Daddy's Secret Deal

by J. D. Fox

  ​Neither of them had the patience to wait and let things build up for long, but Olivier was fully aware that he owed Genevieve plenty, and that she had gotten him closer to orgasm than her act could have possibly gotten her. He reached between their bodies and found her clitoris by touch, stroking her as they moved together. Olivier held himself back as he felt Genevieve becoming more and more aroused, her body tightening around him every moment. He kissed her everywhere his lips would reach, and teased her pleasure center, reading the signs of her body.

  ​Relief flooded through him as Olivier felt the telltale ripple of convulsive tightening around his cock that signaled Genevieve’s climax, even as she moaned out in pleasure. He held out for as long as he could and then gave in to the tension gathering in his balls, hitting his climax still buried deep inside of her. He kissed her again and again, swallowing down her moans as they both succumbed to orgasm.

  ​He fell back to the bed when he was spent, bringing Genevieve with him, holding her body against his. “In...in a few moments, I will pay you back for the bet,” he told her, still panting slightly for breath.

  ​“I think I need a few minutes anyway,” Genevieve replied, and Olivier chuckled. He stroked her back, her hair, enjoying the sweetness of her body pressed against his, the warm hum of pleasure flowing through his veins. His mind was more than ready for round two, but his body would need a few more minutes before the blood could flow right to make him hard. He caught his breath and carefully shifted on the bed so that they were both fully laying on the soft surface, Genevieve cradled in his arms.

  ​“Did you mean it?” Olivier tilted his head up to look at Genevieve, taking in her wide eyes. “Did I mean what?”

  ​“That you wanted to marry me.”

  ​“Olivier ran his hand through her hair and cupping her face in his hand. “Why do you think I did not mean it? I mean everything I say.”

  ​She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you really?”

  ​“That’s different.” He rolled over, pinning her under him and looking down at her. “Yes, I meant it. I would not have said it to Mathilde if I did not. Do you see how she loves you? It would have been cruel.”

  ​“What about you?” She looked up at him with extreme, humbling trust. “Do you love me?”

  ​He cradled her head carefully, knowing that beyond her lovely face, he was holding one of the things he treasured most- her brilliant mind. There was no way he could let her go. “Cherie, je t’adore.”

  She smiled brilliantly at that and pressed a kiss to the palm that cupped her face. “I love you too. And I love your daughter.” He lay down beside her again, cradling her.

  ​“I never thought I would be proposing marriage to an old woman,” Olivier mused.

  ​“An old woman? What?” Genevieve stirred, pushing herself up to look down at him with surprise and dismay.

  ​“Your name,” he told her, grinning. “Genevieve in France is a name that no woman younger than maybe 60 has.” Genevieve chuckled at that, subsiding to her previous position cuddled close to him with relief.

  ​“Technically, you haven’t proposed to me yet,” she pointed out.

  ​“I have placed the order for your ring, but since it is custom I must wait three weeks,” Olivier told her. Once more Genevieve rose up in surprise to look down at him.

  ​“Seriously?” Olivier nodded.

  ​“I was thinking that it is nice to have you as my au pair, and it would be nice to have such a— what did Clinton say? ‘Sharp mind for finance’ working with me,” he said. “And to be married is a much stronger guarantee.” Genevieve rolled her eyes and sank down a bit, hovering just above his face.

  ​“Do you really want to marry me, though, or do you just want to make it harder for me to leave you?” Olivier grinned.

  ​“Why not both? I would like for it to be difficult for you to leave Mathilde and me,” he said. “I want to keep you right here in my bed as much as possible. Every night, if I can. And also it is much easier to have a visa as someone married to un français than it is as a worker,” he mused. Gen stared at him for a moment, surprise on her face.

  ​“So you are now selling me on marrying you because it works out the best for both of us?” Olivier chuckled.

  ​“I have been thinking of it since I corrected my mistake of firing you,” Olivier explained. “And you must admit that it is the best thing; you would be guaranteed safe immigration status, Mathilde already thinks of you as her maman, and clearly I am benefitting.”

  ​“Well, I’ll decide that when I get a look at the ring, and you make your real proposal,” she said playfully.

  ​“Oh, you think you may grow tired of the hungry wolf, always wanting to devour you?” Genevieve chuckled again.

  ​“I’m more worried about what kind of schemes I might be agreeing to,” she said. Olivier shook his head.

  ​“N’inquiète pas,” he told her. “I will have no more schemes. This was always to be my last one, and now it really will be, with so much money and such a smart head to help me manage it.” He pulled her in for a kiss and felt her inner muscles flex around him convulsively. “And perhaps, in a while, we can talk about the possibility of giving Mathilde the other thing she has been asking for,” he said.

  ​“What’s that?”

  ​Olivier grinned. “She wants a little brother or little sister,” he told her and felt her start in surprise. “Tu veux avoir mon chiot?” Genevieve snickered at the question.

