French Kissing: Season One

by Harper Bliss

  Steph explained about Sybille, last night’s emergency meeting at Barbier & Cyr, and the photo.

  Dominique shook her head. “I know everyone in that building and no girl in her twenties named Sybille lives there. This is an old money building. You don’t get in that easily.” She grabbed her phone out of her purse. “Spell that name for me, please. I’ll make inquiries.”

  “What are you thinking?” Steph had found it quite implausible as well that Sybille happened to live in the same building—especially one like that on the Avenue Foch. “Were we being followed?”

  “She works for your firm.” Dominique shrugged. “Maybe someone asked her to.”

  “She’s Juliette’s PA, but I’m a hundred percent certain Juliette didn’t ask her.” Steph racked her brain. “Could this be political?”

  Dominique giggled uncomfortably. “A socialist conspiracy to bring me down?”

  Steph knew it sounded silly. “She did start at Barbier & Cyr right after you became our client. Your enemies might have gotten wind of the fact that you were talking to us…”

  “My enemies?” Dominique broke out into a full-on chuckle. “French politics, just like any other country’s, are dirty, but this is a bit too far-fetched.” Pierrot jumped on Dominique’s lap. “Besides, if she were really spying on me, why would she give the evidence to your bosses instead of who she’s supposedly working for?” Dominique shot her a smile. “But I do admire your active imagination.”

  Maybe it was personal then. Steph would be keeping an eye on Sybille, and would be doing some digging of her own.

  “I made them keep you on as my account manager.”

  “Really?” Steph didn’t know if she should be flattered or worried about this. “Is that wise?”

  “Oh yes.” Dominique’s hand found Steph’s on the back rest of the sofa. “And if not, at least it’s extremely exciting.”

  “You know, sometimes, I think you don’t give a fuck about the elections.” Steph interlaced her fingers with Dominique’s. Pierrot eyed the tiny movements of their hands with interest.

  “I do, but if you knew what I know and you’d seen what I have seen, you’d allow yourself a little indulgence now and then—even if you were in my position.” Dominique lifted their hands towards her mouth.

  “But aren’t politicians supposed to be above scrutiny, you know, better than the ordinary man.”

  Dominique’s lips were hidden by their hands in front of them. “Oh yes, but the truth is, we are far worse than anyone.” Her eyes narrowed as she planted a kiss on the top side of Steph’s hand before turning it so she could slip one of her fingers between her lips. She sucked it hard, turning Steph’s blood into liquid fire. “What do you say, Stéphanie?” she asked after letting Steph’s finger fall from her mouth. “Do you want to be bad with me?”

  It hit Steph that what she liked most about the politician seducing her in her sofa—and not for the first time—was the lack of respect they shared for the rules.

  “Fuck yeah.” Steph inched closer and, her torso bending over Pierrot’s curled-up body in Dominique’s lap, leaned in for a kiss.

  CLAIRE

  “Hey you,” Margot said, and the sight of her, dressed in her leather motorcycle outfit, was enough to rid Claire of most of the anguish that had been building in her gut all day. Claire had been waiting for her at Le Coin des Chats, drinking half a bottle of red by herself. “Shall we take that to go?” She winked at Claire, sauntered to the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender and settled the bill. Claire had seldom felt so taken care of. Margot wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Rough day?”

  “You have no idea.” Claire had wanted to go on a rant, to let out all the frustrations of the day, but now that Margot was here, she revelled in the calm her mere presence inspired.

  They rode the elevator together, both visibly relieved to find Nadia wasn’t there. Claire imagined Juliette was in dire need of some partner therapy as well.

  “Do you want to talk about it or forget about it?” Margot asked, while shouldering off her jacket.

  “Depends on your definition of forgetting about it.” Claire stepped closer, curling her arms around Margot’s waist. “Does it involve tying me to a bed post?”

  Margot drew her eyes into slits. “Only if you want it to.”

