IntheArmsofaLover (8 page)

“Vito knows some people who’d do the job. He’s the gardener.
You can talk to him in a minute.”

Fair enough. “How do I charge expenses?”

“Use this.” Helen handed her a debit card. “It’s the one we
use for household expenses.”

“You’re very trusting.”

“Why not? You don’t have a criminal record.”

“You did a check?”

Helen nodded. “Oh yes, no one gets hired unless they pass
scrutiny.” Fair enough. “Thanks for the card. I’ll let you know what I spend.
I’ll look online first then trawl the shops. Can I get cash on this? For the
markets and so forth?”

“Go ahead. Just let me know so Branko can keep track. I use
it when I need things for the library and Adele uses it too.

“Who’s Adele? Another secretary?”

“She’s our cook who’s expecting you to stay for dinner. Come
and meet her after you speak to Vito.”

Vito was waiting outside, all six foot, tanned skin and
muscles, rather reminiscent of Oliver Mellors. Thirty-six hours earlier, Poppy
might even have found him desirable but not now. Never mind, she needed him for
other things and besides, he was probably married with five bouncing children.

“You wanted to speak about work for the farm, Madame?” he asked.

“I do. You’ve seen the property?”

He nodded. “Monsieur took me up there last week. It’s in a
bad state.”

She agreed wholeheartedly. “Terrible in fact. But nothing
that hard work can’t fix. You’ll be up there too, supervising?”

“When I can. I work the estate too, with my father but I’ll
be up there every day.”

Sounded fair enough, at least to begin with. “What about
tools, equipment. There’s virtually nothing up there.”

“To start, we’ll use what we have down here. I already
cleared that with Monsieur. As we go along we buy what is needed. How many men
should I hire?”

Poppy sensed that was a trick question, designed to measure
her. “Numbers of arms and legs isn’t as important as skill and competence. I’ll
rather you hire two, even one good worker than half a dozen less able ones. How
many good people do you know?”

He smiled. She’d been right, he was rather luscious, but not
for her. “I have a cousin and his friend. They’re young but worked two seasons
in the lemon orchards in Menton. Good workers but they have no knowledge of
lavender cultivation.”

“That doesn’t matter, I know about lavender.” Might as well
put that out there. “Willing workers are what I need. Those fields need
clearing of weeds and dead wood.”

“They’ll be glad to start right away.”

She couldn’t ask more than that.

She watched him walk away and decide yes, Stéphane definitely
had a nicer arse. And now to meet the cook.

So much for visions of Mrs. Patmore or Mrs. Bridges. Adele was
in her later twenties, thirty at the most by Poppy’s guess, and pretty. They
sat around the kitchen table and feasted—no other word for it—on a wonderful
rabbit pâté and the thinnest-of-thin Melba toast, followed by chicken cooked in
paprika on a bed of cabbage. Not Poppy’s favorite vegetable but something Adele
did to it made it delicious. They finished off the lot with apricot tarts,
Adele apologizing that they weren’t fresh apricots, but they were grown on the
estate and she’d preserved them.

“I don’t understand how you stay so thin,” Poppy said, “if
you eat like this every night.”

“We don’t,” Helen added. “On our own, we usually have soup
or an omelet or something light but since Luc and Branko are away, I suggested
we do it to get acquainted with you.”

She was glad they had. They were nice women and since she’d
be working with them, it was good to get to know them. It would also be good to
get home.

* * * * *

It was probably a good thing she wasn’t privy to the
conversation as Helen and Adele finished the last of bottle of wine.

“What do you think of her?” Adele asked.

“She seems nice enough but has taken on a massive job. That
old place is in a rough state but Luc believes her competent and we both know
he had her vetted first.”

“She is so calm, cold and English. I think it’s good she’s
not living here. She might be shocked at how we are.”

Helen shook her head. “I’m not so certain about that. She
calls Maître Poulain Stéphane.”

“What? Branko does not do that and he’s known him for
years.”

“And our Poppy Gordon does and she just met him yesterday.
What do you make of that?”

Obviously Adele wasn’t sure what to think. “But he is
so…buttoned-up. So formal.”

Helen snickered. “Maybe she unbuttoned him.”