  ​“While making jokes about me having your puppies is pretty funny, I’m starting to think you’re taking the wolf comparison a little far,” she said. “But I think...I think I could consider having children with you.”

  ​“I will pay them extra to give me your ring early so I can ask you before you can change your mind,” Olivier declared, tumbling Genevieve onto her back and covering her body with his own. “But for now…”

  ​“They do say practice makes perfect,” Genevieve finished for him, and Olivier rocked his hips against hers to show her just how eager he was for more practice.

  Epilogue

  ​Gen shivered slightly in the chill of the kitchen, reaching up to change the thermostat. It wasn’t dawn yet, but then, it would practically be midday before there was a decent amount of sun outside. She snorted derisively at the weather, padding into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Nausea had propelled her out of bed, but when she’d gotten to the bathroom, it had passed. She’d managed to get out of the room without waking Olivier up, and, wide awake, had decided a hot beverage and a little light reading would take care of getting back to sleep.

  ​She smiled faintly to herself, remembering the last time she had awakened before dawn, about a week before; Olivier had woken up with her and had pointed out that since they were man and wife, it was clearly their job mutually to help each other get back to sleep. Indeed, Gen had fallen back asleep easily then.

  ​She turned on the electric kettle and opened the cupboard to decide on a tea to drink. She’d only turned on half of the lights in the kitchen, but that was enough to catch on the bright stones of her engagement ring, making it sparkle. Olivier had been entirely correct in his assessment that the ring he’d ordered for her was enough on its own to make her want to say yes. It wasn’t just the expense of it, but the thought he’d put into it that had killed off any reservations she might have had by the time he had proposed to her. The ring was white gold, formed into the shape of a vine that crossed itself at the center, holding the delicate diamond in its setting designed to look like a flower. Emeralds made up the leaves of the vine, and tiny rubies dotted spots intended to represent smaller blooms.

  ​In spite of Olivier telling her about the ring, the proposal had come at a surprising moment. They had dropped Mathilde off at her grandparents’ house together for a weekend in Paris to do her winter clothes shopping, and instead of presenting her with the ring, Olivier had produced a packet of paperwork, prepared but not signed, to change he
r visa type. “I thought we might have time to visit OFII while Mathilde is with Mémé and Pépère,” Olivier had said.

  ​“You just assumed I would go along with it?” That was when he had slipped his hand into his pocket and took out the ring.

  ​“If you think it should be improved, we can wait, of course,” he had said, opening it to reveal the ring. For a moment, all Gen could do was stare at the incredible piece of jewelry nestled into its tiny box, stunned at how beautiful it was.

  ​“I am not even going to ask you how much this cost, because I truly do not want to know,” she had said, still staring at it.

  ​“I am not sure if this is a good or a bad reaction,” Olivier had countered, and Genevieve had forced herself to look at him. He had spoken playfully, but there was an undercurrent of doubt in his eyes.

  ​“It is absolutely beautiful,” she had said. “But I have to point out that if you ever have to buy my forgiveness, this is a tough act to follow.” Olivier had laughed and pulled it away slightly, pretending to reconsider. She’d lunged forward and kissed him at that, not caring that they were in a public café. After all, she’d thought, if she was going to be French, she might as well become comfortable with showing her affection in public.

  ​Their wedding had been a much more straightforward affair than Gen could have anticipated from her previous engagement, and she’d learned that in France, with rare exceptions, weddings just weren’t the same kind of major production that they tended to be in America. She had invited Sadie, Claire, Julia, and a few other friends she had made to the party she and Olivier threw at the house to celebrate it, and they’d had a couple of his business associates and Mathilde’s grandparents as well. The ceremony itself had been little more than signing paperwork and exchanging vows in front of a few witnesses, along with a pair of rings; in contrast to her engagement ring, Gen’s wedding band was simplicity itself: an elegant, well-made ring of white gold with her initials and Olivier’s engraved on the inside. Olivier had one that matched, in a slightly wider band. Mathilde had had to be held back from jumping on her throughout the ceremony.

  ​“Ma femme, tu fais quoi?” Gen started slightly at the sound of Olivier’s voice behind her and turned to smile ruefully at him.

  ​“I had…” she paused to try and let her sleepy mind come up with the correct phrasing for what she wanted to say; the longer she lived in France, the more her brain seemed to mix up the two languages she spoke— and after more than a year, it was getting more obvious. “I felt like I was going to throw up, so I went into the bathroom, but it passed.” Olivier frowned slightly, and Gen took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, dressed in nothing more than a pair of pajama pants, as he walked towards her. The drawstring pants clung on his hips as if for dear life, giving her a delicious view of his hips, his lean torso, his long, strong arms that she loved so much to feel wrapped around her.

