At the mention of punishment, Lisa almost leapt off the seat. How could she be so twisted as to almost faint with lust at the thought of being spanked by this arrogant stranger? Too late to analyse her feelings, because Olivier began his gentle assault on her clit again, drawing groans of ecstasy from her that in turn, made her heart thud in case she was heard.
She gripped the window seat, whimpering for mercy and release.
“Are you ready to come, yet? Or shall I stop the questions?” he said.
His fingers slipped inside her vagina, firmly spearing her.
“Yes. No, please. Please, I want to come so much.”
He laughed. “With all these people around us? The great and good of Paris? Your friends and business connections? Your clients? And this is the woman who said no to public nudity. I think not. You will wait until I am ready.”
“You bastard!”
That word again. It had emerged from the seedy, sordid depths, where the raw, wicked Lisa lived.
His voice continued, as calm and steady as a metronome. “The word you’re looking for is maître. It’s almost the same as my surname, so it should be easy to remember. That is the word you will use when I demand it. The word you will use when I allow you to receive pleasure from me. The word you will use when you give me pleasure. A word that, if forgotten, will result in me having to correct you.”
Correct me?
“Maître, please, please, make me come.”
“Perhaps in a moment. One more question first. ‘Will this man pleasure and punish me until I beg for mercy? Will he expect me to obey him without question?’”
Lisa whimpered as waves of sensation rippled through her pussy, impossible to resist any longer. She clung to Olivier’s body, buried her face in his chest as her muscles clamped around his fingers.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She collapsed against him while the aftershocks of her climax subsided into waves, then ripples. Slowly, she became aware of the sound of her own ragged breathing, the dull pulse of Olivier’s heart beating against her cheek, the sheen of perspiration that prickled her skin, and the musky scent of arousal, hers and his. His fingers freed a rogue strand of hair that had been captured by her lip gloss. He whispered words in French that she didn’t understand but knew were tender, filthy endearments. Her panties were soaked, she was hot, and she knew if she picked up her glass, her hands would tremble. Within half an hour of meeting her, he’d reduced her to this limp mess of need. She’d allowed a strange man to bring her to orgasm in a public place and given her consent to any number of acts she had only ever agreed to in her wildest dreams.
He glanced at his watch. “Now. We’ve said enough. You will come to my apartment next Saturday evening at seven, on the dot. I should warn you that as soon as you step inside, our arrangement starts. It will begin with an interview—a proper interview, not like this, and I’ll expect you to answer all my questions in full without question. At the end of the interview, you’ll experience a taste of what will happen if you do disobey me. Have no illusions about that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Understand? Did she? Every rational instinct screamed run, but her every need as a woman shouted louder. He lowered his head and kissed her cheek.
“So this is the last time I will be an acquaintance or a friend you met at a party. When we next meet, the moment you close the door behind you, I will be your Dom. Is that what you want?”
Instantly, everything was clear. Bathed in a dazzling light of clarity. Lisa lifted her chin and looked at him without flinching. Loudly and clearly, she gave her response: “Yes, it’s what I want.”
She felt like she’d just sold her soul to the devil.
Chapter Three
Bells rang from the church, causing Olivier to glance at his Cartier. Both said the same, but he could barely believe how quickly the last hour had gone. And did his copy of Le Monde really still lie unopened on the table? Had he sat here with his café noir for so long, solely thinking about the events at the gallery launch?
Days after meeting her, Lisa Archer still filled his mind. He still thought about her nipples jutting against her dress and the smooth skin of her back and the hot tight grip of her sex around his fingers. He’d imagined her perfectly manicured nails circling his cock and her glossed lips around it. He’d imagined her rosy butt, laid across his thighs, as he spanked her. Soon, he would have her unravelled, sheened in sweat, sobbing with tears of pleasure and release.
Olivier shook his head. He really should go and open the gallery…
“L’addition, s’il vous-plait.”
