Page 4 of Lucien & Olivia

He’s rock hard, of course he is.

“What are you drinking tonight?” he asks.

I gasp as he kisses the little dip of my cleavage and pulls back. His lids are heavy over those icy eyes and the light glints off the gray around his temples. I can feel my heartbeat between my thighs and I’m desperate to be tipsy on champagne with his cock inside me.

“Champagne,” I whisper.

“Only the best,” he says.

He releases me and circles the bar, taking a gold bottle from the ice bucket. My eyes follow his tattooed hands as he grips it, twisting the wire. It comes away easily, popping and sending a wisp of bubbles up. I never get tired of watching him do the simplest things. It amazes me that he can pour a glass of champagne like a gentleman with the same hands he’s used to murder more people than I can count.

He’s a complex man. I’ve given up trying to understand him.

He fixes a glass of whiskey for himself and brings me the champagne. It’s the kind I like, a little sweet, a little tart, justenough bubbles. I take a sip and his eyes follow my mouth, lingering on the lipstick stain I leave on the glass.

“What did you get me?” I whisper.

“The usual,” he says. “Beautiful things for a beautiful woman.”

I chew my lip, cocking my head. “You’re very hard to buy for. You don’t want pretty, expensive things the way I do.”

“I don’t need anything.” His brow twitches. “I have one very pretty and very, very expensive thing already and she keeps me thoroughly occupied.”

I can’t keep from blushing. He leans in and his lips brush my temple.

“Speaking of pretty things,” he says. “Go put on yours.”

“Only if you put on yours,” I whisper.

His mouth twitches and he grips my ass, squeezing it. “Go on then.”

CHAPTER THREE

Lucien

I put on my best black dress pants and shirt. She likes when I roll the sleeves up so she can see the tattoos across my forearms, so I do, and finish it off with a pair of matching shoes. Usually she likes me in charcoal gray, but for nights like this, she gets drenched from all black.

And whatever she wants, she gets.

It takes her a long time to get ready, but I expected that and I’m in no hurry. I have another drink and watch the snow fall from the balcony. She’ll love it in the morning, all the glittering white over the hills as far the eye can see. I finish my whiskey and go for another, pulling the velvet curtains shut.

I’ll need privacy for what I do to her tonight.

The bathroom door opens and my wife steps out. Usually Olivia is predictable in what she wears, but tonight she takes me by surprise.

Her little gold dress barely brushes the top of her knee. She’s wearing the shoes that make me rock hard, gold heeled sandals with velvet straps that wrap around her ankles. The heels are sohigh they emulate the arch of her foot when she comes. I would know, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that image.

Her throat, ears, and wrists are empty. She’s expecting me to fill those spaces. I like her confidence.

“Come here,” I order.

She obeys, striding across the room in those fuck-me heels. Her eyes are done in smoky gray, her lips in deep burgundy. I’ve noticed when she’s feeling especially horny, she matches the shade of her mouth to her nails.

Perhaps the sexiest thing of all is the streak of gray through her feathery bangs. I touch it, the fine strands kissing my fingertips. Her lashes flutter and she reaches out, hooking one finger under my belt. My cock throbs in response.

“You look good,” she says, her voice husky and low.

“You look better,” I say, picking up the champagne. “Have another glass, Mrs. Esposito.”

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