Chapter 66: Time passes
Monday morning arrived with the grey insistence of a London dawn, the light through Paul's bedroom window thin and grudging. He was already awake when his phone buzzed on the bedside table, a single message from Odette: "On my way. Be naked and kneeling in the hallway."
He obeyed without hesitation, the ritual now as natural as breathing. He shed his dressing gown in the cold air and knelt on the hardwoods, his cock already stiffening in anticipation. The sound of her key in the lock sent a shiver through him, and when the door swung open she stood there in her work clothes, a tailored navy dress that hugged her slender hips, her dark hair swept up in a neat chignon.
"Bonjour, mon esclave." She closed the door behind her, dropping her handbag and coat onto the chair by the door. She didn't remove her shoes, her heels clicking on the floor as she approached him. "You know what I need."
"Yes, Odette." He kept his eyes lowered, his hands resting on his thighs.
She stepped closer and lifted her skirt, not bothering with ceremony. She wasn't wearing knickers, her cunt already glistening with arousal. She straddled his face without preamble, her thighs pressing against his ears as she lowered herself onto his waiting mouth.
"Eat me properly," she commanded, her fingers curling into his hair. "Make me come before I have to leave."
Paul's tongue found her clitoris immediately, flicking against the swollen nub with practiced skill. She tasted of morning musk and her own anticipation, and he lapped at her greedily, drawing moans from her throat as she ground her hips against his face.
"That's it," she breathed, her accent thickening with pleasure. "Faster. Harder."
He obeyed, shoving his tongue deep inside her before returning to her clit, sucking and licking in the rhythm she favoured. Her thighs began to tremble around his head, her grip in his hair tightening until it bordered on pain.
"Oui, connard. Oui." Her hips bucked against his mouth as she came, flooding his tongue with her sweetness, and she held his face pressed hard against her cunt until the last shudder passed through her.
She pulled away, smoothing down her skirt with unsteady hands. "Good boy. I'll see you after work. My place. Six o'clock. You'll have supper waiting for me, and then you'll eat me again."
"Yes, Odette."
She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her. Paul stayed on his knees for a long moment, tasting her on his lips, before he rose to prepare for his own day.
Tuesday morning brought Martha. Paul was at his kitchen table with a cup of tea when the doorbell rang, and he found the eighteen-year-old on his doorstep with her school bag slung over one shoulder, a mischievous grin on her face.
"Morning, Paul. Odette said I could pop by on my way to college. You don't mind, do you?"
He stepped aside to let her in. "Of course not."
She dropped her bag in the hallway and walked into the living room, peeling off her denim jacket. Underneath she wore a thin white t-shirt and no bra, her small breasts visibly hardening against the fabric.
"I've got about twenty minutes," she said, settling onto his sofa and kicking off her trainers. She pulled at the waistband of her leggings. "So we'd better make this quick. I want to come at least twice."
Paul knelt before her, positioning himself between her thighs as she wriggled out of the leggings. She wore a pair of pale blue knickers, already damp at the crotch, and she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and drew them off, parting her legs wide.
"Go on then," she said cheerfully, leaning back on the cushions. "I suppose you know what to do."
He did. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to her cunt, finding her wet and ready. Her flavour was younger and sharper than Odette's, and she sighed with satisfaction as his tongue found her clit.
"That's lovely," she murmured. "Mum was right about you."
Paul worked her with patient skill, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and tight circles around her clitoris. Martha's breath began to quicken, her hips shifting restlessly.
"Oh," she said, her voice rising. "Oh, that's good. Don't stop."
He didn't. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them against the front wall of her vagina while his tongue continued to work her clit. She gasped and bucked, her thighs closing around his head as she came with a surprised cry.
"Fuck," she breathed. "That was quick. Again?"
Paul obeyed, redoubling his efforts. The second orgasm took longer to build, but when it came it was deeper, pulling a long groan from her throat as she arched off the sofa. He lapped at her through the aftershocks until she pushed gently at his head.
"Alright, alright. I need to go or I'll be late." She sat up, reaching for her knickers. "Can I use your bathroom to freshen up?"
"Through the hall, second door."
She disappeared, leaving him kneeling on the carpet with her taste still on his lips. When she returned, her hair was tied back and she was fully dressed. She grinned at him and pecked him on the cheek.
