Authors: Kitty French
Lucien shifted a little into the centre of the seat and spread his thighs. "Sit on me."
She swung her leg over him, her hands on the chair back to steady herself, then reached down and positioned the head of his cock.
"All the way, Lucien." Euphoria ran like rapids through her body as she breathed assent into his ear. "I want to go all the way."
Lucien’s eyes gleamed with lust as he placed his hands on her hips and pushed her down onto him, then held her there. Impaled. She lifted her eyes from their coupling and found him watching her with an expression of almost tortured pleasure on his shadowed face.
Sophie scooted her knees forward until they touched the back of the seat either side of his hips, and his hands moved around to cup her backside beneath the rucked up lace skirt.
Behind them, a Rubenesque tableau came to life. The brunette, now on her knees pleasuring her Adonis. At the bar, a naked woman perched on a high stool, Venus leaning back against her lover as he fondled her body. Couples everywhere, in various states of intimacy, locked in their own hedonistic worlds, the eroticism heightened ten-fold by the presence of others orbiting around them.
And Lucien Knight. Beneath her, inside her, all over her. Sophie started to move, letting his hands be her guide, letting their erotic delight build stroke by stroke to breaking point. The music swirled around them, a steady heartbeat dictating the sexual pace, as the low lights and candle shadows spotlit curves and outlined figures. Sophie ground down on Lucien as her body shuddered, and then leaned in close and kissed him through his own jolting, intense climax.
He wound his hands into her hair and eased her mouth off his as his body stilled. "Sophie Black. You fucking amaze me."
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie stretched out an arm, reaching for the warmth of Lucien in the vast bed.
Pillows. Expensive sheets. But that was all. Hm.
She opened her eyes and squinted against the morning light as she sat up. Lucien's side of the bed was rumpled and decidedly empty.
She flopped back on the pillows and lay still for a few moments, letting the new day settle on her and the previous night’s events come back to her.
The lingerie boutique. The toy store. The sex club.
A quick glance beneath the quilt confirmed that she was nude, and memories of a night entwined with Lucien's equally naked body filtered in. It had been after three in the morning when they'd arrived back at the penthouse, and she'd unhesitatingly invited him to sleep in her bed… because she really wanted him there. Her only lucid memory was of Lucien unlacing her dress and curling his big warm body around hers from shoulder to hip, his leg over hers, his arms bracketing her body. She'd woken at some point and found she'd turned to face him, so close that she could feel his light, even breathing on her cheek as he slept. When she'd closed her eyes again, her dreams had been of sweeping alpine lands, freezing, glassy fjords… and of untamable lone wolves.
Where was he? Sophie lay still and listened for telltale sounds. No running water in the bathroom. No feet padding across marble floors. No low hum of the breakfast news on TV, nor the rattle of a coffee cup on its saucer. Nothing, in fact. Even from her limited vantage point in the bedroom, Sophie sensed that Lucien wasn't here at all.
Mild panic had her sitting up and reaching for her robe, and that was when she spotted the note propped up on the bedside table.
God, had he abandoned her in Paris leaving nothing but a note?
She dropped the robe and picked up the letter, revealing what it had been propped against. Candy pink and smooth, aside from a slender tether of tiny pearls attached to the base. That egg. It had been in cellophane last night, but now it was unwrapped and cool in her palm as she turned it over. She flipped the note open to read Lucien's confident scrawl.
Morning Princess,
Three things.
Last night was incredible.
The car’s coming for you at twelve. Lunch meeting.
Lube the egg and slide it inside you. Do not come without me.
L x
Sophie's mouth fell open at the third point on Lucien's list and she dropped the note onto the sheets to look again at the egg.
What did it do?
She gave it a little shake, half expecting it to crack open and reveal something less egg-like, or at least to chime, or do something other than look like an innocent, shiny, pink candy egg.
Lube it
. She belatedly noticed the small bottle bearing the familiar Knight Inc. logo, on the bedside table. It had not been there last night. Lucien was a man prepared for anything when it came to sex.
