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8
Beau
As we followed Marcel, my eyes halted abruptly and then my gaze drifted up Gigi’s amazingly, toned legs to her even more amazing glutes. She must do some serious sculpting exercises to get those kinds of results. My cock appreciated her efforts.
The material of the dress hugged her body perfectly and hung a few inches above her knees. Her sexy as hell, matching high heels were almost too much to bear. I could imagine them digging into my back while I fucked that attitude out of her.
“Ah, my two favorite people in the world,” Angelique said as we entered the dining room. Angelique greeted us with hugs and cheek kisses, then escorted us to our seats.
As luck would have it, my chair was beside Gigi’s. Great. I held the back of her chair and moved it out so she could get in. “Allow me.”
She stared up into my face. “Yank it away and consider yourself neutered,” she warned in nearly a whisper, but sat anyway. It was all I could do not to laugh. This woman and her feisty personality kept catching me off guard. “Thank you,” she said louder for everyone to hear.
“You look phénoménal in that dress. Just like I thought,” Angelique said to Gigi. “Doesn’t she look exceptionnel, Beauregard?”
“Oui, Angelique,” I nodded to her then turned to Gigi. “You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, Gigi.”
She looked at me like she wanted to stab me. Several times. Recovering quickly, Gigi said, “Thank you, Beau. You look nice as well.”
I nodded at her, only slightly amazed her manners had won out over that smart mouth of hers. That same mouth I’d been jerking off to every night while I remembered how delicious she tasted when we’d kissed.
Never had a kiss that sweet before.
If her mouth was that amazing, I could only imagine what her pussy would taste like. In fact, if I could get her to sit on my face as she sucked me off at the same time—my life would be complete.
“See, Marcel? I told you the rumors that said these two were quarreling were not true,” Angelique said to her husband. “You can’t believe everything people say.” Then she instructed the server to bring out the first course.
Great. Someone had tattled on us—on me. Gigi shot me a look that could kill.
Bowls of soup were served to start. It was a thick, creamy, potato soup from the taste of it. “The soup is wonderful, Angelique,” I said, smiling across the table at her.
“It is, we must tell Greta after supper,” Angelique commented back to me. She turned to Gigi and asked how her mom was doing, “Ma chérie, comment va ta belle mère?”
I smiled and was ready to translate for Gigi when she shocked the shit out me and answered back. “Elle va bien, merci. Occupée, comme toujours.”
In the hottest French accent I’d ever heard.
I swear to God it shot through me and made my damn balls ache it was so sexy. The way Gigi spoke—the way the words flowed off her tongue—it was obvious this wasn’t a second language she’d learned late in life.
I dropped my spoon and it clattered into the bowl. Everyone looked at me. “Avez-vous besoin d’aide avec votre cuillère, Beauregard?” Gigi asked.
The way she said my name made me fucking hard. Please, Jesus, don’t let anyone make me stand up right now. And yeah, I guess I needed help with my spoon. And my manly organs once Gigi and I left here—because that woman was going to have my balls in a vice grip the second we got back home.
“Je suis désolé, apparemment je ne peux pas tenir mes couverts aujourd’hui,” I said, apologizing and giving everyone a smile as I leaned back in my chair.
“Not to worry,” Angelique said, then continued her conversation with Gigi. In French.
The same French that she’d heard me speak to my brother in the front room when I’d told him how big her tits were and how her legs went on for days.
And when I’d said if she liked her hair pulled while we do it doggy-style then I might just fall in love.
Oh God.
My balls were not safe tonight.
The rest of supper flew by in a blur as I imagined scenarios and revenge tactics that Gigi would use on me in the coming days.
Oh God.