The rest of Tuesday passed without incident, and Paul kept himself busy with work and the quiet maintenance of his house, the memory of Martha's quick, cheerful pleasure lingering in his mouth like a souvenir. He heard nothing from Odette until Wednesday afternoon, when a message arrived: "Dinner with Hayley at mine. 7pm. You will serve us both. Wear loose trousers."
He arrived at six thirty, letting himself in with the key she had given him months ago. The flat smelled of garlic and rosemary, and Odette was at the stove in a thin silk slip, her hair loose around her shoulders. She glanced at him as he entered, a smile playing at her lips.
"Good boy. There is a tablecloth and a cushion under the table. You will kneel there while we eat. I will decide when you are needed."
"Yes, Odette."
Hayley arrived promptly at seven, her voluptuous figure wrapped in a dark green dress that hugged every generous curve. She kissed Odette on both cheeks and accepted a glass of wine, the two women settling into the intimate rhythm of old friends as they moved to the dining table.
The table was round and draped in a heavy cream linen cloth that fell to the floor, obscuring everything beneath. Paul knelt beneath it, the cushion soft beneath his knees, the scent of wine and perfume and the women's bodies filtering down to him. Through the gap in the cloth he could see their bare feet, Hayley's in strappy heels, Odette's in elegant slippers with a pointed toe.
They talked. He heard snatches of it, the feminine cadence of their voices washing over him as he knelt in the warm darkness. Cases and colleagues, a mutual acquaintance's divorce, the merits of a new restaurant in Soho. He waited, his cock hardening in his loose trousers, knowing his moment would come.
"Paul." Odette's voice cut through the chatter, sharp and clear. He turned under the table and Odette’s legs opened wide.
He shuffled forward on his knees until he was positioned between her legs. He heard the rustle of fabric, and then her hand nudged his shoulder, pushing him into position.
"Hayley, pass me the pepper." She ignored him. He knew what she wanted.
He lifted the edge of her slip, finding her thighs bare beneath it. She had worn nothing under the silk, and his fingers found the soft stubble of her mound, then the heat of her cunt. She was already wet, and when he pressed his mouth to her she sighed softly, her thighs parting wider.
He ate her with slow, deliberate strokes, aware of Hayley's voice continuing above him, narrating some anecdote with theatrical flair. Odette's breathing quickened, though her voice remained steady when she spoke.
"So I told her, if she wanted a settlement she should stop being so unreasonable about the property."
Paul's tongue circled her clit, and he felt her fingers slide into his hair, gripping but not guiding. She was good at this, at keeping herself composed while he worked beneath her. He slid two fingers inside her, finding the spot that made her hips shift, and she let out a small, controlled gasp that she covered with a cough.
"Are you alright, Odette?" Hayley asked, concern in her voice.
"Fine." There was amusement in Odette's tone. "The wine, perhaps."
Paul redoubled his efforts, determined to break her composure. He sucked her clit into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, over and over, until a shudder ran through her thighs and she pressed her cunt hard against his face. He felt her orgasm ripple through her, a silent tremor that tightened her fingers in his hair, and when she released him she let out a long, steady breath.
"Lovely. Hayley, I insist you try the scallops."
Paul received a light nudge with her foot, signaling him to move. He shuffled sideways beneath the table, coming to rest between Hayley's heels.
"Odette tells me you've been busy," Hayley said, her voice pitched lower now, meant for him. She shifted in her seat, and he heard the whisper of fabric as she slid her knickers down her thighs. "I've missed your mouth, Paul. It's been too long since I had you."
He didn't need more invitation. He lifted her skirt and pressed his face between her thighs, tasting her immediately. She was richly wet, her cunt hot and slick, and she let out a long, satisfied groan as his tongue found her clit.
"Fuck, that's good." She spread her legs wider, hooking her heels over his shoulders. "I want to come twice before we finish dinner. Think you can manage? Forced to eat out your rapist.”
He answered by burying his tongue in her cunt, lapping at her depths before returning to her clit in tight, relentless circles. She was more vocal than Odette, her sighs and murmurs audible, though she still pitched her voice low enough that a stranger might not understand its cause.
"That's it, baby. Fuck me with that tongue. Get me nice and wet."
Paul obeyed, fucking her with his tongue while his thumbs spread her open. She came quickly, a sharp, gasping climax that tightened her thighs around his head, and he drank her down as her hips bucked against his mouth.
"Beautiful. Alright, my turn to breathe." She released him, lowering her skirt. "You can go back to Odette for now."