  ​“T’as eu envie de vomir?” Gen nodded. Olivier approached and pressed the inside of his wrist to her forehead lightly, testing her for fever. “No fever,” he mused. Then he smiled slightly. “When was it supposed to be— ah! What is it you call it?”

  ​“Shark week?” Gen chuckled at the question and then the implication that she might be pregnant, but then, as the water in the electric kettle came to a boil, and the kettle clicked off, she did the mental math. She hadn’t replaced her implant when the time came since she and Olivier had talked about potentially having a child together. It seemed to be a waste if she ended up wanting to get it removed again within the three years it would protect her.

  ​“Oh my god,” she said quietly.

  ​“Oui?” Olivier draped his arms around her waist lightly, leaning in to kiss her forehead, and Gen did the mental math again.

  ​“It’s been over a month since my last period,” she said. “I should have started within the last week.” Olivier brushed his lips against her hairline and then moved down to kiss her lips.

  ​“I have also noticed that your breasts seem more… comment dit ‘sensible’?”

  ​“Sensitive,” Gen replied.

  ​“Ah oui, more sensitive than usual,” Olivier finished. He brought his hands back around to the front of her body and cupped them through the fabric of her nightgown to demonstrate his point. Gen almost flinched as the light touch sent a jolt through her; not quite painful, but not entirely pleasant either.

  ​“You don’t really think I could be…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  ​“Well you are not always good about remembering la pilule,” Olivier pointed out. He kissed her again. “I think that it could be, don’t you?” Gen leaned against him, and for a moment she was not entirely sure how she felt. There was excitement, but there was also a kind of surprise she wasn’t sure she liked; a feeling that she hadn’t planned for in the face of the event that loomed over her now.

  ​“We don’t have a pregnancy test in the house, so there’s no way to know,” Gen said, trying to remember if there was a pharmacy in the little town with one of the vending machines outside, where she might be able to buy what she needed quickly.

  ​“It is only a few hours until the pharmacy opens,” Olivier pointed out. “I think we can wait that long, can we not?”

  ​Gen chuckled. “I will almost be disappointed now if I’m not pregnant,” she said, shaking her head at how contrary her emotions seemed determined to be.

  ​“I will not,” Olivier told her, kissing her lightly again. “If you are pregnant I will be happy; if you are not pregnant, I will send you to the doctor to find out why you were feeling sick today.” Gen chuckled again at the simplicity of Olivier’s determination. “Et puis, I will do what I can to see if I can make you pregnant if you are still disappointed.”

  ​“Do you really want me to have a baby so soon?” Olivier nipped playfully at the spot on her neck where her pulse fluttered, before pulling back to look into her eyes.

  ​“If it is supposed to be that way, I want it,” he said. “If you are not ready, then we will keep you taking the pilule; and when you are completely ready, I will make love to you every night and every day until you fall pregnant.”

  ​“So no change from how we do things now, except for no pill?”

  ​Olivier grinned. “It is really your fault, you know,” he pointed out, his hands moving to the small of her back. “You are too sexy, too delicious.”

  ​“Even now? You’ve had me for over a year,” Gen told him. Olivier snickered.

  ​“I only find you more and more delicious every day,” he told her. “If I could wrap you up in a crêpe and cover you in sugar you could not be more delicious.” Gen gave him a playful shove and turned around to make her tea.

  ​“I think you just want to make sure I feel well enough to let you ‘rock’ me to sleep,” Gen observed.

  ​“Would that be bad?” Olivier kissed the nape of her neck, and Gen felt a little rush of heat flow through her.

  ​“No, that would not be bad at all,” she conceded. Olivier’s hands trailed over her slowly, caressing and teasing.

  ​“And we’ll still have hours to sleep before Mathilde wakes us up,” Olivier pointed out.

  ​“Okay, okay!” Gen smiled to herself, leaning into Olivier’s caresses. “Let me finish my tea first, and then you can carry me back to bed and tire me out.” Olivier chuckled lowly and nibbled at a spot on the nape of her neck.

  ​“And tomorrow we will find out for sure if you are pregnant or if I have to keep trying,” Olivier said. Gen nodded, putting her hand on one of Olivier’s and giving it a squeeze. She had no intention of telling him, but she was almost sure that there was no need for the test; his playful suggestion had made her quickly reflect not only on the timing but on some other odd symptoms she’d been experiencing within the last few days. But, Gen thought, the next day was undoubtedly soon enough to get confirmation of her suspicion. In the meantime, she would bask in the warmth of Olivier’s affectionate hopes,
and appreciate how different her life had become, only a little more than a year after she had run away from the dull glitter of her former world in Manhattan. Never in her life did she think that she would or even could have the kind of natural happiness she felt with Mathilde and Olivier— she could almost write Clinton a thank-you note for being the cause of all of it. Maybe after the sentencing hearing, she thought, and turned around to kiss her husband once more.