Did he expect her to meet him with the egg in place?
Surely not.
But even as the objection formed in her mind, she knew it was in vain.
Disconcerted, Sophie reached for her phone to check the time, and groaned. It was almost ten already - where had the morning gone? How could she sleep so soundly amidst all this ferment? She threw the quilt back and flung her feet down, clicking on the flashing message icon as she slid her feet into the white towelling mules.
No knickers. Don't forget the egg. I WILL KNOW.
In the back of the limousine a little later, Sophie crossed her legs and flicked a guilty glance towards the glass privacy partition. There was no way the driver could know that beneath her demure mauve woolen dress she wore no knickers, or that the smooth oval of the egg was buried within her body, yet still she felt as if she had a neon sign around her neck.
I'm sleeping with the boss.
Would she do literally anything Lucien told her to?
The thought skimmed in unannounced and Sophie let it sit for a second as she weighed it up. No, maybe not absolutely anything, but she couldn't imagine a situation where she'd want to say no to him, because he seemed to understand her limits. Or did he? Had he anticipated that she'd let him screw her last night in the club? Because it had definitely come as a titanic shock to Sophie herself. It would never have happened in a Knight Inc. club back home in London. But something about last night's venue had freed her to be whoever she wanted to be within the confines of its seductive, velvet-clad walls. And now, in the cold, temperate light of day, she found that she couldn't locate a repentant bone in her body.
She'd loved it. Been turned on by it. And thinking about it in the back of the limo, she was turned on by it all over again. She pressed her bottom into the seat, pleasurably aware of the egg’s presence inside her, enhanced by the secret knowledge that she was naked beneath her skirt.
The car eased to a halt outside a swish-looking restaurant. Sophie climbed out and smiled nervously at the chauffeur as he held her door open for her, then stepped beneath the black canopies of the restaurant. Precision-manicured bay trees stood sentry on the pavement and the gilt metal frames around the windows reflected the passing cars like mirrors.
The maître d' appeared as soon as Sophie stepped inside the doorway, ramrod-backed and elegantly suited. The moment she mentioned Lucien's name a look of deference wreathed his previously passive features.
"Mr. Knight is expecting you, madame," he murmured, and inclined his head discreetly for her to follow him into the dining room.
Beyond the sophisticated vestibule, the room opened out into a large, ornate and high-ceilinged formal dining room that was everything Sophie might have daydreamed as a postcard-perfect Parisian restaurant. Starched white table linen matched the stiffened white aprons of the waiting staff and heavy silver tableware abounded. Glamorous patrons lunched, every bit as immaculate as their surroundings. And there amongst them was Lucien Knight.
Sophie spotted him a second or two before he saw her. He was deep in conversation with the man at his side, but there was no missing the flash of pleasure that crossed his face when he caught sight of her. He excused himself and stood to greet her as she approached.
"Gentlemen, this is Sophie Black, my PA."
Two pairs of similarly dark eyes turned to her with polite interest, one younger, one considerably older.
"Sophie, this is Elron… and Peter Carmichael."
"It’s lovely to meet you." Sophie hoped it was going to be. She looked sharply at Lucien.
What was he playing at?
Both men proffered firm handshakes as they stood in greeting, then Lucien held Sophie's chair until she was seated.
The men were obviously father and son, given their matching surnames and eyes.
"Elron and Peter own one of the largest sex toy companies in the States, Sophie, as I expect you recall. They produce quite a few Knight Inc. products on our behalf."
Sophie nodded, cogs of understanding turning as she recognised the familiar Carmichael name once Lucien had placed it within a work context. It was a company name she'd seen often.
"I’m delighted to meet you both in person," she smiled genuinely, as a waiter arrived with their hors d'oeuvres.
Lucien leaned in close as the plates were placed in front of them. "I ordered for you earlier. There wasn't any pizza on the menu, sorry."
