“I decide when to get pissy.”
Fucking hell.
That came out petulantly.
She never broke role. She never slipped. She never did because she wasn’t in role.
This was her.
So she certainly never came across petulantly.
Wisely, Olivier caught it, she knew it by the flicker of hilarity she saw hit his gaze, but he kept his mouth shut.
Damn, but if he didn’t let up, that hope this could become something more wouldn’t break through.
It’d explode.
“I want you here Wednesday night,” she demanded. “Nine sharp. I’ll call you to my table or to a playroom when I arrive.”
As she spoke, she saw his expression shift strangely.
“Olivier?” she called his name as a command for an explanation.
“Wednesday? Amélie … Mistress, that’s four days away.”
He wanted to see her sooner.
Oh God.
“Four very long days for you,” she stated tartly. “Since you’re not allowed to touch yourself until I have you again.”
His brows went up before they relaxed but the instant they did, he blinked.
“Come again?”
“You may not touch yourself, jack off, shoot a load, masturbate, while you’re away from me.”
“Okay,” he stated immediately. “Due respect and all, Mistress, but are you crazy?”
She couldn’t fathom why he asked that and she had to tamp down her need to burst out laughing at the way he did.
“Explain why you think I’m crazy,” she commanded.
“Right, well, I jacked off Tuesday night, and that was after the colossal orgasm you gave me and, Amélie, not sure you saw it but the slick you forced out of me onto the floor was so big, you could freeze it and make an ice rink.”
She felt her body begin to tremble as she continued to fight back laughing.
“And, just sayin’, that shit worked on me, as you know. So I jacked off in the shower Wednesday morning, when I got home from work Wednesday night, when I hit the sack, when I got up the next day … I need to go on?”
Powerless to fight it, and luckily being a Domme she could do what she fucking pleased, she melted into him.
And since she could also allow what she damn well pleased, after she did and his arms tightened around her, she let him do that too.
That said, there was a great deal he was saying, it was funny as well as gratifying, but it was also a little disconcerting.
“You’ve never had a Master or Mistress order you not to touch yourself between sessions before?” she asked.
“I’ve never had a Master, one. Mistresses only. And straight up, never had one jack my shit as good as you. So that question is moot since it’s about the good you give which I can’t get out of my head that makes that command, Mistress Amélie, damn near impossible.”
Very nice.
Very.
“Then, my steed, you will please me greatly, which will mean I’ll please you greatly, when you best that impossibility.”
He stared into her eyes.
Then he gusted out the word, “Fuck,” to the ceiling.
“Olivier,” she called, again grinning.
He looked back to her.
“Wednesday, mon chou. Be here at nine. Yes?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
So good. So beautiful. Her magnificent beast.
He deserved one last reward.
She gave it to him, a long, carnal, wet kiss that included her allowing him to grope her ass while she ran her hands along his back and then fisted them as best she could in his hair.
She gave a light tug and he lifted away.
“Get dressed, my chevalier.”
He bent and touched the tip of that extraordinary nose to hers before he drew away.
She shifted from between his legs and assumed a position of side of her hip to the vault to watch as he put on his clothes.
A thought occurred to her as he moved away, his fingers going directly to the straps still harnessing his balls.
And she made a decision.
“Oh no, Olivier,” she called. He stopped moving, twisted his torso, fingers still to his sac, and looked to her. “I want you to wear the harness home. You may take it off to sleep. You may leave it off except when you’re alone at home. There, I want you to strap yourself so you can be reminded who owns those fabulous balls, who owns that big, gorgeous cock. Leave it on at least an hour. And wear it again when you come back to see me.”
She watched, enjoying the show, but did so with bated breath, hope and fear fighting their own battle in her belly, as he waged internal war.
With jaw tight, the look in his eyes a mix of hunger and uncertainty, he nodded.
“Thank you, mon chou,” she said, her words weighty with feeling, those words holding meaning he knew.
By allowing her to play with him out of the club, this meant their play had expanded significantly.
This utterly thrilled her.
And with terrifying honesty, she had to admit, it scared the hell out of her.
He went to his clothes on the hooks.
Her eyes moved to the windows only to assess that their audience had disappeared after the show was obviously over.
Only one onlooker remained.
Stellan.
He again was not watching Olivier. His attention was on Amélie.
And when he got hers, his handsome, dark head tipped slightly to the side and his gaze slid to Olivier briefly.
Then he pushed away from where he was resting his shoulders against the windows of the darkened playroom across from hers, turned, and with the loose-limbed grace of that long, lean body that for years she’d desired to have under her command, he sauntered away.