He crawled obediently back to Odette's chair, finding her hand reaching down to guide his head back between her thighs. She was still wet from before, and he resumed licking her without being told, his tongue finding her clit still swollen from her earlier orgasm.
The meal continued for another twenty minutes. Paul alternated between them at Odette's direction, the pattern shifting. Sometimes she would nudge him toward Hayley with her foot. Other times Hayley would reach down and redirect him herself, pulling him from her friend's cunt to her own.
As dinner finished and the wine ran low, Odette finished her coffee and set the cup aside. Paul was between Hayley's legs again, lapping at her through a slow, luxurious orgasm, when Odette spoke.
"Paul. I need to pee. You’re going to drink it."
He understood. He pulled his mouth from Hayley, and she sighed in protest, but Odette's foot guided him back to her, his head positioned beneath her. He placed his mouth over her cunt, and a moment later felt the warm stream of urine release against his tongue.
He swallowed, the heat of it flooding his mouth, and he drank greedily. Odette's hand rested on his head, steadying him, and she continued her conversation with Hayley as if nothing were happening.
"He's becoming rather good at that," Odette mused. "He barely needs instruction anymore."
"Practice makes perfect." Hayley's voice was warm with amusement. "Alright, my turn. I've been holding it for a while."
Odette nudged Paul, and he crawled to Hayley, positioning his mouth over her cunt just as her stream began. He swallowed her piss too, the taste different from Odette's, thicker and saltier, and he drank obediently while Hayley sighed with relief.
"That's better. Thank you, Paul."
When they were finished, Odette's hand reached down and tousled his hair. "You may come out now. But stay on your knees."
He crawled out from under the table, blinking in the lamplight. Both women looked at him with satisfied smiles, their plates empty and their glasses nearly so. He knelt between their chairs, his face flushed and wet, his trousers tented with his aching erection.
"A good evening," Hayley said, stretching lazily. "Thank you for dinner, Odette. And thank you for the entertainment."
Odette smiled, leaning down to cup Paul's cheek. "And you, mon esclave. You did well tonight."
Wednesday evening wound down with Hayley's departure, her kiss on Odette's cheek and her casual wave to Paul as she left him kneeling on the floor. Odette helped him to his feet, sent him to wash his face, and then claimed him properly in her bed, riding his cock until he spilled inside her with a groan that she swallowed with her own climax.
Thursday passed quietly. Paul worked from home, caught up on paperwork, and aside from giving Odette her regular orgasm after work, had no other engagements.
Friday morning arrived bright and cold. Paul was at his desk in chambers by eight thirty, reviewing a skeleton argument, when his phone buzzed. The number was unfamiliar, but the message was clear enough: "IT services, third floor. Now. Holly."
He hesitated only a moment before rising. He had been told to be available, and Odette had made it clear that the women of London had been given standing permission to call on him. He walked up the stairs to the third floor, where the building's IT suite occupied a glass-walled corner office, and knocked on the door.
"Come in."
He entered. Holly sat at her desk, a bank of monitors glowing around her, her athletic frame clad in jeans and a fitted jumper. She looked up at him with a nervous smile, her cheeks already flushing pink.
"Paul. Thanks for coming." She gestured to the door behind her, a small utility room lined with servers and cabling. "Can you, um. In there. I don't want anyone walking in."
He followed her into the server room. She closed the door, and the hum of cooling fans filled the space. The room was warm and dim, lit only by the blinking LEDs of the equipment racks.
"Odette said I could call you," Holly said, her voice hushed. "She said you'd, um. That you wouldn't mind."
"I don't mind," Paul said. "Whatever you need."
She let out a shaky breath. "I've been thinking about it all week. Since last time." She turned and locked the door, then leaned back against a server rack, fumbling with the button on her jeans. "I need to come. A lot. I've been so pent up, and I can't, I can't do it myself. I need a mouth."
Paul knelt before her as she shucked her jeans and knickers down her thighs, stepping out of them. Her cunt was bare, neatly trimmed, and already slick with arousal. She spread her legs, bracing herself against the rack, and looked down at him with a mixture of nerves and hunger.
"Please," she whispered. "Just. Make me come. As many times as you can."
He didn't need to be asked twice. He pressed his mouth to her cunt, tasting her wet heat, and she gasped, her hips jerking forward. His tongue found her clit, swollen and needy, and he circled it with steady pressure while she grabbed a fistful of his hair.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, that's good."