  The memory of Margot’s face when she’d started wrapping the fabric of her tank top around her wrists, hit Claire in a very pleasant way—a funny feeling beneath her ribcage and a more defined one between her legs. “Maybe,” she said, meaning yes.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Margot kissed Claire on the nose before planting a gentle peck on her lips. “How about I cook us dinner first?”

  “I’m not, um, intruding, am I?” Claire suddenly felt very lesbian, spending all of her free time at Margot’s already.

  “I know an emergency when I see one.” Margot smiled reassuringly. “When I play doctor,” she brought her lips to Claire’s ear, “it’s for real.”

  “Forget dinner,” Claire whispered back. “Fix me now.” She dragged her fingernails over the skin of Margot’s bare arms, looking deep into her eyes before leaning in for another kiss. As she did, it felt as if she’d known Margot forever—as if she’d always been the best cure for her pain.

  Margot responded by fastening her grip on Claire’s waist, pulling her closer.

  Claire’s brain flashed back to the previous morning, to the moment when Margot had begged her not to break her heart. As Margot’s lips landed on hers over and over again, their tongues meeting, their breath catching, Claire considered the notion inconceivable. She was falling in love and nothing else mattered. Not Juliette, nor Steph or Nadia, and definitely not Dominique Laroche.

  Overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions, she hoisted Margot’s top up—another one of her vast collection of white t-shirts, Claire had seen a pile of them in Margot’s wardrobe when she’d dressed yesterday. Somehow, she doubted she’d end up tied to the bed frame tonight.

  “I want you,” she hissed, overcome by a desire so sudden and strong, she had no choice but to push Margot against the nearest free wall and made a play for the button of her trousers. And if she’d ever wanted anything or anyone else, she couldn’t remember because from then on, it was all Margot de Hay, the quiet, confident doctor who, frankly, hadn’t needed to do much to knock Claire off her feet.

  Claire’s gaze found Margot’s dark eyes. “You have me,” Margot said, and it felt as intoxicating, as maddeningly exhilarating, as when she’d taken off her top the day before while straddling Claire, gazing deep into her eyes and knowing instinctively what she wanted, without Claire knowing it herself.

  Claire’s hand disappeared in Margot’s trousers, easily slipping in. Margot pushed them down anyway—always one to pay attention to practical matters, it seemed—giving Claire better access. Claire teased Margot’s clit through the fabric of her boy shorts—an extensive and colourful collection had also caught Claire’s eye the day before. She’d chuckled at the fact that the doctor preferred to hide her true colours beneath the black leather of her trousers.

  Claire was hungry for so much more though. She’d had plenty of time to imagine their first time, and this frenzy was much closer to how it had played out in her head—mostly because she’d never expected to get cuffed to the bed with a crumpled, sleep-worn tank top.

  Always busy, always on the go, Claire was more inclined to quick satisfaction against the wall than a strung-out, tender love-making session. She still had to find out if Margot shared that preference, although she had a strong inkling that Margot would probably change her mind about that too.

  Claire broke free for an instant to yank her blouse off her frame, tossing it to the floor—the last reminder of a disastrous day at work. She bent down and manoeuvred Margot’s trousers off her legs—not that easy when dealing with leather—but she wanted her to spread wide. Claire wanted to kneel between her legs, lick her, taste her
essence.

  Margot’s hands were in Claire’s hair, twirling strands of it around her fingers, spurring her on. Because the most delicious fact about this infatuation that Claire was in the middle of, was that it appeared to be completely mutual.

  Claire inhaled Margot before kissing her between the legs. This was as much about getting off, about dealing with the crazy hormones occupying their bloodstream, as it was about acquainting themselves with each other’s most intimate details.

  “Ooh.” Margot’s voice seemed to break at the first contact, her body going limp against the wall. The doctor had quite possibly done some daydreaming as well. “Oh, fuck.” Her nails drove into Claire’s skull—luckily, being a surgeon, she kept them short.

