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The bottom level is an open space with a high ceiling perfect for a lounge, stone fireplace, kitchen, and a bathroom. A spring landscape of Le Petit Palais commissioned from an Impressionist master painter hangs above a white silk sofa. Stairs lead to the upper floor, where a vast bedroom with a king-size canopy bed in the middle, an enormous stone fireplace opposite it, and an oversized copper tub sits before one window overlooking the river. The roof is all glass through which the moonlight filters down to the bed, making the white silk bedding glow.
“Oh, Luc, this is unbelievable. I—I don’t know what to say,” my wife whispers in awe as I lay her on the bed.
“Madame Montaigne, La Duchesse de Blois, you do not have to say a word other than my name as I make sweet love to you until neither of us can move, Mon Amour.”
18
Blair
“Come, Mon Amour, we land in thirty minutes.”
Luc murmurs in my ear before he presses a kiss behind it and rolls from the bed in the sleeping quarters of his private jet.
After the post-nuptials brunch, my husband whisked me away to the helipad to board his helicopter bound for the airport. He still didn’t tell me our destination even as we buckle up in his jet, and his pilot confirms a ten-hour flight time.
Jillian, Lola, and Leonie went shopping for me and packed my luggage. So, I don’t even know what type of clothes I have to wear. They giggled about my bespoke Lola’s Coterie lingerie trousseau and assured me I’ll thank them later.
Now, I groan in protest at the loss of Luc’s warm body wrapped around me in a comfortable cocoon I don’t want to leave. Then remember I’ll finally see where we’ll spend our honeymoon. I stretch languorously, and Luc groans when my much fuller breasts pop into view. I giggle and toss back the covers.
“No time for hanky-panky, Daddy. We have our honeymoon for that,” I tease.
He smacks my bare ass and growls.
I yelp and skip past him to the bathroom.
Before we land, he ties a blindfold over my eyes with a wicked chuckle. It’s not until we’re in another helicopter about to land that he removes the blindfold.
I gasp.
Before us, a five-hundred-foot megayacht that looks straight out of a James Bond movie floats in sparkling turquoise waters off the coast of a tropical island. The sunlight glints off the glossy, platinum, sleek hull. Four white tiers with banks of windows sit atop it. An incredible bank of three-deck-tall windows command the megayacht’s center. Cutouts on its sides offer multiple areas to enjoy. Aptly named Taunt Me, it’s impossible to resist its allure.
The helicopter alights on the pad at the rear of the third deck.
Luc hops out and helps me to the deck. He grins like the Cheshire Cat and gestures with his arms wide.
“Welcome to the Indian Ocean aboard your wedding gift Taunt Me—as you will forever do to me, Mon Amour. We’ll cruise to visit Mauritius, Seychelles, the Maldives, and more for two months. Just the two of us—aside from the crew—alone at last!”
Luc’s enthusiasm is infectious. I whoop and wrap my arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. He laughs and carries me from the helipad. I barely wave at the crew dressed in pristine white formal uniforms lined up to greet us as his long legs stride past them.
“The boat has ten oversized staterooms. We’ll start with the primary suite, then christen each one. Not to mention the sun decks, pool, salons… Sounds good, Madame Montaigne?” He asks as he takes the lift to the topmost tier.
“Absolutely, Monsieur Montaigne!” I respond, then kiss his lips. Our tongues dance until the lift doors open.
When his eyes light up, I glance over my shoulder. The suite takes my breath away.
A U-shape bank of floor-to-ceiling windows comprises three walls of the open floor plan. A bedroom area marked by a plush carpet where a king-size platform bed covered in sumptuous white with black piping linens plus heaps of pillows sits close to the windows facing the bow. Two separate areas for a salon with a bar and a dining table with chairs in the middle on more plush carpet and a glass-enclosed white marble bathroom with dressing room sit towards the stern finish the space. Strategically placed ceiling pots and lamps light the various areas. It’s superb.
Without a word, my husband crosses the entry area’s marble floor to the bedroom. He stands me beside it. His sizable hands cup my face as he angles it for a kiss. The slow burn builds as frissons of erotic energy roll down my spine to my clit. I moan into his mouth with need. His kiss turns scorching as he grinds his massive erection against my belly. I tremble.
Deftly, he disrobes me and places me on the middle of the bed. I lean back against the luxurious linens, then raise my arms to him. His clothes drop to the floor. As he crawls across the bed, I part my thighs in welcome.
My husband makes a meal of my pussy until my voice is hoarse from my passionate cries. He lifts me up and lies down on his back, holding my hips so my dripping pussy hovers above his thick, rigid shaft.
I lean forward to brace my palms on his firm pecs with my fingers gripping his shoulders. My hair forms a curtain around us as I lower my head to capture his mouth for a toe-curling kiss. I whimper when he drags my wet pussy lips back and forth over his bulbous tip. My juices mix with his pre-cum.
My head lifts to stare at him with pleading eyes.
“Ride me, Ma Petite Fille. Take what you need.”