“But she’s so…”

“I know, you said cold and English, perhaps not. There’s a
saying, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’. Maybe we shouldn’t judge either of
them by first appearances.”

“Maybe we need to get to know her better.”

Adele had a point. “We have plenty of time for that. She’s
got months of work ahead.”

Poppy drove down the hill back to Nice and, as she got out she
noticed Stéphane’s gift had dropped out of her bag onto the floor. She wasn’t
leaving that in the car. She was going to open it over a nice cup of cocoa.
Better call it
chocolat chaud
. Just the thing for opening mysterious
packages on what had turned out to be a chilly evening.

Mug on the table in front of her, Poppy untied the bow and
peeled open the stiff paper. Inside was a shiny, black box covered with little
silver handcuffs. Not much mystery as to what he had in mind. Good. She lifted
the lid, opened up several layers of black tissue and stared at the contents.
No wonder the box had been so heavy.

It was a beautiful, glass dildo. “Sex toy” was far too banal
for something this exquisite. Poppy picked it up, hefting it in her hands and
stroking the smooth glass. It was a gorgeous dark green but with tiny little
bubbles of silver and gold suspended in the blown glass. What sort of craftsman
spent his or her days making anything so beautiful? Just to own it was a
delight and to think of the use to which Stéphane would put it. That alone had
her nipples hardening as sweet warmth gathered in her cunt.

It was gorgeous, exquisite and hers. Holding it up to the
light, Poppy marveled at such a perfect and expensive gift. A different man
might have given jewelry or a silk scarf but Stéphane chose something that would
give them both pleasure. She couldn’t help wondering where he’d bought it. She definitely
wanted to visit the same shop one day. Soon. But that wasn’t all. At the bottom
of the box was a tube of lubricant and tucked into the tissue, a brief note.

“For you, my dear Poppy. Play with the
godemichet
while I am away and think of me.”

Now she knew the French for dildo. That had never come up at
in French lessons at school.

So he wanted her to pleasure herself, did he? That wouldn’t
be arduous. Just holding the beautiful creation was a pleasure. As for sliding
it into her cunt… She went a little dry-mouthed at the idea.

Doing it justice needed preparation. First a shower. A pity
she didn’t have any candles, but she’d settle for muted light from the street
outside. And thinking of Stéphane, and the way his cock filled her mouth, would
be a good way to start.

Soft silk sheets would have been nice, not that she’d ever actually
come across silk sheets but they sounded downright decadent. Still, freshly
laundered cotton wasn’t too bad. She had rays of light through the closed
shutters and a glass of wine. Poppy sipped on the wine, thought back to the rather
unexpected but very worthwhile night with Stéphane, and rubbed the glass
godemiche
t
between her breasts. It was cold at first but soon warmed by her body as she slowly
stroked it down her belly to nestle between her legs.

She was already in the mood and thinking about his promise
to spank her had her primed and ready. Why was she so needy? So easily aroused?
Aroused by the prospect of Stéphane pulling down her panties and spanking her
bottom. Wet wasn’t the word for her cunt at that thought. She wanted him,
needed him, but she’d have to improvise and he’d certainly given her a lovely
way to ensure contentment.

She doubted she needed any lubricant but since he’d been so
thoughtful, might as well make use of it. It had a sweet, almost spicy scent,
as she ran her fingers up and down the smooth green glass. Nice.

Spreading her legs, she nudged the tip of the dido between
her labia and stroked her clit. Wonderful. Nowhere near the pleasure of his cock
but he wasn’t here. Poppy set up a slow rhythm, teasing and caressing herself. As
her arousal built, she shifted, placing her feet flat on the bed and opening
her thighs, as she pressed the dildo against the opening in her pussy. The cool
glass was hard, harder than any cock, but it was smooth as it slid into her. She
paused for a moment just to absorb the sensation and think of Stéphane. What was
he doing now? Thinking of her? Wondering what she was doing?

He shouldn’t be, he surely knew. She pressed it in all the
way. She was filled and stretched as she relaxed to let her body accept the
intrusion. Good, but still not quite enough. Reaching down, Poppy began fucking
herself, setting up a steady rhythm as she eased the dildo out then, back,
twisting it a little so it pressed against her clit.