The waiter approached as Olivier beckoned him over. Every morning he visited one or other of the cafés in the Latin Quarter, sometimes meeting up with the group of art students he mentored, sometimes with fellow artists or clients, and occasionally Mimi—but often alone. His brother, Alex, a professor of English Literature at Oxford, often teased him about being an artist, saying he should get a proper job. But Olivier knew that Alex was only joking. Probably joking.
Olivier smiled. Alex was coming over for a visit in a few weeks and bringing his new fiancée, Carla. Olivier had met her at their parents’ house in Provence. Carla was warm, funny, brilliant—and perfect for Alex. Although they hadn’t discussed the intimate details of their relationship, as Alex liked to keep his private life just that, Olivier had known at once that Alex was deeply in love with his new partner and that she was willing and happy to be his submissive. Alex had been unhappy for many years and unable to find peace or love, but Carla had transformed his brother, lighting up his brooding moods like a flash of lightning on a stormy night.
Olivier, on the other hand, was not exactly unhappy, but… He’d built up a successful gallery that had left him well-to-do even by Parisian standards, and was widely known and respected among the art community. The money and his reputation were nice, but more importantly, they meant he could use them to mentor and support young artists not as fortunate as he was now. At thirty-one, he’d never enjoyed life more, and away from his professional life, he had another source of pleasure just as intense as his love of art—but one that he kept strictly separate and private from all but a few people.
He was very choosy. He could afford to be, and Lisa was his third submissive since he and Caro had split up. Since she left me, he reminded himself, determined to be brutally honest with himself.
So, his life was now back on track apart from the fact that he hadn’t produced a single piece of his own since the day he’d found Caro’s note by the bed telling him that it was her not him and she couldn’t cope with having to watch him die in front of her.
“Monsieur.”
The waiter slapped the bill on the table, clipped to its plastic tray to avoid it being swept away in the stiff spring breeze. Olivier dropped a few Euros on the tray, pocketed his mobile and picked up his newspaper.
“Olivier!”
As he got up, a group of young people waved at him from a few yards away.
“Yo, dude.”
Olivier smiled. That was Sam. American. Gifted portrait painter.
“When are you going to paint again?” Candice. French. Quirky performance artist.
“Or sculpt. I’ve seen some of your pieces. They’re awesome,” said Sam.
“I don’t know. I’m very busy.”
“And that’s the kind of answer we’re supposed to swallow from the man who tells us not to let anything stifle our creativity?” Sam mimicked Olivier’s Anglo-French accent perfectly. “We’ve time for a coffee. Want to come to Starbucks?”
“I’d rather roast in hell.” Olivier gave a mock shudder.
“Thought you’d say that.” Sam beckoned the waiter and ordered more coffees for everyone. Olivier resigned himself to staying, and besides, it would take his mind off other matters, like his vanished desire to paint—and Lisa Archer.
“Olivier? Where are you, man? You won’t find your mojo in the bot
tom of a cup.”
As he glanced up, they stared at him with cheeky grins on their faces. “Sorry. I was thinking about…”
Candice got up. “We have to get to class. Shall we see you next week?”
“Yes.” Olivier was due to take part in a workshop and launch an artists’ retreat at his country home, to which most of his seminar group were invited.
The party broke up, and Olivier decided to take the riverside shortcut to his gallery, full of guilt at arriving later than usual. The ring of his mobile made him curse until he saw the name Alexander on the screen. Then he cursed even harder.
“Hey, Lisa, when you said the place was tiny, you really did mean tiny. You couldn’t swing a guinea pig in here.” Abigail Archer stood with her hands on her hips in the middle of Lisa’s apartment sitting room, a frown on her face.
Lisa circled her hips and winced as her spine clicked. Carrying her baby niece’s stroller up three flights of stairs had done wonders for her cardio system but not much for her aching back. She definitely needed to try harder in her yoga class, but since Mimi had offered to introduce her to Olivier Lemaitre, down dogs and sun salutations had been the last things on her mind.
