French Blue (19 page)

“I’m glad to hear it for her first time. She does know what to do to stop this?”

“Oh yes,” said Olivier. “But whether she will, I don’t know.” He reached for a chair and manoeuvred it into the centre of the room.

“You’re taking a risk, aren’t you? She may call a halt and leave and never come back.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?”

“My God. You’re
in love
with her, aren’t you? And you’re petrified she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Sometimes, Olivier wanted to hit Alex for his perception, but this time Alex was only partly right. Olivier was falling in love with Lisa and he was petrified, but that was because Lisa didn’t feel the same way. If she did, he’d be left stranded on an iceberg in the middle of a cold sea.

“Is this a test? For you as much as Lisa?” Alex asked.

“I don’t…”

Before Olivier could finish, Lisa appeared in the doorway, in her tank top and tight jeans, bare feet poking out from the frayed hems. Her mouth opened in an “O” of surprise when she saw him and Alex drinking wine in the kitchen. Olivier guessed at once that she hadn’t expected them to actually go through with this.

She hovered on the threshold for a couple of seconds, but then carried on. Her chin jutted proudly as she crossed the carpet to the centre of the room, but Olivier was too experienced not to spot that the facade was all bravado. Was he also experienced enough to spot genuine fear and to make sure she was as turned on by the scenario as he was? He realised that this was a turning point for both him and Lisa.

Was Alex right? Was this a test?

She walked straight up to the chair he’d placed in the centre of the rug, where he’d balanced the cane across the velvet seat pad to leave her in no doubt of what lay in store. Her face was a little pale and her lips were pressed tightly together, probably to avoid a telltale wobble. Her nipples gave her away, jutting against the cotton of her tank top. She’d never seemed more beautiful to him, in her vulnerability and sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. His gut twisted in desire and fear. This was like treading on eggshells in hobnail boots.

Momentarily, Olivier wished he had a safe word to utter. Part of him wanted to stop. Was this his fantasy or was it hers? He didn’t do public correction anymore, not with private subs, and he’d never have asked Alex round if Lisa hadn’t let him know how much she wanted to live this fantasy. He was doing this for her, wasn’t he? Yet the hardening in his jeans meant he couldn’t deny he was turned on too. Not by Alex’s presence—that was a necessary evil—but by Lisa’s battle between fear and desire.

He forced himself to glance at his wrist, though the time on his watch didn’t register. “Just in time,” he said, battling the urge to scoop her into his arms and beg her forgiveness. He’d never wanted to do that with another sub; he must be going soft. Except he knew he wasn’t going soft; it was Lisa alone who’d aroused this reaction. He mustn’t succumb. He must deliver her fantasy.

“Place your hands on the chair,” he said.

She looked at him, and for a second he thought she was going to speak, but then she bent over, her slim fingers grasping the sides of the seat. Her jeans tautened over her sweet behind, the seam neatly bisecting her ass cheeks.

“Keep your feet hip-width apart, and whatever you do, do not move your hands until I say you can,” he growled. It occurred to him that he could have figged her while she’d been removing her panties in his room. The thought of a plug of ginger tingling inside her ass gave him a massive hard-on and would also have stopped any attempt to resist him by tightening her glutes. Most subs adored the added refinement once they’d been persuaded to try it.

Maybe it was too much now, but perhaps next time…
If there ever was a next time.

He played his trump card. “For deliberately defying me and putting yourself in danger, I’m going to give you ten strokes of the cane.”

His warning was deliberately meant to scare her, and he expected his words to have her instantly leaping to her feet with her safe word.

But dear God, she stayed where she was. Not even a gasp or cry of protest. Olivier’s fingers were slippery around the crook of the cane. He didn’t want to do this. Oh fuck, he was in trouble here. The deepest trouble he had ever been.

Lisa had called his bluff, and now the choice to make good on his threat was his.

A choice that weighed down on him like a millstone.

Alex’s presence loomed opposite. Olivier dare not look at him, because he sensed his brother was at best uncomfortable, and probably disapproving. He tried one more time to break her, tapping her bottom lightly with the cane, then bringing it down hard just short of her behind. The evil swish it made as it sliced through the air should have been enough to make even the most hardened sub think twice.

She flinched as he stopped the tip inches from her bottom, but her grip tightened on the seat.

Shit, he was going to have to go through with it.

He raised the cane a little way and brought it down smartly across the centre of her butt.

“Oww!”

Lisa’s yell cut through the air, and her knuckles whitened around the seat. She stamped her bare sole on the rug.

Fuck.
Putain
. Every swear word, in fact. Her reaction almost made him draw in a sharp breath of his own. It was the kind of experimental stroke he’d administered many times before to nervous and novice subs, sharp but not hard, designed to test their level, and her yelp had scythed into him. Now what did he do?

“Feet apart, bottom higher,” he ordered, steeling himself to stay in role. She wanted a public spanking, and he’d longed to give her that fantasy since he’d pleasured her at the gallery opening.

Then why wasn’t he enjoying it?

He made the next stroke much softer, no more than a sharp tap, but she cried out again and twitched with discomfort. Sweat broke out on his brow, disquiet rather than effort; he’d barely given her a proper stroke yet. He was experienced, but the cane was difficult to judge. It was impossible for it not to hurt at all. Every aspect of the rattan rod had been designed to sting like the devil. Lisa must have worked herself into such an emotional state, her pain threshold was almost nonexistent. Thank fuck he’d made her keep her Levis on.

She shuffled her feet apart again, and he saw her toes curl into the pile of the rug in anticipation of the next stroke.
Putain.

He brought the cane down again smack across the middle of her ass.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!” She pressed her legs together and stamped her feet.