Wonderful! Incredible! Keeping her wrists steady, she worked
herself faster, increasing the speed and pressure until she was close to
coming. Her hand worked at fever speed but it was still not quite enough. With
her other hand she reached down and found her clit, she teased, caressed, and
pressed deep until she was reaching the peak, climbing her need. She even let
out a few little cries as she brought herself to the edge of passion and leapt.

She lay there, panting, pleasure rippling across her body
and she smiled as the dildo shifted side her.

It could stay in longer, it wouldn’t soften or slip out. The
dildo could be hard until morning, but she gently withdrew it, the glorious
green now covered with her arousal, and put it on the bedside table, where a
glint of light from outside, lit up the gold flecks.

What a lovely present. Stéphane certainly knew what made her
happy.

* * * * *

And he kept his word about coming back Friday.

“What have you been doing in my absence?” he asked, as they
sat across from each other in a tiny bistro in the old town.

She bit back the urge to say “Missing you” or “Longing for
you to come back”. That went without saying. “Shopping and buying the most
banal things—sheets, towels, saucepans and toilet paper. I’ve also hired
workers for the farm, given notice for my job and told my landlady I won’t be
there after the end next week.” In other words, she really put a lot of faith
in Luc Prioux.

Stéphane smiled. “You will move in there so soon?”

“Might as well, it will be a bit like camping as I don’t
have much furniture yet but I’ll have running water and electricity.”

“And a bed.” He smiled. No, it was closer to a smirk. Smug
so and so!

“You noticed that, did you?”

“How could I miss it? On Sunday I will drive you out there
and help you assemble it.”

“Nice of you!”

“You may reward me with your obedience.”

“We’ll see.” Although the thought of him, in shirtsleeves
and exerting himself with a wrench was rather appealing. “How was your business
trip?”

“Satisfactory. Luc bought a hotel near Lake Garda. It’s a
little neglected but he will take care of that.”

“He has fingers in a lot of different pies, doesn’t he?” The
idiom didn’t quite translate. “I mean he has many different business
interests.”

Stéphane nodded. “He does indeed. But when he makes money we
all benefit. And there are other ventures, like the farm where maybe he will
make nothing but it pleases his mother.”

“Maybe it will make money.” She had to put that out there. “We
were making steady and growing profits in Sussex Lavender at the time Tommy
died. No reason I can’t do that again.”

“If you do, you’ll have Luc eating out of your hand.”

“I can’t imagine him eating out of anyone’s hand. He’s far
too dominant. But if I earn my salary, I’ll be satisfied.”

That earned her a curious look, raised eyebrows—what darn
sexy eyebrows they were too—and a mischievous smile. “It is my goal to see you
are satisfied.” He reached out a closed fist, and opening his fingers, placed
something on the tablecloth between them.

As he moved his hand away, her eyebrows that shot up. There,
between the salt and the pepper, was a bright-green glass butt plug. Hell, it
even had the same gold-and-silver flecks as her dildo. A matching pair perhaps?

“You agree?” he asked. ‘‘After I spank you, of course. You
did agree to accept my discipline.”

“Put it away!” Her throat was so tight with shock it was a
wonder she got the words out.

“Why should I do that?”

“Someone might see it!” Hell, the people at the next table were
bound to, and as for the waiters all over the place…

“They would know I plan to use it on you tonight and why
should I not? We’re lovers.”

She didn’t think even France was that relaxed as to decorate
restaurant tables with sex toys. “Please put it away.”

It disappeared with a flick of his wrist. “As you wish, but
you understand I will use it.”

“Feel free, as long as you use lubricant.” He’d better.

“Of course, I would not use it to punish you. Did you
pleasure yourself with the
godemichet
?”

“Yes, and thank you.”

“How many times?”

He did ask the questions. “Four times.” Might was well tell
the truth.

He threw back his hear and roared with laughter. “Magnificent.
Now…” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “After we finish dessert and
coffee, I will drive you to my flat. I will take you into my bedroom and sit
down and you will lay yourself over my knees in preparation for your much-needed
chastisement.” Poppy swallowed. Did he think she could keep eating after this? “I
will raise your skirt and you, at my command, will let your shoes drop. Are you
wearing tights?”

