French Blue

by Bond, Natasha

  “On my first time? No way would I give you the satisfaction.”

  “And what about your satisfaction?” He palmed her bared buttock, forcing a wince from her lips. “Was it too bad?”

  “It hurt like hell. Much worse than I’d expected. It still stings, and I would have jumped up if you hadn’t held me down, you bastard. But the worst part was that your brother was here. I didn’t want to cry, but it was so sharp.”

  “I know.”

  “And Alex—he won’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course not.”

  Olivier debated whether to confess the whole truth about his plan with Alex. It was better he retained some semblance of mystique somehow. With the way Lisa looked at him now, eyes misty, lips parted, a look of wonderment, indignation and, yes—desire—he was ready to give up all his secrets, open his deeper emotions. Shit. What was happening?

  He withdrew his hand and touched her cheek. “Have you got any arnica?” she asked. A teasing finger traced a line by his lips.

  “I have better ideas.” He moved his cheek and closed his lips around her finger, sucking lightly.

  Lisa clutched the pillow as he applied a cool gel to her sore behind. “Stop twitching,” he ordered, but gently. “You know these really are very pretty.”

  He kissed her marks and turned her over. Lisa caught her breath as he reached for her. The world shifted. This wasn’t a game anymore, it was real life, and they’d just stepped out of the roles of Dom and sub and into the reality of being lovers…partners.

  She tangled her hands in his hair, drawing his head closer. He held her close, kissing her as if he wanted to become part of her. Lisa wanted to be part of him too, body and soul. As he entered her, she acknowledged what she’d guessed for weeks now. It might not be a loving kiss, but this she knew: she was hopelessly in love with Olivier Lemaitre, and now he truly had the power to hurt her.

  “See, how I think of you?”

  “You are such a gentleman,” said Lisa, grimacing as she inched her bottom onto the cushion Olivier had placed on the bistro chair. It was an extra-soft cushion from the sofa, but she still winced as she settled her sore cheeks on the fabric.

  Olivier, tea cloth tucked in his waistband, placed a plate of smoked salmon in front of her. “Gravdalax. Your favourite.”

  “Don’t think you can get round me that easily,” she said, but the smoky tang of the translucent coral slices made her mouth water. Olivier topped up her wineglass and sat opposite.

  “Hungry?”

  “Mmm,” she managed through a mouthful of butter-soft fish. She was starving after her emotional and physical ordeal.

  Every time she shifted, she flinched, but Olivier buttered his bread as if nothing had happened. “Alex wanted to know if we would join them for dinner tomorrow night,” he said.

  Lisa’s fork hovered over her plate. “What? Face him again after what happened this evening? Surely not.”

  “Why not? He’s very discreet and unshockable.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Think of him as like your GP.”

  “I don’t go out for dinner with my GP. Or get my ass thrashed in his surgery.”

  “Don’t give me any more ideas.”

  “Olivier! It’s not funny! In the cold light of day, your brother now knows just how kinky I am.”

  He grinned. “Rest assured, not as kinky as Alex. But, joking aside, Carla will be there tomorrow. You’d really like her.”

  “I’m sure I would, but…will she know too?”

  Olivier nodded. “I don’t think Alex would want to keep any secrets from her.”

  Lisa’s fork clattered onto the plate. “Great. Why not tell the whole of Paris I had my arse thrashed, Olivier? Why not post it on Twitter with a twitpic of my stripes?”

  “Now there’s an idea. They are rather exquisite. I’m not losing my touch.”

  She reached out to swat him, then regretted it as her weals scraped against the cushion. “Ouch!”

  “Serves you right.” He smiled and laid his hand over hers so tenderly, her mouth tingled. “Lisa, cherie, it’s only dinner. I can say you’re busy or that you can’t face seeing Alex. I’m sure he’ll understand, but I’d much rather you did come along. You’ll love Carla, and I promise, Alex will act as if nothing has happened.”

  She smiled. “I’m not sure I can make polite conversation with the man who’s seen me howling like a girl.”