  Claire didn’t have it in her to tease, her resolve no match for such heartfelt lust, such quietly but efficiently vocalised desire. She lapped at Margot’s pussy as if it offered the first fluids she’d drunk in days. Circling, digging, twirling, until Margot gripped her head hard between her palms, her pelvis spasming against Claire’s lips. Soon, the hands clasping her head pulled her up. Claire looked at Margot, at the sated grin on her face, and ostentatiously wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I think we ought to skip dinner altogether and go to bed now,” Margot said, lust glinting in her eyes. She grabbed Claire’s hand—the one she’d used for rubbing—kissed it and curled her fingers around Claire’s wrist, pulling her into the hallway, in the direction of the bedroom.

  JULIETTE

  Juliette’s hand crept under the fabric of Nadia’s blouse. She knew Nadia wanted to talk, but she’d done enough of that for one day. The touch of Nadia’s warm skin would do for now—it was already relaxing her.

  “Stop,” Nadia said. “I—I just can’t. Not anymore.”

  She might as well have dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on Juliette’s head.

  “What?” Not that Juliette felt as if she was owed—it didn’t work that way—but she had given Nadia exactly what she wanted against the wall outside of Les Pêches on Saturday night and all she’d gotten in return was a cold shoulder—twice.

  “There’s something else.” Nadia spoke in a voice that Juliette had seldom heard—raw, trembling, insecure.

  Juliette pulled her hand away and sat up, worried. “What is it, babe? Whatever it is, we can talk about it?” They were just words of consolation, as much for herself as for Nadia, while fear and hopelessness collided in her brain. Was this it? Was Nadia finally leaving her?

  “I don’t know how to say this.” It was as if Nadia had shrunk to a shadow of herself in mere seconds. “I—” She buried her head in her hands briefly, inhaling deeply.

  Juliette was really starting to fear the worst now. She wanted to encourage her partner by, perhaps, putting a hand on her knee, but the pure fear of what she might say was too big. It paralysed her, chained her, immobile, to her seat in the sofa.

  “I’m so sorry.” Nadia looked her in the eye for a fraction of a second before averting her gaze again.

  And before she could say the words, in that instant before they came out of her mouth, Juliette knew. She saw it in the guilt displayed on Nadia’s face, in the pure shame etched in every line of it.

  “I slept with someone else.” The tears came, dripping one by one across Nadia’s cheeks at first, quickly transforming her face into a wet mess, as a cold hand seemed to reach into Juliette’s chest and squeeze tightly.

  Was this worse than she had expected? Was this better than Nadia telling her she was leaving her? Juliette didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d been cheated on and lied to. That Nadia had stepped into their bed after she’d shared someone else’s. Juliette felt nothing but complete and utter betrayal.

  “It happened months ago,” Nadia started rambling, her words barely registering with Juliette at the moment—although they would echo in her mind for long, lonely nights to come. “It meant absolutely nothing. She was a visiting consultant and you and I were doing badly and—” She stopped to sniffle and wipe her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m not making excuses because there are none. I know that I should have come to you instead of giving in to some stranger’s advances like that. I know all of that too well and it’s been driving me insane.”

  A stoic calmness descended upon Juliette. “So, what you’re saying is that, just two weeks ago, when you were sitting in that very spot and you basically told me it was my fault our relationship was faltering, you were covering up for yourself.”

  Nadia shook her head. “I never said that. I never said it was your fault.”

  Juliette huffed out some air. “I was working too much, blah blah blah. But hey, at least now it makes sense why you were spending so much time at the hospital. Such excellent service you offer in that place.”

  Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “I knew you would react like this, which is exactly why I didn’t tell you before.”

  “Oh, so now that’s my fault as well, is it?” The previous calmness was about to desert Juliette. “And next you’ll tell me you did it because you felt neglected by me. Boo fucking hoo, babe.”

  “I think I’d better go. There’s no talking to you when you’re like this.” Nadia rose. “And that has always been the problem.”

  “Don’t you dare leave and turn this around on me.” Juliette broke out into a fury, white noise crackling in her brain. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me you cheated on me and leave me to deal with it on my own.” Tears that had been rising from the back of her throat started to find their way out. The magnitude of what Nadia had just confessed hit her with full force.

