When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(80)
Author: Beth Kery

“Excellent choice,” Lucien murmured, glancing at Elise as she studied the wine label. “I once met an adorable little girl in Nice,” he said, referring to the fact that he’d handpicked the wine from Bellet Vineyards, near Nice.

Elise gave him a small, knowing smile.

“And please tell Emile that he should take another Bellet wine before he goes tonight,” Lucien said.

Richard glanced sideways as he poured the wine. “You can tell him yourself. Here he is,” Richard said. An older man with gray-streaked hair, a high forehead, and patrician features approached the table and set down an iced platter with a flourish.

“Tomales Bay oysters and mignonette sauce—my mother’s own recipe. I serve it only to family and close friends,” the world-renowned chef said briskly. “And I heard what you said about the wine, and you know you owe us nothing, Lucien. Richard and I would come and cook and serve for you ten times over for all you did in getting us that property in Paris years back. And who is this blooming rose?” Emile said, ignoring Lucien’s outstretched hand and turning to Elise.

“Elise,” she said simply, and Lucien was sure she didn’t want to be recognized as the wild-child, spoiled heiress of Louis Martin. And why should she, he wondered, studying her as Emile took her hand, when she had grown into so much more than that . . . when she was so much more than that stereotype? He’d once been foolish enough to try to squeeze her into that narrow role, but of course Elise could never be pigeonholed.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for years now,” Elise said, staring up at Emile with an amazed, starry-eyed expression. “I went to your restaurant in Paris several times. Your cuisine took me to a higher state of consciousness.”

Emile beamed at her stark, completely sincere-sounding compliment. “You’re referring to the very restaurant where Lucien found us ideal premises. It was no small favor on his part. That is why Richard and I are here tonight.”

“How is your mother?” Lucien asked Emile quietly as he released Elise’s hand.

“As opinionated as ever. You should hear the way she harangues the cook at her assisted-living facility.”

“And you wonder where you get it,” Richard said smugly.

Emile gave his lover a sly smile. “At your every command, Lucien. Come, Richard, I need some help with the quail.”

A few seconds later, Elise turned and stared at him. She still looked slightly startled.

“You got Emile Savaur to come and cook for us?” she asked hollowly.

“Yes. You know he’s opened a restaurant in town, don’t you?”

Her stunned expression told him that was hardly an explanation.

“I didn’t want a Fusion employee to come and do it, and you said you wanted to eat at Fusion,” he said, shrugging and unbuttoning his jacket. He handed her a glass of wine.

“He’s my absolute idol.”

“Then you prove what I already knew: you have excellent taste. I tried incessantly to get Emile to cook for me at one of my restaurants, but he prefers a self-owned establishment. He and Richard work exceptionally well together. I understand why he doesn’t want to change a perfect recipe. Emile’s mother lives here in the area, and has been unwell. That’s why they moved here and started a new restaurant.”

Elise still looked dazed following his explanation. He nudged the bottom of her glass. When she sipped some of the light gold fluid between her lips, he took her glass and set it down.

He placed his hands lightly on her rib cage and kissed her, catching her tiny gasp on his tongue. Her scent filled his nose—her familiar perfume mingling with the intoxicating smell of her arousal spicing her skin. He could never get enough of the fragrance of her.

“I love that wine, but it takes on a whole new dimension of deliciousness on your tongue,” he said a moment later next to her lips. He slipped the button of her jacket from its hole and lightly trailed his fingertips over the buttons of her sheer blouse, feeling the heat emanating off her skin, relishing the small shudder that went through her. He unfastened the top button of her blouse and reached into the opening. His cock lurched in excitement when he flicked his finger over a nipple. It was hard and swollen from the metal loops. They must be exquisitely sensitive.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in a hushed tone as he lightly tugged the nipple chain and a burst of air flew past her puffy, pink lips.

“Breathless?” she asked, panting slightly as she sat there motionless and he returned to tweaking her nipple.

He studied her somberly. “You are being a very good little slave for letting me play with you without protest. Don’t you want to tell me to stop?” he purred as he lightly pinched just the very end of the center nubbin of a crest, making it even more defined than it already had been. She dragged her front teeth across her lower lip when he turned his attentions to her other breast, and he knew she was trying to prevent herself from groaning.

“No. I know I agreed to this. But I am uncomfortable,” she gasped. “Because I’m afraid Richard or Emile will return while you’re . . .”

“Don’t worry,” he said when she faded off. “Richard and Emile believe in the intimacy of the dining experience. They won’t return until it’s time for the salad. They would want us to enjoy the wine and the oysters. And each other,” he added in a low voice as he leaned back and unbuttoned her blouse farther.

“Lucien,” she began, but she paused when he spread back first her jacket and then her thin blouse so that he could see her delectable breasts. Her nipples were a dark pink contrast to her pale skin, fat and erect and mouthwatering. The nipple chain trembled slightly between them. Perhaps she noticed the awe in his gaze combined with the sheer hunger, because she didn’t further her protest. Leaving her breasts exposed, he reached for the iced platter of oysters. He spooned on just a dash of the mignonette sauce and lifted one to her mouth. She kept her eyes on him as he placed the shell next to her mouth.

The oyster slipped between her lips.

She closed her mouth and her eyelids fell shut. His cock throbbed at the rapt expression of sensual pleasure on her face. He ran two fingers over the sweet swells of her upper breasts. Her mouth moved as she enjoyed the flavor of the fresh oyster to its fullest, squeezing the fragrant juices onto her tongue. He wanted to do that to her: savor her until he was drunk on her, ravish her until her taste filled his mouth and ran down his throat . . . absorb her into him.