He worked her with growing confidence, learning the angles that made her gasp and the pressure that made her whimper. She was responsive, her body twitching and shuddering with every stroke of his tongue, and within minutes her breathing had become ragged.
"I'm close," she panted. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He didn't. He pressed two fingers inside her, curling them upward, and sucked her clit between his lips. She came with a sharp cry, her whole body convulsing, a sudden flood of wetness gushing from her cunt as she cried out again, startled by her own force.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She tried to pull away, her face burning with embarrassment.
Paul held her fast, lapping at her through the aftershocks, drinking her down. He remembered what Odette had told him. He kept his mouth on her, gentle and insistent, until her trembling subsided.
"Don't apologise," he said against her thigh. "Don't ever apologise for that."
She let out a shaky laugh, still catching her breath. "Really?"
"Really. It's beautiful."
She looked down at him, her expression softening. "Odette said you'd say something like that." She pulled him back to her cunt. "Again?"
He obeyed, burying his face between her thighs. Her second orgasm came faster, her body still sensitive, and this time she came with a long, shuddering moan that she muffled with her own fist, her whole body clenching around his tongue. Paul held her through it, licking her gently until she pushed at his head, overstimulated.
"Alright, alright. I need a minute." She slid down the server rack to sit on the floor, pulling him up to sit beside her. She rested her head against his shoulder, catching her breath. "Fuck. That was exactly what I needed."
He stayed with her until she had recovered, then helped her back into her clothes. She kissed him on the cheek, a warm, grateful gesture, and unlocked the door.
"Tell Odette I said thank you," she said.
He left her to her monitors, tasting her on his lips.
At noon Paul walked to the cafe across from Odette's house, his usual breakfast spot. Camilla was behind the counter, her dark hair tied back, her olive skin glowing under the fluorescent lights. She smiled when she saw him, a knowing glint in her eye.
"Paul. The usual?"
"Please."
"Busy this morning?" She rang up his order. "You look hungry."
He paid and took his coffee to a corner table. But as he settled in, Camilla appeared at his elbow, leaning close.
"I've got something for you," she murmured. "Stockroom. Back door, five minutes. Bring your coffee. You'll be needing the energy."
She walked away before he could respond, vanishing behind the counter. Paul sat for a moment, his heart quickening, then rose and made his way toward the back of the cafe.
The stockroom door was ajar. He pushed it open and found a narrow space lined with shelves of napkins and syrups and boxes of coffee beans. Camilla was already there, perched on a stack of boxes, her apron discarded and her black work trousers pooled around her ankles. Her thighs were spread, her knickers hooked around one knee, her cunt dark and slick and ready.
"Lock the door," she said.
He did, then turned back to her. She crooked a finger at him.
"Come here, my lovely English boy. I've been on my feet for four hours. I need a break."
He knelt before her, and she sighed with satisfaction as he settled between her thighs. She had a strong, earthy scent, musky and female, and he pressed his face into her cunt without hesitation, lapping at her folds with greedy strokes.
"Fuck, that's it. Get that tongue in me."
He shoved his tongue inside her, fucking her with it, and she moaned, her hips rocking against his face. She was generously wet, her juices coating his chin, and she reached down to grip his hair with both hands, pulling his face harder against her.
"Deeper," she commanded. "Come on, do better than that. I know you can."
He redoubled his efforts, curling his tongue to hit her front wall, and she gasped, her thighs trembling around his head. He found her clit and worked it relentlessly, sucking and flicking until she was grinding against him in frantic circles.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm going to come. "
He didn't. She came with a guttural cry, her hips bucking hard, and he drank her down as she shuddered through it. She held his head in place until the last tremor passed, then released him with a breathless laugh.
The stockroom air was warm and close, smelling of coffee beans and dust. Camilla's thighs were still trembling around Paul's head when he finally pulled back, his chin slick with her juices, his lips swollen.
"Good boy," she breathed, reaching down to tousle his hair. She was still catching her breath, her chest heaving beneath her work shirt. "You can come again tomorrow if you want. I'll be on shift all morning."
"Thank you, Camilla." He sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
She laughed, a low, throaty sound. "Thanking me? I should be thanking you. That's the best break I've had all week. Now get out of here ." She pulled her knickers up her thighs and stood, straightening her trousers. "And tell Odette she's a lucky woman."