  “Okay. That’s fine. I won’t force you. Now, finish your salmon. I’ve made navarin d’agneau for an entrée, and you need to keep up your strength.”

  Later in bed, Lisa lay facedown on the bed, her pelvis arched over a bolster, while Olivier massaged oil into her body. He hadn’t mentioned the restaurant date since dinner, but broached the subject now. “I can understand why you don’t want to face Alex after today, but I’d love it if you came with me tomorrow. We won’t be playing this time, and I’d really like you and Alex to have the chance to get to know each other in more…um…normal circumstances.”

  His fingers slid along the back of her thighs, stopping just below the crease of her bottom. Her body stiffened. She wondered if he’d touch her weals or say more.

  “Why?” she asked. When this is just business. Why do you want me to get to know your brother and sister-in-law?

  His hand spread out in a semicircle over her thigh, rubbing the oil in gently. Lisa held her breath as the silence lengthened. She twisted her head, but she couldn’t quite see his face. The bed creaked and the mattress lifted as he got off the bed.

  “Olivier?”

  His voice came from behind her, at the other side of the room. “I don’t know. I just would.”

  It was a cop-out, infuriating, frustrating the hell out of her, but something about the simplicity of his reply—the lack of any kind of role play—made Lisa want to weep into the pillow.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Olivier had suggested they walk to the restaurant from the penthouse, partly to save Lisa’s still-tender butt from a breakneck taxi ride, but also to make the most of the fine summer evening. Notre Dame loomed against the deep blue sky, silhouetted in all its Gothic splendour as they crossed the Seine to the island in the river. Olivier had his arm around her back. Despite the prospect of meeting Alex again, she felt safe, secure and cared for, which was faintly ridiculous considering this was the man who had disciplined and humiliated her for the past two months.

  “Here we are.”

  Olivier led her to the door of a small bistro, wedged into one of the streets on the Ile de Saint Louis. It had the sign of the moor’s head above the door.

  “I’ve heard of this place,” said Lisa.

  “It’s nothing fancy, not much more than a creperie. Is that okay?”

  “It’s perfect.” She tugged her wrap around her linen shift.

  “Nervous?” he asked, his face filled with concern.

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her lips just once, but her whole body tingled as if she’d been rubbed with chilli.

  “No need. They’ll love you.”

  Olivier was right. Lisa did warm to Carla from the start. She was witty, funny and warm—and Alex clearly adored her. He was unable to take his eyes off his fiancée throughout their dinner, and any thoughts Lisa had that he would be interested in a scene with her and Olivier evaporated. Gradually the tension in her limbs eased, and she ceased to wait for the wink or glance from Carla or Alex that would refer to what had passed between them. Slowly, she relaxed and simply enjoyed dinner with friends. They were just two couples.

  Except, the moment the idea slid into her mind, she realised that they weren’t. Alex and Carla were in love; she and Olivier were simply playing at being a couple.

  Then why go through with this charade of a family dinner, if that was all she meant to Olivier? No matter that he’d said he wanted a civilised, fun time outside of the sex; this was a big deal, for Carla, at least. Meeting his family—and he’d admitted how much he wanted her
to be here, last night, by his silence.

  She wriggled on her chair, her sore bottom, the stripes still tender, reminding her of the bizarre nature of their relationship.

  “Excuse me, I need the bathroom.”

  Olivier and Alex both rose to their feet, chivalrous to a point. Carla let out a giggle. “You two. What are you like?”

  Lisa had to smile too, wondering exactly what Carla was referring to, and soon they were all laughing. So the guys got to their feet out of politeness when a lady left the table, yet later the two of them would probably be over their respective partner’s knee for a spanking. Warmth spread to her face, then she joined in the laughter. That was the point; each of them knew the score; each one of them had fully consented to the games they played; each one shared an unbreakable bond.

  Carla discarded her napkin on the table. “At the risk of living up to a cliché of women going to the bathrooms en masse, I think I’ll take the chance to visit the loo too.”