She shot him a scathing look and could tell he was discreetly laughing as he looked down. Her eyes followed his nervously to their plates. She could only offer thanks to the culinary gods that he hadn't ordered snails, because she was no Julia Roberts, and knowing her luck there would be no deft waiter on hand to catch any of the errant little shells. She was far more likely to put out one of the exquisitely colourful and clearly very old windowpanes.
The salmon on her plate was more a work of art than a starter, a delicate coral fan surrounded by eau de nil foam. Flavours exploded in Sophie's mouth from the first taste: the smoky oak of the salmon, freshness from morsels of cucumber and an unexpected kick of horseradish from the foam. The waiter reappeared with wine selected specifically to accompany the dish, and on investigation, Sophie could only marvel at how perfectly they went together.
She contributed to the conversation a little as they chatted with the Carmichaels about Paris, and found herself relaxing and appreciating more and more the beautiful dining room with its high frescoed ceiling. The towering picture windows looked out over grand parkland, letting natural light flood the room and glint off the crystal chandeliers.
The second course arrived seamlessly, a colourful plate of poached hen’s egg perched atop Iberian ham, with bright green watercress puree.
"Bacon and eggs, Paris style," Elron joked in his easy Californian accent.
"Looks delicious," she murmured as she broke the yolk with her fork and watched the vibrant yellow yolk ooze down into the vivid puree. The aroma of the poshest breakfast ever hit her nostrils, and she caught Lucien's eye as she lifted the first taste to her mouth. He raised his glass to her with the merest suggestion of a wink.
And then Sophie dropped her fork from her fingers. The others looked up in mild surprise as it clattered onto her plate.
The egg was vibrating, and not the egg on her plate.
Astounded and flustered, she picked her fork up swiftly and smiled, hoping that there was no watercress in her teeth and – oh God - that they couldn't hear her crotch buzzing. She belatedly realised she’d been too busy appreciating the egg’s prettiness last night to notice the remote control that Lucien must have hidden somewhere about his person right now.
The mellow sounds of a piano underscored the low level of chatter and the clink of silver on porcelain. It was all so very civilised. Except for this.
She couldn't look at Lucien.
"Excuse me. Butterfingers," she said, rolling her eyes. She was fairly sure her cheeks were glowing.
"Is there something wrong with your
egg,
Sophie?" Lucien asked, his face a mask of polite concern.
She cleared her throat and reached for her wine glass rather than answer him straight away for fear of what she might actually say.
"No, no, it's very nice," she said after a fortifying glug of wine, disconcerted when her voice came out in a helium squeak.
"Nice?" he frowned, clearly displeased with her bland choice of words. The vibrations of the egg intensified.
Christ. She cleared her throat desperately and glanced at Peter Carmichael in the hope that he'd start a conversation about anything in the world except for eggs. Her body throbbed.
"Lucien tells me you're new to the adult entertainment industry, Sophie. I hope you're not finding it too shocking."
Okay, so that didn't help. "Well, it's never dull," she managed, wishing she could say more but finding it hard to engage her brain and her mouth because Lucien had flicked the egg onto pulsate.
She couldn't eat another mouthful, and her cheeks must be redder than ripe tomatoes. Surely the Carmichaels must have realised that there was something amiss? But their conversation continued, flowing around her as if everything was perfectly normal.
How could that be?
She was knickerless and being massaged internally by her lover whilst he conducted a conversation about the uptick in sex toy sales following the recent explosion of erotic fiction onto the adult entertainment market. She fought the sensations inside her with every ounce of self-control she possessed, struggling to keep possession of her thoughts and expression. She glanced at Lucien’s poker face. Nothing to see, nothing to plead with.
The plates were cleared, and Sophie could have sagged with relief when Lucien ceased his ministrations as the waiter circled the table topping up their glasses. She even managed a couple of minutes’ worth of impressively lucid conversation with their guests as their main courses arrived. Sophie’s first thought was relief that her plate was egg-free. She glanced across from her divine-looking pink lamb to Lucien's snowy white fish. It sat centrally on a bed of pale green baby leeks, accompanied by not one, not two, but three whole little coddled quail’s eggs.