Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (25 page)

It helped that his security staff had swept the room beforehand.

He was already plagued by threats and blackmail attempts. He didn’t need footage of him fucking his wife in
Esprit’s
private dining room to be floating around the black market!

Thrusting the current blackmail threat to the back of his mind, the deadline of which was looming, he murmured, “
Mignonne
, it is not like you to be early.”

She turned around, a cheeky grin on her lips. “Are you saying I’m always late?”

“I would never be so rude,” he retorted, taking in the dress she was wearing with a sigh.

He’d seen women in sexier outfits, tighter and shorter, showing more flesh, but nothing got him as hot as
his
woman in a dress.

It wasn’t even skintight. It was summery and floaty, a light fabric that swirled about her legs as she moved. The fabric gently swept over her breasts, not cupping and not enhancing, but the deep V neckline was enough to draw his eyes down the length to her décolleté.

“To what do we owe the honor of a dress?” he asked, brows raised. More accustomed to seeing her in little short shorts that she considered lounge wear, but he considered prick teasers, the dress was definitely an unusual wardrobe choice for his wife.

Her grin twisted a little, a bloom of color rose on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with secrets, but she just jerked a shoulder and said, “I fancied a change.”

Humming disbelievingly under his breath, he stepped closer to her, bent down, and scooped her up into his arms. He held her by the butt, she gripped his hips with her thighs, and, in that same position, he walked her over to the next best part about the private dining compartment.

In the dead center of the room sat the table. Dressed for fine dining with pristine white, linen tablecloths, and glass that sparkled like diamonds, the setting fit with the rest of the room. Creamy gold walls, abstract paintings that made no sense, and light fittings that were little glass balls of illumination.

Yet, in the corner, all was dark. Another table sat amid blackened crimson walls. Here, the lights were dim, creating shadows even at the time of day when the sun was at its highest.

Candles sat on this table, with its corner cubicle loaded with cushions, and made for comfort.

Considering he was friends with
Esprit’s
owner, Jean Gauvin, he knew what the man’s intention had been behind this tucked away corner.

Sex.

In public, but hidden.

Discreet, but still in the middle of a busy, celebrated restaurant.

Bastien grinned, headache forgotten as he took a seat on one of the high loungers. When her knees pinned him to the seat, and he slid his hands along the sleek curves, he murmured, “I think I like you in dresses.”

She pouted. “You think?”

He shook his head. “Okay, I know.” He leaned up and bussed her mouth with his own, a gentle kiss that ended with him nibbling her bottom lip. “But I like you to be comfortable too. So, tell me, why the dress? Because I know you hate them.”

Her cheeks flushed again and she leaned closer to him, her breath brushed his ear as she whispered, “No panties, a skirt…you can be inside me so much quicker.”

A few weeks ago, Devvy would have stuttered through such a statement.

Her shyness had been endearing and proof of her innocence. This creature, who was growing ever more confident, bold, and proud, just blew him away. It was as his mother had said. She was growing stronger just by being at the center of his and Alex’s world.

Unable to help himself, his hands slid higher up the outer curve of her thigh. Farther and farther until he reached her hip, her strap-free hip.

He groaned. “You’re not teasing.”

She tutted. “And why would I tease? Why wouldn’t I tell the truth?”

His grunt made her laugh. She rolled her hips, rocking them over his shaft and murmured, “I think someone’s happy I’m not wearing panties.”

Devvy reached between them, her fingers not fumbling an inch as she slid the zipper down and delved between the folds of fabric. When her hand encountered his cock, he groaned again, sweat already beading above his top lip. His head tilted backward to rest against the cubicle and he watched her face, the studious cast to her features, as she jerked him off.

That level of concentration always did him in. She put her all into everything, into pleasing him, and nothing got him hot as quickly as his wife’s intent to please him.

Her fingers were strong and sure as they gripped his cock, sliding along the length, clenching down as they reached the base. One hand dropped and cupped his balls, while the other returned to the head of his cock. Nimble fingers tickled the tip, rubbing and caressing the glans, making his hips jerk every time she gently pinched the rim.

His breathing was fast, far too fast. She did this to him every time, yet she still doubted her power over him.

The thought, the only one in his brain now, rammed home. His hand slipped under her skirt and he reached for her wrist, gently halting her movements.

“
Mignonne
,” he panted, feeling on the edge of coming but refusing to do so outside of his wife’s pussy.

“Yes,
cher
?” she asked, her voice sultry, deep. So unlike the Devvy of old that his heart throbbed and his cock twitched in her hold.

“No matter what,” he whispered, throat working as her other hand continued to play with his balls. “No matter what happens, I love you. You know that,
oui?
”

She smiled, the simple twitch of her lips so devastatingly sexy, he wanted to explode. “I do.”

The two words, filled with cocksurety, had him grinning. “You do, do you?”

Devvy winked, leaned down, and pressed her lips to his. She rubbed her mouth back and forth, and then retreated to his ear again where she nibbled the lobe. “I love you, too.”

Not by one inch did he show his relief. Instead, his other hand, the one holding her thigh, squeezed slightly. “I think you should show me how much.”

Laughter barked from her. “I should?” she asked, the tilt to her head coy and all the more sexy for it.

She didn’t wait for an answer, instead, arched up, her hips rolling back as his cock collided with the outer lips of her sex. He moaned, fingers and toes clenching down as she teased him. Sliding her pussy along the length of his shaft, nudging her clit with his cock head. She liked to do that, masturbate with his dick instead of her fingers. And he loved her to do it. Every single time, it got hotter. Dragged him to the brink of explosion.