  Like most Parisian bistros, the bathrooms were shoehorned into a tiny subterranean space reached by a spiral staircase. When Lisa exited the loo, and washed her hands, she found Carla drying her hands on a paper towel.

  “It’s a lovely little place here, isn’t it? Alex told me it’s one of Olivier’s favourite places. It must be wonderful to have the chance to live and work here.”

  Lisa ripped a towel from the dispenser. “It’s been an experience, definitely.”

  She saw Carla’s expression in the mirror behind her, the pressed lips trying to hide the knowing smile. She knew.

  Face burning, Lisa tossed the towel into the waste bin. “Alex has told you what happened, didn’t he?”

  Carla bit her lip, clearly unsure what to say.

  “Please, tell me the truth.”

  “He said Olivier punished you in front of him, yes. Alex didn’t plan it, he just happened to be there, but he wanted to be honest with me. We have no secrets from each other, but I’m sorry if I’ve invaded your privacy.”

  “Oh shit.” Lisa couldn’t meet her eyes.

  Carla patted her arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone or mention it when we’re with the guys. Our lifestyles are strictly private.”

  “Not after yesterday.”

  “No one need mention it ever again, if that’s what you wanted. You did want it to happen, didn’t you?”

  Lisa’s face was now on fire. “Yes, I did. I didn’t really know I did, but Olivier led me to the fire, so to speak, and I walked straight in. Are you sure you don’t mind Alex being there? Nothing happened between us, I swear it. He was just a…prop.” Lisa clapped her hand to her mouth. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Carla’s face was mock horror, then she burst out laughing. “A prop? I love that idea. I must tell him.”

  “No, please don’t. He’s absolutely gorgeous, of course, as far from a prop as you could get, but what I’m saying is that I don’t…I mean, I do fancy him, of course, who wouldn’t, he’s probably the sexiest bloke on the planet apart from Olivier, but it’s Olivier I’m in love with…I mean it’s Olivier I like.”

  Carla’s smile faded, and her eyes were full of other emotions. Sympathy? Understanding? Pity?

  “You’re in love with Olivier?”

  “I. I…I’m not sure. It just came out. Carla, please don’t say a word to him or to Alex, because when we started this thing together, it was only meant to be a game, a few months of fun where I could explore this kind of lifestyle. Was that how you started out with Alex? Playing games?”

  “Games?” Carla gave a sigh, considering. “Perhaps, at the start, we both thought it was a game although that didn’t last long. Now we have hindsight and can be honest with each other, it was pretty much love at first sight, and definitely lust at first sight!”

  Carla laughed, but Lisa’s stomach was twisted in knots at her reckless confession about being in love with Olivier. An admission she hadn’t even made to herself yet let alone acknowledged to anyone else, and yet she’d chosen a virtual stranger to admit it to.

  And she couldn’t unsay it now, because that would be lying to Carla and herself.

  “Forgive me for asking, but do you and Alex play all the time you’re together?”

  “Not all the time. Some people do, but we prefer to keep the sub-Dom thing to sex play in the bedroom. When we’re not playing, we’re as boring as everyone else, what with work, my degree and so on. Is that what you want with Olivier?”

  “I…we can’t. I’m leaving to work in New York in a month, and Olivier doesn’t do long term, as you know.”

  “Doesn’t he? I thought he was engaged to a girl until he got sick.”

  “What?” Lisa’s heart squeezed painfully. Olivier had said nothing about an engagement.

  Carla shook her head. “You must ask him.”

  “It’s impossible, even though I’ve tried to get him to open up to me. He wouldn’t even talk about his painting.”

  “Impossible? I thought the idea of Alex and me getting together at all, let alone falling in love, was impossible, and now look at us. We’re getting married this summer.”

  Lisa allowed herself a knowing smile. It was obvious Carla was a romantic and in love. “Well, I’m glad you found your happy ending.”