He slipped out the back door and into the cold London air, tasting Camilla on his lips, and walked back to his office with a lightness in his step that he no longer thought about. The taste of women had become the taste of his days. Some men measured time by the sun or the clock. Paul measured it by vagina, by the particular flavour and texture and rhythm of each woman who used his mouth.
Friday evening he went to Odette's flat after work. He cooked her dinner, a simple pasta with garlic and chilli, and she ate it at the kitchen counter while he knelt between her spread legs on a cushion she kept there for him. She read her emails on her phone while he worked her clit with patient, mechanical skill, and when she came she set the phone down and gripped his hair with both hands, a long breath hissing through her teeth.
"Good. Now clean up and I'll let you fuck me."
He crawled to the sink and washed his face, then followed her to the bedroom where she lay back on the bed, naked, her legs parted. She beckoned him with one finger.
"Come on then. You've earned it."
He climbed over her, his cock already aching, and she guided him into her with a sigh of contentment. He fucked her slowly, deeply, his face buried in her neck, and she held his hips with her hands, directing his rhythm.
"Not too fast," she murmured. "I want to feel every inch of you."
He obeyed, pulling out until only the head of his cock remained inside her, then pushing back in to the hilt, over and over, until she was gasping and clawing at his back.
"Now. Fuck me now. Make me come."
He drove into her with urgent, pounding strokes, and she cried out as her orgasm crashed over her, her cunt clenching around him so hard he couldn't hold back. He spilled inside her with a groan, his body shuddering, and she held him through it, her legs wrapped around his waist.
"Good boy," she whispered when he collapsed on top of her, sweaty and spent. "Now clean me up then sleep. I need you fresh for the weekend."
Saturday passed in a blur of domestic duties. Paul cleaned his house, did his laundry, and spent the afternoon reading in his garden. He heard nothing from Odette, and by evening he was restless, his body craving the familiar rhythm of service.
Sunday morning he woke with an erection, as he always did, and masturbated in the shower with the memory of Martha's sharp little cries and Camilla's earthy moans. He had learned not to ask for release from Odette. She gave him what she gave him, and he accepted it gratefully.
In the afternoon she called him. "Come over. I'm bored. We need to talk."
He arrived at six, fresh from a shower, wearing the loose trousers she preferred for easy access. She opened the door in a silk robe, her hair loose, and led him to the living room where a bottle of wine stood open on the coffee table.
"Sit." She gestured to the sofa. "You're not kneeling. Not yet. I want to talk first."
He sat, uncertain. She curled into the armchair opposite him, tucking her legs beneath her, and took a long sip of wine.
"I've been thinking about your list," she said.
"My list?"
"The list of women you've tasted. The number." She set her glass down. "It's been weeks since you added a new name. Martha, Hayley, Camilla, Holly. They're all repeats now. You've served them before. The last genuinely new user was that waitress, and that was two weeks ago."
Paul frowned. "I don't keep count of new names. I serve whoever you tell me to serve."
"I know. That's the problem." She leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "When I made you my pussy licker, I didn't just want a man who could eat me out. I wanted a man who served women. All women. Any woman I chose. And I've exhausted my friends."
"Exhausted?"
"Think about it." She ticked off on her fingers. Astrid first, Beatrice and Eleanor and Martha. Hayley. Nadia and Clarissa. Davina and a bunch of strangers from the pub. Holly from IT. Camilla from the cafe. My sister and her wife. A couple more unknowns. That's it. I've used everyone I know, everyone who was likely to ask, everyone who was curious." She spread her hands. "There's no one left in my circle who I haven't already sent to your mouth."
Paul was silent. He had never thought about it in those terms before. The women had come and gone in a blur of heat and wetness and perfume, and he had served each one with the same devoted hunger.
"So what do you want to do?" he asked.
Odette rose and walked to the window, looking out at the grey London street. The evening light was fading, and the street lamps were beginning to glow.
"I want more," she said. "I want a constant supply of new women. Different women. Old women, young women. Fat women, thin women. Every shape and age and colour. I want you to have tasted so many cunts that you stop being a man and become simply a mouth." She turned to face him. "The most experienced pussy licker in London."
"That's what you want?"
"That's what I want." She came back to the sofa and sat beside him, her hand resting on his thigh. "But I've run out of friends. So I need to think about where else to find them."
Paul considered. "There are always women who want it. The waitress at the restaurant who recognised me. Sandrine’s muscley friend."
