Needless to say, the dining room was exquisite. The long dark mahogany table shone in the candlelight. Crystal glasses gleamed – it looked like a magazine shoot for ‘How to Style Your Dinner Parties: the French Way.’ Scarlet flowers spilled out of crystal vases – it was impressive.
“Ah – red suits you. Often a difficult colour for blondes. Come and sit next to me,” Olivier commanded.
Olivier encircled my wrist with his fingers and led me to my chair. I admit he looked very attractive, and extremely dangerous. Very broad shouldered, he wore his dinner jacket like a second skin. His dark brown eyes glittered with provocation and the heat he gave off was almost primal. Again the unbidden image of a wolf came to me.
Matt was seated opposite me, and as dinner progressed I was aware of the pressure of Olivier’s thigh against my own. He was a charming host, interested, interesting, and my initial wariness receded.
The wine flowed, the guests were animated and the evening became cloaked in magic. I could not tell you what we ate, my attention was now firmly on Olivier. He had just reached the climax of a particular anecdote, and emphasized this by putting his hand on my knee. Startled, I glanced at Matt, who had noticed, yet was smiling broadly.
In a blinding moment of clarity I realized what this weekend was all about. A myriad of emotions coursed through me as I tried hazily to absorb what both men’s intentions were. I was so lost in thought at first that I hardly noticed Olivier’s fingers slowly stroking my leg, reaching up and tracing the top of my stocking. Almost lazily, his fingers went higher, edging the lace of my panties with feather light strokes. It was incredibly erotic, and I had to stop myself from squirming in my chair. Again I looked incredulously at Matt, who knew exactly what was going on. With an almost imperceptible gesture, he nodded his head, although questioning with his eyes. As I looked at him I slowly parted my thighs, allowing Olivier better access.