“Well, it’s kind of an average size for Paris, and I was lucky to get it,” said Lisa.
Abi patted her arm. “No offense meant. It’s a very sweet apartment.” Abi grinned. “If you’re a hobbit.”
“Ha-ha. So, I’ve put you and Bella in the box room. I cleared out some of my junk, and I think there’s just room for the travel cot next to the put-u-up. I hope that’s okay?”
Abi hugged Lisa. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful, and I wouldn’t have minded sleeping under a bridge as long as I could see you. How long has it been? Three months? Four?”
“You’d not long had Bella when I came over to London to see you last,” said Lisa. A grumble from the stroller made them turn. “I don’t think Bella would have liked sleeping under a bridge.” A pang of love and pride tugged at her heart as her niece threw out a chubby little hand as she stirred.
“I know it’s been ages, but you’ve been so busy. I didn’t want to interrupt your work. I know how important this last project has been to you, and besides, I had no idea how much time a baby would take up. I knew I’d be busy, but I’ve barely been able to get out of my pyjamas some days, there’s been so much to do with Bella. Do you have any idea how many changes of clothes one child can get through in twenty-four hours? More than even you, that’s for sure!”
“Wow, more than her Auntie Lisa?” Lisa crouched next to the pushchair and gently stroked her niece’s fingers. “Well done, Bella, you’re taking after me.”
Abi flopped down on Lisa’s futon. “I hope she does, because I’m proud of you, sis. Someone had to make a career and be a success after the way I’ve fucked up.”
You haven’t fucked up. Don’t let me hear you say that. You just met the wrong man at the wrong time. Bad timing, that’s all, but you made the right decision to keep my gorgeous niece.”
“Yes, but I’m hardly Miss Perfect, am I?”
Lisa tutted gently. She didn’t like her sister being hard on herself; it wasn’t like the confident, outspoken and infuriating Abi she’d grown up with, but Abi’s recent problems had knocked down her sister’s usual self-confidence.
“I’m not perfect either. Look at what I have. A rented apartment that’s too small for the Flopsy Bunnies, let alone real adults, and a freelance job with no long-term security that has me tearing my hair out with stress and frustration half the time.”
“But you are a PR consultant, you earn a decent amount, and you’ve lived in New York, Sydney and Paris. I think that counts as pretty successful. I’m back living with my mum, got knocked up and knocked around by a fuckwit, and I’m working part-time at the local health centre.”
“You have Bella. That’s everything.”
Bella wriggled and her eyelids fluttered open, revealing the same cobalt-blue eyes as Lisa’s. Her fleecy pink blanket slipped from her body.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’ll get cold.” Abi rescued the blanket and tucked it around her daughter. “She needs to wake up soon anyway. It’s almost time for her tea, and if she sleeps any longer, she’ll be grizzling all night. I don’t think your neighbours will like that.”
“They need livening up,” said Lisa with a grin. “Let me get out of this suit. I’d planned to nip back here to change into jeans after my meeting, but it ran late.”
Abi raised an eyebrow. “I did think you were a little overdressed for collecting us.”
“I had to get a taxi straight from the city to Charles de Gaulle.” She slipped off her sling-back kitten heels and sighed with relief. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”
“Shall I put the kettle on so we can have a cup of tea and a proper catch-up before Bella wakes up?”
“Yes to the tea, but there’s no kettle. This is France, you’ll have to boil a pan of water.”
Abi pulled a face, then laughed. “Oh well, when in Rome…or should I say Paris.”
In her bedroom, Lisa started to change out of her suit and into jeans and a striped top. The flat was so small, she could hold a conversation with Abi without either of them raising their voices, even over the sounds of water running and saucepans clanking in the kitchenette.
“I think I’m going to order you a kettle from Amazon. I can’t do without for a whole week, and if you’re going to be staying here longer, neither can you. How long have you got before your next job anyway?”