"Individual women here and there. But I need a steady supply." She tapped her finger against her glass. "I could advertise. Post on some anonymous forum. Describe a handsome English barrister who kneels and licks pussy for a living. I'd need to be careful, of course. Anonymity. But the right platform could bring in a flood of applicants."
Paul felt his cock stir. The idea was absurd, thrilling, humiliating.
"Or," she continued, "I could approach the community at the Tanner's Arms. Nadia and Clarissa and Davina know people. They have contacts in that world. Women who would appreciate a well-trained tongue without the mess of a relationship."
Paul shifted on the sofa, his erection pressing against his trousers. He had become comfortable with his role, but hearing her describe him like that, as a service to be marketed and shared, sent a fresh wave of heat through him.
"So," he said, his voice rough, "What do you suggest? Talk to Clarissa?"
Odette was silent for a long moment, staring at the wine in her glass. Then she set it down with a decisive click.
Odette's fingers tightened around her wine glass. "Clarissa." She spoke the name as if testing its weight. "Her crowd are different, Paul. They're not like Martha, or Camilla, or even Hayley when she's in a mood. They don't want pleasure from you. They want pain. They want to see how much a man can take before he breaks."
Paul felt a chill run down his spine. He had served Clarissa before, remembered the chemical fire of Tabasco on his cock, the suffocating press of her vulva over his mouth and nose like a gas mask. He remembered the funnel, the weeks of humiliation that had followed in the Tanner's Arms. Clarissa had been creative, brutally so. And she had been just one woman working within limits set by the evening.
"For a single evening," Odette said slowly, reaching for the bottle and refilling her glass, "I could watch. I could intervene. They were performing for me, in a sense. Even Clarissa was polite, in her way. She didn't want to scare me off from sharing you again." She took a long sip of wine. "But a whole weekend? With no rules except the ones they invent?"
She shook her head, and Paul saw real fear flicker across her face. Not fear for herself. Fear for him.
"They talk about things," she said. "Nadia let something slip once, about a man they'd kept for three days in a basement in Kent. He couldn't walk properly for a month afterwards. And he'd been a willing volunteer, a masochist with years of experience. Not a barrister who just likes pleasing women."
Paul swallowed. "You're saying no, then."
"I'm saying it terrifies me." She set her glass down with a sharp click. "The thought of what they would do to you. What they would make you do. The limits they would push, the lines they would cross. Clarissa has fifty years of experience in cruelty. Nadia is clever in ways that frighten me. And Davina, with her key and her silent boyfriend, she has no boundaries at all. They would eat you alive, Paul."
Paul felt his cock soften for the first time in her presence. The idea of being offered to those women, for an entire weekend, with no respite and no escape, was not thrilling. It was terrifying.
"So that's the end of it," he said. "You talk to someone else."
Odette was silent. She stared at the wine in her glass, her thumb tracing the rim in slow circles. The silence stretched, and Paul felt his nervousness growing. He knew that silence. It was the silence she wore when she was thinking too hard, when she was arguing with herself.
"Odette?"
She looked up at him, and her eyes were bright, feverish. There was fear there, but there was something else too. Something hungry.
"I'm going to do it," she said. "I'm going to offer you to Clarissa for a weekend."
Paul's blood ran cold. "You just said they'd eat me alive."
"I know." She rose from the sofa and came to stand before him, looking down at him with that same feverish intensity.
Paul stared at her. "And if I break? If they break me?"
"Then I'll put you back together." She knelt before him, taking his face in her hands. "That's the deal, mon amour. You break, I mend. You fall, I catch you. They can do whatever they want to you, but at the end of it, you come back to me."
"Will you be there?"
"No." She shook her head.
"I'll call her tonight.”
"Clarissa," Paul repeated. The name felt heavy in his mouth.
"Yes." Odette's voice was steady now, certain. "I'll offer you to Clarissa for the weekend.”
She leaned forward and kissed him, soft and gentle, a kiss that tasted of wine and fear and desire.
"Do you trust me?" she whispered.
"Yes," Paul said. And he meant it, even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
"Then it's decided." She pulled back and reached for her phone. "I'll call her now."
Paul watched her scroll through her contacts, watched her thumb hover over Clarissa's name. She looked at him one last time, a question in her eyes, and he nodded.
She pressed the call button and raised the phone to her ear.
"Clarissa?" Her voice was light, conversational, as if she were discussing the weather. "It's Odette. I have an offer for you. A very interesting offer. How would you and your friends like a weekend toy?"