“Stop clenching your butt, or I’ll take you into my room and make damn sure you don’t do it again.” He made his words harsh, compensating for his uneasiness. His nerve was failing, but Lisa’s obviously wasn’t. She opened her legs wide and pushed her bottom up in defiance. His cock twitched at the dark patch spreading over the denim around her pussy, and relief rushed over him. She was turned on,
very
turned on to be that wet, but he was still going to be very careful. He
should
have figged her; with any other sub, he would have done. She’d made him soft, vulnerable…but determined to deliver her due.

The next three strokes were swift and as light as he could make them without her realising he was only toying with her. He caught sight of Alex leaning back in the chair, his mouth set in a grim line as Lisa let out a keening sound.

Olivier pressed his forefinger into the denim, and Lisa whimpered softly. He knew he’d hadn’t hurt her that much, he knew that it was fear and adrenaline making her supersensitive, but
putain
, this could not go on. He wouldn’t let it, no matter how aroused she might be.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

Her butt remained where it was, mocking him.

“Up, now.” He barked out the command, and she straightened. Olivier searched her face. Her cheeks glistened with moisture and her breathing was ragged, but there were no real tears yet. She fidgeted in front of him but kept her hands resolutely by her sides, fighting to keep her composure. His heart lurched. Even though she was at her limits, and unravelling emotionally, she was determined to see this through.

“You can stop this,” he said.

“No!” She cried out the word as loudly as when each stroke had fallen.

He tilted her chin up between his fingers. “The safe word will stop this. You know you want to say it.”

Her eyes blazed with defiance. “Is that what you want, Olivier?”

She knocked him sideways, and only his experience prevented him from throwing his arms around her. She knew he hated doing this and that she was going to make him hate it even more. She was going to make him
suffer
. Whether he stopped now and showed his weakness or whether he made the next few strokes mere token taps or whether he continued. He couldn’t win and he fucking hated himself. What could he do now, for Lisa? How could he redeem himself? There was no way out other than to do exactly as he would if she hadn’t been Lisa. Show her the respect he’d have shown any other sub.

He pointed to the chair with the tip of the cane. “Back into position.”

Shock flickered across her eyes, and in that brief moment, he was certain she’d expected him to back down. He wished he had, but it was too late. Lisa was gone from him, her hands gripped the seat, her butt raised defiantly in the air. Olivier raised the cane and made a mistake. He looked at Alex who folded his arms and shook his head.

But Alex didn’t know Lisa. Didn’t know what she wanted. Or what she’d done to him by ripping open a heart he’d stitched shut years before, and exposing the raw need inside; a need to be loved, for one woman. This woman defying and killing him now.

He delivered the final four strokes as swiftly and fairly as he could, trying to give them exactly the weight and force he would with any other sub who had challenged him as Lisa had. Each one felt like it cut him in two as she gulped back her sobs and gripped the seat so hard he thought it might snap.

“
Dix
.”

The last stroke had fallen, and Lisa let out a long-drawn-out whimper.

“It’s done,” he said, putting down the cane. “Stand up.”

She straightened, and he dreaded seeing her face. It was worse and better than he’d dreamed. Her hair was wild. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her eyes blazed with passion. In that moment, she hated him. She was in bits, shredded physically, but the spark was there. So far, so normal. Subs sometimes hate their Doms after a punishment had taken them beyond their limits, and the passion in her eyes comforted him in one sense.

But…

“Go to my room, please, and stand facing the wall. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it. Her eyes said everything.

She left him.

What had he done? Seared on his memory were the tears that had left a trail down her face where her mascara had run. How much was pain and how much was anger and humiliation, Olivier didn’t know. He also didn’t know which was worse, that he’d hurt her physically or emotionally, and how much of the pain had been against her will. Just because she hadn’t used her safe word didn’t mean that she’d consented to the punishment. Even with all his experience, he was at a loss to work out her true feelings.

Far more disturbing, he couldn’t work out his own
.

Alex placed his cup on the table, as if witnessing a correction was an everyday occurrence. As soon as Lisa left, they switched to French.

“Well, that seemed to go well.”

Olivier snapped. “Fuck you, don’t say any more.”

“I don’t need to, do I? Because you know you just fucked up royally, and you know why.”

Olivier clenched his fist, but all his anger was directed at himself. Alex walked over to him and took him by the shoulders. “I hope she can forgive you,” he said, kissing Olivier on both cheeks.

More important, I hope I can forgive myself.

Olivier nodded and opened the door. “Shall I see you and Carla tomorrow for dinner?”

“Yes. About six thirty? Will Lisa come?”

“I don’t know.”

Alex laid his hand on Olivier’s shoulder, and Olivier was transported back years to the lonely boy sent away to a cold English boarding school, longing for the warmth of Provence. A boy who relied on his big brother to get him through the lonely days and nights until he found his feet. The brother who had cared for him and supported him during the darkest days of his illness and tried to pick up the pieces when Caro had left him.

A brother who was sometimes wrong, but often so right that Olivier sometimes felt he had never grown up.

“I hope she does come. I’ll book a table for four at La Saracene on the Île Saint-Louis anyway. See you.”

Olivier closed the door quietly and turned around, half expecting to see Lisa with her clothes on and bag packed, ready to leave at any moment.

He hoped she wouldn’t leave. He desperately wanted her to be standing in the bedroom when he walked through, furious with him, sore, turned on—yes, turned on—but not ready to quit.

He’d never wanted a woman stay so much. But after he’d taken her way out of her comfort zone, even beyond the terms of their agreement, after he’d crossed the line so much, would she?