At Abi’s voice, Lisa paused as she popped her jacket on a hanger. Should she lie and say she only had a couple of weeks off between contracts? Or tell the truth and admit she had a whole four months before her new project began in the States? Abi had to return to the UK soon, and Lisa knew her sister wouldn’t be able to come back to France for a while. It seemed selfish to spend so much of her “holiday” in Paris, indulging her desires with Olivier.
Then again, this was her first proper break since the split with Jody. She’d spent all of her spare weekends supporting her sister through her various problems, not that Lisa minded at all. She loved Abi and Bella to bits and was thrilled and relieved that Abi’s life finally seemed to be back on track. Lisa still planned on popping over to London to see Abi, despite her arrangement with Olivier Lemaitre. She hadn’t agreed to live with him or hand her whole existence to him. It was just a sexual contract, valid only for the times when they were in his apartment.
Lisa sat down on her bed. In fact, she reminded herself, she hadn’t agreed to anything at all yet. Their contract—such as it was—began only when she set foot in his apartment on Saturday after she’d dropped Abi and Bella at the airport.
Abi’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Lisa, what are you doing in there? How long does it take to choose an outfit for hanging out with your niece? Don’t wear anything smart. Bella will probably be sick on it or throw banana pudding on you.”
“Coming!” Her blush deepened. She felt guilty for even thinking about Olivier while her sister and baby niece were feet away. If Abi had any idea what she planned to do with Olivier, she’d probably have a heart attack or try to persuade Lisa to have counselling. Abi would never understand why Lisa wanted to enter into a BDSM relationship with a stranger.
Later, her feet up on Lisa’s sofa, with a mug of Earl Grey in one hand and a madeleine cake in the other, Abi asked what Lisa had been expecting and dreading. “So, let’s hear the real gossip, and I don’t mean the latest press conference you organised. What gorgeous French banker have you got hidden away?”
“No French bankers, sorry.”
“Journalist, then? TV producer? Financial whiz kid?”
“No. I don’t mix business with pleasure these days, not after my previous experience. I’ll never make the mistake of dating a client or colleague again.”
“Sorry. I must remove my foot from my mouth. I’d forgotten about Jody. Have you heard from him, hun?”
L
isa shook her head. “Not even an e-mail, but I know he’s been promoted to global communications director at his bank. I don’t want to hear from him ever again. As far as I’m concerned, he’s ancient history,” said Lisa. “And, please don’t look at me like that..”
Abi’s face was the picture of innocence. “Like what?”
“Like you did when you got up early and opened all my Christmas presents as well as your own and didn’t want me to tell Mum and Dad.”
“I’ve said I’m sorry for that almost every week since, and you have a long memory…” She paused as Lisa feigned mock offence. “You’re all grown up now, and I know Jody hurt you badly, but that’s no reason to avoid every man, especially not here, where most of the guys look like Armani models. Even my taxi driver was hot.”
“I’m always working, so I’ve no time to meet guys, and like I said, business and pleasure don’t mix. Don’t forget I had to leave the company because of my affair with Jody.”
“Bastard. I still say he should have been the one to leave.”
“Mm. It may be the twenty-first century, but he was my boss, and the company clearly wanted to keep Jody more than me.”
“Maybe because his father was chairman?”
“You think?” Lisa said sarcastically. “Whatever, it was me who made the mistake of sleeping with him. I ought to have known it would end in tears, but I thought I was in love with him.”
“You should have sued the bastards for constructive dismissal,” said Abi.
Ah, it was all so simple for Abi. Black and white. “We’ve been through this before,” Lisa explained patiently. “Yes, I could have made a fuss, sued, maybe even won the case and probably ruined my chances of being employed by any decent company again. I’m meant to be a PR specialist, and if I can’t handle my own affairs without a public scandal, it hardly inspires clients with confidence. The CEO paid me off well and gave me some good references and now, well, I’m glad I went freelance. So maybe I should thank Jody for that.”
French Blue Page 3