  “You didn’t have a clue, Jules,” Nadia said with a small voice. “You didn’t even notice. I might as well not have been here most of the time in the past months. I could have carried on a full-blown affair and you still wouldn’t have known.”

  “Who was she?” Juliette stared at Nadia, who, truth be told, now as much as any other time in the past year, might as well have been a stranger standing in their flat.

  “Do you really want to know?” Nadia sat down on the armrest of the sofa.

  All Juliette could do was nod, through the tears and the anguish knotting in her stomach, through the knowledge that, now that it was all coming out, their relationship was far from strong enough to make it through this.

  “Her name was Marie. She works in a hospital in Brussels. My predecessor had contracted her services before for—”

  “Don’t tell me that. Tell me how it happened.” Defeated, Juliette leaned back against the soft cushions. “Tell me how my partner of ten years came to sleep with another woman.” Juliette heard her own voice bounce back nasally in her head—her nose bunched up from too much tears at once. “How did it make you feel? Avenged?”

  “Empty. Disgusted. Devastated. Utterly alone.” Nadia blinked away another tear.

  “And now here we are,” Juliette put a cool hand to her over-heated cheek, “both feeling that way.”

  Silence fell, only interrupted by sniffles from both sides, and in that silence, Juliette knew it was over. Regardless of whose fault it was and whose actions had caused what, she’d never felt so far away from Nadia—and she had no desire to be close to her again.

  “Maybe you should go now,” she said after a while.

  “Yes.” Nadia stood up without protest, only emptiness in her eyes, and headed for the door. “I’m sorry,” she said, one last time.

  Juliette nodded, almost absent-mindedly. “Yeah, me too.”

  EPISODE THREE

  CLAIRE

  Claire was about to reach another climax, Margot’s fingers buried deep inside of her while her own hands were, once again, tied behind her head—seemingly multiplying the effect of even the smallest caress—when the doorbell rang.

  “Don’t stop now,” she pleaded, but the moment was gone, her approaching climax dissolved with the chime of the bell.

  “I’m sorry.” Margot still had her fingers inside of Claire. “It’s probably just Nad
ia being polite. I’ll be right back.” She slipped her digits out, winked at Claire and jumped off the bed. “Don’t move a muscle.”

  “You can’t leave me here like this,” Claire protested, the arousal that had fled her moments ago already returning.

  “Looks like I can.” The smirk on Margot’s face didn’t help. She threw on a robe, sauntered to the bedroom door and closed it behind her.

  Claire had a perfectly comfortable apartment of her own a few Métro stops away—and she didn’t share it with one half of a couple on the brink. Why did they always end up here? She made a mental note to invite Margot to hers next time.

  The ongoing stumbling—and was that sniffling?—in the hallway made her feel extremely self-conscious, being tied up like that with nothing whatsoever covering her naked skin. The padded handcuffs Margot had used on her, unlike the loosely-knotted tank top she had employed the first time, were impossible to unlock on her own—which was, of course, the whole point of them.

  The door opened to a crack. “I’m very sorry.” Margot rushed to the bedpost to which Claire’s hands were tied. “Nadia’s in quite a state. I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone.”

  Claire uttered some choice curse words under her breath until her hands were freed. Rubbing her wrists, she asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve poured her a brandy and sat her down.” Margot pecked Claire on the cheek. “Let’s find out.” Margot looked her in the eyes earnestly, seemingly quite undeterred by Nadia’s arrival. “Best put some clothes on.”

  With regret, Claire ogled Margot’s covered up skin. She looked around for her clothes and realised her blouse was still somewhere on the living room floor, discarded after a hellish day at work.

  As if reading her mind, Margot tossed her a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from her wardrobe. “I’m not sure they’ll fit, but they’ll have to do.” She said it with such a wicked grin on her face, Claire could hardly hold it against her. Margot was at least two inches shorter than her, and their waistline wasn’t exactly the same size either.