hundred odd individual forms she'll be using to display the clothes. For the third time she read a paragraph about various shades of white and temperature fluctuations. It was important, she knew it was, but still couldn't keep her mind from wandering back to the pink room. Particularly to the moment she'd woken up, surrounded by the passed out studs. She'd wanted to stay and suck their cocks to full stands again, but figured it best to put temptation behind her and make her way home.
Stupid mistake.
Tiptoeing around the room with the glass wall, she'd redressed as best she could and hadn't bothered to put the elaborate wig back on. Instead, she'd left with her real hair hanging loose and her half mask in place. Before going, she'd taken one last look at the two naked men who'd given her exactly what she wanted. Liana wished their teasing comments about wanting to spend more time with her had been true. She'd have taken them up on their offer if it had been.
Liana snorted with disgust at how far from work her mind had truly traveled, and decided she needed a break. Gathering her notebook and pencils, she thought about how shocked they'd have been if she had taken them up on it. Walking over toward the door, she paused long enough to put on her scarf and jacket, before walking out.
"I'm going for a walk, get something hot to drink and a bite to eat. I'll be back later."
"En français s'il vous plaît.” The floor receptionist was a student who spoke flawless English, but made a point of not doing it, so she wasn't surprised when she requested Liana say it again in French.
"Oui, bien sûr. Je me promène, obtient quelque chose chaud pour boire. Je serai arrière plus tard."
She walked on, not waiting for the superior
nod from the young woman to release her. Leaving the basement offices, she made her way along the bustling Place de la Concorde and eventually up Rue Royal. Speaking French was not a problem, remembering to do so was. Her parents are French immigrants who settled on the east coast of America to teach at an Ivy League university. She's been speaking the language almost as long as English, but the latter was still her first and main choice. Odd, she suddenly realized the twins had spoken English to her, and without accents. Were they visitors like her?
Seeing the unique green shop front, she picked up speed. Ahhh, the perfect place to satisfy her sweet tooth. It was chilly outside, but it wouldn't have mattered if it was eighty, she wanted a pot of hot chocolate and needed some food for energy to get through the rest of the day.
Liana entered the historic sweet shop Ladurée and sighed, feeling lighter in spirit already. She loved this place with a passion, its marble black and white checkerboard floor, with dark wood and glass cases full of sugared treats. This was a place she could see herself living in if given the choice. Off to the right, behind a screen and a few tall plants was an ornate and intimate dining room full of mirrors on the walls, gilding and cherubs on the ceiling. When her turn came, she requested a seat for one and told the woman she'd be eating lunch as well.
Settling into one of the bench seats backed up against the wall, she set the menu down and looked around the room. There was a wonderful mix of people today. Lovers, friends, business meetings and even a few tourists, almost filled the space. The seat across the table from her was empty, which suited her. She pulled out her notebook and a couple of colored pencils from her coat pocket.
A few moments later the waitress, wearing a white apron, came up and took her order.
"Bonjour. Bonjour. Etes-vous prêt?"
"Oui, s'il vous plaît, une omelette sans les champignons ou les tomates, une cruche d'eau et un pot de chocolat chaud.” She always ordered a pot of hot chocolate whenever she was here but rarely an omelet. Although they were good, there was no way she'd eat anything with a mushroom and tomato within sniffing distance. Today she wanted the fluffy egg item so asked for one without the offending items.
"Bien."
She didn't have to wait long after ordering. The jug of water and pot of chocolate came before the omelet. She poured a small glass of water and took a sip, before moving on to the good stuff. She enjoyed watching the thick, molten chocolate silently slip into her delicate cup. Picking up the hot pink and gold china, her eyes automatically shut as she inhaled the delicious aroma. Moving the rim to rest on her lower lip, Liana tilted the cup and poured a small amount of warm decadence to hold in her mouth before swallowing.
"Pardon."
"Excuse me, mademoiselle."
"Oh! I'm so sorry."
"Est-ce que ça vous ennuierait partageant votre table avec un autre?"
Startled, she'd been so lost in the chocolate she hadn't noticed the young woman standing close to the side of her table asking if she'd be comfortable with having another person share her table.
"Oui, oui, of course."
It was common to have to share a table in the small space. Coming here after the lunch crowd was because she preferred not to, but would never think to put the staff out by saying no. Moving her notebook and pencils to the bench beside her, she shifted her beverage paraphernalia closer, making sure there was space available for the other person.
Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a large presence in a dark suit sit in the chair opposite, but didn't look up. She hadn't come here for idle repartee.
"Thank you for making room for me."
The familiar deep, sexy growl brought gooseflesh racing up her arms. Immediately her eyes flicked up to meet sharp green orbs with soft brown flecks. Were they the same ones she'd seen surrounded by a black half mask? Quickly she took in his hair, general physique, and gasped in surprise.