  “Happy ending?” She shook her head. “I can see the doubts in your face and that you don’t believe you and Olivier could ever be as happy as we are, but I was married before. My husband was killed, and…well, I won’t bore you, but believe me, there was a time I was so devastated by grief and betrayal that I thought I would never be able to take another breath, let alone find someone to love the way I love Alex.”

  “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Why would you? Lisa, you must fight for what you believe in, if you want it. I’m right, aren’t I? You do want Olivier in your life very badly?”

  Lisa wanted to burst into tears. She wanted him to love her so much, but the idea of admitting how much, and of being let down, was too frightening and full of potential pain to allow.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then you must decide—fast—and then fight for him.”

  “There was someone once…but he hurt me badly. Even if I could get over that and think of someone else, Olivier is the last person on earth I ought to choose! We got together precisely on the basis that I would be leaving soon, and that he was only going to…well, you know, help me explore my boundaries.”

  Lisa closed her eyes, partly from the shame of discussing her intimate life with Carla but also because tears were pricking the backs of her eyes.

  Carla’s voice was soft. “Shouldn’t you be telling Olivier about this?”

  Lisa shook her head, despairing. “It’s pointless. I’d rather die than have him think I’m needy, and even if he did reciprocate, I’m going to the States. I can’t see any possible way for us to work this out.”

  “Forgive me for sounding naive. I know it seems as if there is no way, but there will be if you want it enough and he does.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for interfering?” asked Carla gently.

  “No. You’re not interfering, far from it. You’ve only made me admit what I should have told myself weeks ago that I’m in love with Olivier. I think I do love him. Oh Jesus, what a mess!”

  “It’s not a mess, and especially not now you’ve been brave enough to recognise how you really feel. But I do understand what you’re going through. All the uncertainty, the not knowing how he feels or if he’d admit it, the rawness you’ve exposed. If it’s the slightest consolation, you can talk to me any time.”

  Carla delved into her bag. “Here’s my card so you can e-mail me or call any time you want.”

  Lisa took it and shoved it into her own bag. “Thanks, I may well do that. Don’t tell Alex about this, though, please.”

  “I won’t breathe a word, but knowing Alex’s forensic mind, he’s probably worked it out by now, if not from watching you, t
hen from knowing his brother.”

  Carla’s arms folded round her in a warm hug, and Lisa fought back tears again. “Come on, let’s get back to dinner before they wonder what we’re up to. We don’t want to get into trouble with the Lemaitres this early in the evening, do we?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lisa turned her head, blinking against the sun that filtered through the voile curtains stirring in the breeze. The dull rumble of traffic, sirens and general Paris hubbub drifted up from the streets below. The clock on the nightstand was an old-fashioned round-faced type with a brass bell alarm, part of the eclectic mix of furnishings and objects d’art in Olivier’s bedroom. Paris had woken up on yet another morning, like so many of them since she and Olivier had kissed Carla and Alex good-bye in the bistro a few weeks before.

  The room, the traffic noise, the morning sun were much the same as they ever were, yet everything had changed for Lisa. The moment she had admitted to Carla that she was in love with Olivier, her whole world had been turned upside down. Every moment with him now felt like the last moment, to be savoured and treasured, the pleasure—and the misery—heightened by the fact that in just two weeks’ time, it would all be over and she would be waking up in a Manhattan apartment, racing into the shower, grabbing a cab to her new office.

  As for Olivier? What about his world? It seems to Lisa that he was oblivious to the cataclysmic shift in Lisa’s life. Maybe she’d acted the role too well, or maybe he simply didn’t want to recognise that she’d fallen for him so deeply. He was as charming and attentive to her as ever—and even more demanding. His corrections had become more frequent and even more creative, sometimes so demanding that Lisa could hardly bear them. Yet the more he pushed her, the more she craved from him, like a woman drinking deep of every last drop of food and water before she was cast adrift in an open boat with no hope of seeing land again.

  Only last night, he’d insisted she have a respite from their kinky games, and they’d had a gentle evening of vanilla sex before she’d fallen asleep in the crook of his arm.