“Yes.” It came out a little hoarse.

“Then I will pull them down to just above your knees. That
way your legs will be held together and you will not be able to move very much.
I will spank you a few times just to warm you up. Then I’ll remove your panties
so I have your naked and vulnerable bottom at my mercy. I will be quite severe.
My goal is to color up your skin to a beautiful bright pink. Perhaps you will
fight me, and if you do, I will hold you down with my left arm and let you know
by the increased severity of my spanks that resistance is not permitted. I
expect you to lie on my lap, passive and accepting. Do you think you can do
that?’

“It won’t be easy.”

“That, my sweet Poppy, is the whole point. I administer
punishment, you accept it as my right and your due. We’re in agreement here?”

She wasn’t disagreeing. “Do we have to stay for dessert?”

He smiled. “But of course, anticipation is part of the
pleasure. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, it is, but I’ll never understand why I dread it so
much and am dying for you to start.”

“It is the way you are, Poppy. You know what you yearn for
and you know I can give it to you. You long for a spanking as much as you dread
the thought of being spanked. I long to feel your skin heat up under my touch
as I watch your efforts not to squirm and resist, knowing you will, and I
already have an erection thinking about it. Reach under the table and see if
you like.”

They weren’t sitting side by side, but opposite each other,
her arm wasn’t long enough to reach her hand under the table without getting
out of her seat. Was that what he expected? No thank you, the whole restaurant would
suspect what she as doing. Instead, she kicked off her shoe, reached out her
foot and wiggled her toes over his crotch. Whatever he’d had in mind, it wasn’t
that. As his gasp faded, she lowered her foot and slipped back on her shoe.

“Insolent!” he said with a wide grin. “For that you will kneel
down at my feet and worship my cock.”

He wasn’t the only one who knew how to grin.

The
fondant au chocolat
was truly magnificent but
nowhere near as good as sex. She loved finishing off a great meal with a tiny
cup of delicious, strong black coffee but it really wasn’t necessary this
evening and the
digestifs
that Stéphane insisted they both have was
sheer proof he loved dragging things out.

And if that wasn’t enough, as he put her coat over her
shoulders, he whispered. “I’ve changed my mind. You must go to the Ladies and
take off your panties.”

Poppy caught her breath as she looked over her shoulder at
him. He smiled. “Hurry along. It’s downstairs.”

She went down a narrow spiral stairway and into a corridor
that had one of those timed light switches so beloved by the French. And just
her luck, the Ladies was occupied. Finally she got in and slipped off her
knickers, taking off her tights as well. What to do with them? She wasn’t too
worried about her tights, they could go in the bin, but the knickers were a
very nice silk pair that she’d picked especially for the evening. She was not
dumping them. She balled them up and put them in her handbag, smoothed her hair
and gave herself an extra spritz of perfume before climbing the steep stairs to
where he waited, her jacket in hand.

“Can you feel the breeze?” he asked as they walked hand in
hand to where he’d parked his car.

“Yes, and I’m damn glad it’s not below freezing.”

“That would indeed be an interesting sensation for you, some
other time. For now, Poppy my love, listen carefully. When we get to my car,
you must raise your skirt as you sit, so your naked bottom is in contact with
the seat. That will remind you that you lovely backside will be the focus of
this evening’s entertainment.” He opened the car door. “Go on,” he whispered, “no
one’s looking. Lift your skirt.”

After a deep breath she managed it, the night air cool on
her skin as she sat down and then swung her legs into the car. “Think how the
seat feels against your naked flesh,” he said, “and remember I’m going to warm
it up for you. It won’t feel cold after I’ve finished with it.”

He walked around the car and got in. As he put the key in
the ignition, he leaned over and kissed her, slowly, carefully and quite completely.
“That’s your reward for obeying. Now, are you getting wet?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. I can use your juices to help get the plug all
the way in. Oh, and talking about this, please hold it while I drive.” Reaching
into his pocket, he handed it to her. “It will feel cold when I first push it
into you,” he said, “but your body will soon warm it up.”