"Uh!"
"Oui, we meet again, Liana."
Her heart started racing. She was sharing her table with one of the twins from the Depravity Dance. One reason she'd come here was to put this man and his brother from her mind. And yet here he was, in the flesh, immediately tempting her to listen to her erotic leanings. Which one was he? Had she sucked his cock, or was he the one who taken her ass for the first time? She was sure Emily Post had never covered the proper etiquette of how to reintroduce yourself to someone you'd already had sex with.
The waitress returned. He leaned back as she set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
"Votre Monsieur de café."
"Merci."
She couldn't look away from him. While he'd been gorgeous and mysterious at the party, naked and wearing nothing but a half mask, right now he was a sexy businessman. Mink brown hair cut perfectly, intense hazel eyes surrounded by an abundance of thick black lashes, lips she knew felt as wonderful as they looked, and there was an aura of power circling him.
Or were her own memories coloring her view?
"You said you'd come to our home. Then you left without a word, note, nothing."
"Yes, yes, you guys were saying things, you know, in the heat of the moment kind of thing."
"No, we meant what we said."
"Oh."
The waitress delivering her omelet filled the awkward break, although it was short-lived. Thankfully, he changed their conversation to less challenging avenues.
"Before your blush has you self-combusting, I'm Thorn, Thornton Michaud actually."
"Yes, of course, I'm Lia ... oh dear, you know that already. Trudeau, Liana Trudeau is my name."
"Relax, Liana, and tell me what's brought you to Paris?"
"I'm working on my doctoral dissertation."
"In what?"
"Fine Arts. The Grand Palais is hosting a show, History of Haute Couture, which I proposed and am currently in the process of organizing. At the same time I've illustrated a book to accompany the show, which is another part of my final project."
"Impressive."
"Thank you, but I'll wait until the show opens before accepting any accolades."
"When does it start?"
Even as he sipped his coffee, Thorn never took his eyes off her. She wasn't uncomfortable being the focus of his attention, but her pussy now beat faster than her heart.
"One month, three days and counting."
"Nervous?"
"Absolutely."
"We'll make you dinner tonight."
"Sorry?"
"You'll be coming home with me, this way James and I can make dinner for you this evening."
"Oh, well, sounds lovely but—"
"Are you busy?"
"Ummm, no."
Thorn leaned forward, close enough so only she heard what he said, even in these close quarters.
"Don't you want to fuck some more?"
Her fork dropped with a clatter and she felt her cheeks bloom pink. How was she supposed to answer such a question? Taking a moment, she composed herself and her thoughts, before attempting to respond.
"Of course, although maybe we should settle on some ground rules this time."
"Did we hurt you?” The change that came over his face was instant and had her moving her hand over to cover his on the table.
"No, no you didn't. It's just, well, at the party, there were rules everyone had to adhere to and we need to put some down before going forward on our own."
"Hmmm, yes, I see.” He turned his hand over and clasped hers, lifting it to his lips. “We'll eat out and talk. Do you know Ma Bourgogne?"
"Off the Place des Vosges?"
"Oui. Shall we say seven?"
"Yes, sounds wonderful."
"We'll send a car around for you."
Chewing her last bite, she suddenly wondered how amazing it was in a large, metropolitan city they would meet up again. As quickly as she'd had the thought, it didn't really seem that odd at all, not if it's meant to be.
"How did you find me?” Liana tried to pull her hand from his but he held
on to it while he spoke.
"We looked at a couple of different ways to find you and nothing. Today I was returning from a meeting, and as I turned off Fabourg St. Honore, there you were, blonde hair whipping in the wind while you were looking in the window at the cakes. I wasn't certain, but took a chance it was. I drove back around and asked to sit at your table."
"I know they're famous for their macaroons, but I love the hot chocolate."
"Yes, have to admit you gave me a wicked hard-on watching you drink it down. The ecstasy on your face made me remember how you looked as I held you down for James to lick your pussy."
Oh boy, he had her in the palm of his hand. This man, and his brother, turned her libido not only on, but on high. She was trying to remember why they needed to talk, before getting down to pleasuring each other between the sheets.
What she had to do was keep in mind once the exhibition was over she'd return to America. This meant she needed to keep their interactions with no strings attached. And looking at the man across the table, she had a feeling it was going to be the most difficult part of this relationship.
Without another word, he placed money on the table for her lunch and his coffee, stood up, and moved the table to help her exit more easily.
Gathering up her things, she reminded herself of a few home truths. You are not a brainless slut who'll fuck anything cute that walks by. You're an intelligent and healthy woman who likes sex, nothing wrong with that. These men seem to share your preferences, why not accept their offer?
Once she stood next to him, she remembered exactly how tall he was, made worse by her flats. He laid a large hand in the small of her back and led her from the shop.