As she worked herself on him, his cock grew wetter with her juices. Her hips started to jerk frantically and he knew she was close. He also knew this was another pair of pants ruined.

All in a good cause, though,
hein
?

He grabbed her hips and brought her to a halt. A sulky pout was his reward, but his hand slipped between their legs and he angled himself toward her cunt. Gently, slowly, so slow that it killed something inside him, he started to push home.

She mewled as he started to penetrate her, as always, taking his time to make sure she was ready for him. Her breathing whistled past his ear as she collapsed on him, tucking her head against his neck so damp skin could collide with damp skin.

The sounds she made were like a siren call. They egged him on while calling him back, forcing him to be in control, because he refused to hurt her.

It took a good minute for him to start the slide deep, and her cries had him clenching his eyes shut. Finally, when he was tucked inside her, the both of them sat there, already exhausted. Her muscles clamped down, milking him but he wanted her pleasure, too. Otherwise, it was bittersweet.

Devvy had different ideas.

She lifted her hips a scant few inches, and then dropped down. Her inner muscles pulled taut as she did. His hands clamped down on her waist, trying to stop her, but she shook her head against his throat, refusing to stop, telling him silently she was in control here.

He let her manipulate him, enjoying her confidence as she rocked back and forth, clenching down harder each time. She literally milked his shaft with her pussy, dragging out the cum, urging and encouraging it from his cock.

His cry of pleasure ricocheted around the room, as did his panting. Behind his eyes, where the ache of earlier had been, fire burned and branded him.

His wife’s fire. His wife’s brand.

He sighed as the pleasure drained away, all tension and stress with it.

Her gasps of need whispered past his Adam’s apple and he tutted, “Why did you do that,
hein
?”

Her legs twitched as she continued to rock back and forth. “You had a headache.”

He grinned. “You’re my personal prescription of ibuprofen, are you?”

Her head shot back and she glared at him. “You’re my husband. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“And you’re my wife,” he retorted. “I’m supposed to take care of you!”

Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the hips, dragged her off his limp shaft, and placed her on the edge of the table. Spreading her legs, within five seconds, he had his mouth buried at her cunt. He slurped at the juices, tasting himself, but mostly, tasting her pleasure. Her cries, now, were high-pitched, edgy, filled with need.

He sucked down against her clit, nibbling the little nub, biting it and teasing. He rimmed the small hole that had, moments ago, given him such pleasure. Slipping his tongue deep, he heard her moan of pleasure and flickered his tongue upward again. Sliding two fingers into her cunt, he drew those wet digits down to rub against her butt. Rimming the pucker, his mouth returned to its earlier task.

As he sucked down, the two fingertips edging deeper into her ass, she screamed. The sound made his ears ring, and his lusty chuckle vibrated against her most tender flesh, a move that had her nearly falling back onto the table and destroying a small fortune in glassware.

He grabbed her waist and kept her upright, enjoying the little spasms as she worked through the climax he’d just given her.

When her hoarse gasps had calmed, he returned her to her earlier position on his lap.

“I think we should eat like this,
non
?” At her tired nod, he just smiled. “Did you order us anything, or shall I order now?”

“Tapas,” she mumbled, yawning around the word.

He grinned and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. “I’m going to check the dumbwaiter. I know a bell usually rings, but with all the noise you were making, we probably missed it.”

Her head flew back at that and she glared at him. “You were making just as much noise, buddy.”

He held up both hands in surrender. “I’m sure I did.”

She nodded stoutly and on shaky legs, stood. He watched her weave a little as she walked over to the little elevator that brought their food from the kitchen. Inside, there was a tray and she shot him another glare at his having been correct. Both of them had missed the rather large bell that rang when food arrived.

He just shrugged. “At least we did it right.”

Tray in hand, she chuckled. “Yeah, I guess if I’d been bored I’d have heard the bell.”

He growled. “I’ll take that as a compliment,
chérie
.”

“Good,” she retorted pertly. “It was meant as one.”

Sniggering a little, he peered down at the tray of food she’d ordered. Before he could pick up the deconstructed chorizo, she perched herself on his knee, and wiggled around to get comfortable.

He just laughed as she reached for the chorizo, took a bite then fed him the other bit.

“How did you know I wanted that one?”

She grinned at him. “You’d be surprised how much I know about you.”

“Oh?” he asked, brow cocked.

“Yep,” she retorted cheerfully. “I spent two years hanging on every word and absorbing every detail. I know a lot about you, honey.”

He scowled. “You thought I was going to leave you. Alex told me.”

At his statement, she reached around and patted him on the cheek. “Maybe a smidgen.”

He tapped the nose she’d crinkled. “I hope you now realize how foolish that was.”

Devvy blushed. “Sort of. I asked Alex to move in with us last night.”

He said nothing at the change of subject. Her boost in confidence only went so far, it would take far longer for her to feel secure in her marriage to him, and their relationship with Alex. At her other comment, his brows rose. “I take it that went badly.” He reached for an asparagus spear surrounded with Serrano ham and took a bite, before offering the rest of it to her.

His voice was strain-free, but it was a lie. It both pissed him off and saddened him the way Alex continually rejected him, and what he could offer.

After twenty years, he should have been used to it.

He wasn’t.

“Kind of,” she answered. “He was a little annoyed, but I was too. He got up, in the middle of the night, and started working! I mean, I know I’m bad sometimes. But I’m not
that
bad. I told him if he wanted to be an outsider in our relationship, then the way to go about it was to stay at the penthouse and not come and live with us.”