Page 630 of Tease Me


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I fall to my knees, lifting my face to the sky.

“Why God? Why?”

The wail reaches the steel-gray clouds above. Rain fills my open mouth until I choke. Fists clench as I sputter, cursing the god who took my life from me. Such evil cannot be good. I renounce all ties and vow to never love another.

* * *

Present

“Your office, Monsieur le duc.”

I glance up from my laptop where the screen splits to display the international stock markets to find we arrived at Banque Montaigne. So engrossed in the numbers, I didn’t realize my chauffeur Armand Giroux stopped the Rolls-Royce Phantom Extended in front of the headquarters.

“Merci, Armand,” I respond as a security guard strides towards the sedan. “I expect to finish at the usual time.”

I step out when the guard opens the door and nod my thanks.

As always, I take a moment to glance up at the modern fifty-story mixed-use skyscraper in La Défense. The early morning sun glints off its blue-tinted glass exterior. Until the 1960s, the center of Paris served as the headquarters. Originally the financiers to the French kings and the nobility, Banque Montaigne grew into a centuries-old, multitrillion-dollar banking empire with offices and branches around the globe. Each generation leads the privately owned company with me as the current CEO and Chairman of the Board.

My father groomed me for the role from the time I could walk through the headquarters’ front doors until he passed shortly after my thirtieth birthday. Twenty years later, I walk with pride into the spacious lobby. Although saddened, I don’t have an heir to prepare as my successor. Nor one to carry the title of Duke of Blois.

I shake my head to clear the melancholy line of thinking. Although the ache remains, tears no longer sting my sapphire blue eyes at the thought of Carole and Lucas. They are forever in my heart.

Fortunately, my focus on work keeps me distracted. For the past seven years, I spend fourteen hours of my day at the office. In by five in the morning and out at seven in the evening. Mid-afternoon sessions with my personal trainer keep my body and mind in peak performance. Some nights I attend business-related or social events as necessary. The brutal schedule affords me little time in my mansion located in the ritzy seizième arrondissement. I can forget about its emptiness if I’m only there for a few hours to sleep.

One aspect of my life I can’t ignore is my Daddy Dom/little girl kink.

Carole understood my need for the dynamic of BDSM age-play. She was not only my wife but my sub and my little. Many confuse the power exchange for something seedy. It is not, and Carole enjoyed it as much as I did.

I believed I lost that part of my life, too.

However, three years ago, a spark of a permanent little girl re-ignited. I had a moment without suffering from grief. A blink of pleasure. Again.

But I continue to tamp it down. My best friend would not appreciate me being in a relationship with his daughter, who’s seventeen years my junior—more than a roleplay age gap. And damn sure not in a DD/lg one. Not that I’d ever tell Roderick Thomas. That’s for me and—

Again, I shake my head, this time to clear the erotic taboo line of thinking and remind myself to focus on the day ahead.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Montaigne.”

My administrative assistant—Estelle Gauthier—greets me with a warm smile and a cup of coffee.

“Merci.”

I thank her as I continue into my office. Hours later, I receive a phone call from a business associate with an excellent tip for my project outside of Banque Montaigne—Lola’s Coterie.

Another young woman who literally fell at my feet six years ago is the owner of the eponymous luxury lingerie company. We met a year after Carole and Luc passed away. Lola Lewis became the fresh air I needed to get through my darkest hours. I saw the potential in her business dream and helped her to achieve it. Thus, becoming her mentor and the Vice Chair of her newly founded company.

A smile spreads across my face as I recall our initial encounter one evening when I was leaving Banque Montaigne’s headquarters. The parcels in her arms flew in the air and landed on the sidewalk when she tripped over a trail of fabric from a bolt of lace. Fortunately, I caught her before she too landed on the asphalt. The curses in English and in French that rushed from her mouth were explicit enough to redden even a sailor’s face.

After she regained her footing, the words worsened when Lola realized she broke the heel on her shoe. I heard her mumble the expletives under her breath as we collected her packages and bolts of material.

“Mademoiselle, let me help you. You can sit inside to situate your shoe,” I said, hands full of packages as I showed with a tilt of my chin the front doors of my bank’s headquarters.

Mesmerizing, hazel eyes gave me the once over. With a nod, the petite beauty—apparently, I didn’t seem threatening—allowed me to guide her into the lobby.

“Monsieur Montaigne!” Called one of the security staff, “Laissez-moi vous aider.”

I handed the packages to him and to the other guard before I took her by the elbow and led her to one of the lobby sofas. The scent of her alluring perfume stirred my once-lifeless loins.

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