Breakfast in Paradise: Fresh Fiction by Jillian Verne

Breakfast in Paradise
an interlude in the Masters of the Order universe by Jillian Verne
“Don’t freak out. Do not freak out. Just breathe.”

Isabella inhaled the perfect blend of coffee and salt air. And the view? She couldn’t imagine the price tag on something like that. Paradise doesn’t exist on earth, but there are pieces.

Jacques Meszaros’s villa in Monaco was a huge piece.

She thrust her hands into her hair, ready to burst into a million impatient bits.

Would she? Wouldn’t she?

Should she? Shouldn’t she?

On her umpteenth rotation of Jacques’s lavish kitchen, she decided. She would. She shouldn’t, but ah yes. She would. Because buried beneath her conservative Catholic exterior lay a latent desire. A secret lust for the taboo of being mastered. A hunger for the forbidden fruit.

She’d never actually tasted it though. Until she found herself in paradise with a man who promised to turn fantasy into reality.

When Jacques finally appeared, Isabella greeted him with a desirous sigh.

No man should be allowed to have eyes like that. Golden, deep, and bewitching. Kohl lashes offset his copper irises. Throw in the black silk pajama pants to match his tousled black hair, the tight wifebeater to outline the hard V of his perfect male form, and damn.

Jacques poured himself a cup of coffee and asked, “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks. I’ve already had one.” Or six. She’d been scurrying around his over-the-top kitchen since before dawn.

He took a long sip and let his liquid-fire eyes drift. She actually felt their warmth skimming over the arch of her brow, the line of her nose, and the borders of her lips. When they parted, the corners of his mouth curved knowingly. He finished his coffee in a single gulp and set the cup down on the counter.

Jacques leaned in and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. A warm hand cupped her jaw, and he feathered his cheek against hers, the stubble lightly scratching her skin while he whispered, “If not coffee, perhaps you would like a good morning kiss.” His voice was low and hypnotic. “Would my morning Isabella like it if I kissed her here?”

His open lips moved along the outside of her earlobe. Taking the tender flesh into his mouth, he drew on it slightly, then traced up the delicate edge with his tongue. His soft breath blowing on the moistened skin sent a fine tremor through her.

“Or here?”

When she mewled her assent, he lowered his head and began to slide his lips down the side of her neck, lingering at the crook, then traveling back up to her earlobe. His hands swept over her arms, down her back, barely floating over the surface of her skin, but the weight of his erotic touch held her fast.

Up and down.

The caress of his lips. The soft wetness of his tongue. His gentle breath.

Up and down.

The nuzzle of his chin. The light brush of his whiskers. His mouth savoring the curve of her neck.

Jacques trailed his lips around to the hollow at the center of her throat and pressed them there. “Does this please you, Isabella?”

The way he said her name, infused so much sex into it, made her swallow hard.

“Yes, Jacques.”

“I want to bring you pleasure. The way you bring pleasure to me.”

He moved seductively, paying special attention to the skin just beneath her jawline, teasing it with his tongue before beginning his sojourn down the other side of her neck.

“Do you feel how much you please me?”

He breathed into her ear, and his hand slipped down the curve of her lower back to pull their bodies together. The hot press of his erection burned through the layers of silk between them. Moving her hair away to expand his exploration, he placed the lightest of kisses across her collarbone and over her shoulder. He raised her chin and made his way, nibbling and suckling, back up. His lips moved against her skin while he spoke.

“Tell me you want my kiss.”

“Please, Jacques, let me taste you.”

The moment her breathy plea whispered through the air, her reward slipped between her lips and filled her mouth with the taste of coffee, cinnamon, and pure sin.

Isabella felt herself falling into Jacques’s possession, more with each long, slow, deep thrust of his tongue. Instinctively, she resisted, pushing her tongue back against his, taking the kiss from him. He eased back, just far enough to meet her eyes.

Did he enjoy the kiss? Oh yes.

Was he good at it? Without a doubt.

Could he be toyed with or manipulated? Never.

“Tsk. Tsk. Have you forgotten the rules, my morning Isabella?”

Jacques wasn’t interested in sparring. The intensity of his eyes told her that he wanted to introduce her to his every desire, but only if she was brave enough to let him drive her past her every limitation. Isabella corralled her courage, and the heavy weight of a deep lust settled inside her.

“No,” she said, voice breathy. “Total control. I understand.”

“Do you? We’ll see.”

“I want this, Jacques. I promise. I’ll try harder.”

His lips curled with a satisfied smile that said she’d pleased him. When he spoke again, his voice became softer, more seductive.

“While you are here with me, this is mine.” His hands pressed firmly against her biceps, not simply touching, rather taking her body against his.

“And this.” His fingertips traced across her forehead.

“And maybe even this.” They dropped over her heart.

Her insides clenched into a tight knot of anticipation. The words alone were enough to turn her inside out, but the controlled, excited rumble in his voice baited her dormant sexuality and coaxed it to the surface.

Then he moved back and changed. Right there in the middle of the kitchen. He just transformed into something she’d never seen before. Something more threatening. More commanding. More sexual.

This was Jacques, the Dom.

He pulled a chair into the center of the room. “Sit.”

Doubt momentarily shattered the fantasy, and the reality of what Isabella was about to do slammed into her mind.

Could she trust Jacques?

Ah yes. She could. Trust him to grant every sinful wish, satisfy every decadent fantasy, and probably introduce a few she hadn’t thought of. All she had to do was surrender to the tantalizing idea of being his to control, but she couldn’t move.

Powerful arms locked around her, bending her body into his and practically lifting her bare feet off the floor. Jacques kissed her again. Everything about the kiss demanded. Demanded her trust. Demanded her obedience. Demanded her total surrender. It was as if Jacques cast some kind of spell. The doubt vanished, replaced by the warm ache of anticipation and a delicious vulnerability.

When he let go, she sat.

Jacques smiled the sexiest, most chilling smile she had ever seen and laid firm hands over her shoulders. “Thank you, Isabella,” he said with a soft kiss to her cheek, then stepped back.

The genteel man fell away, replaced by a predator and his exacting scrutiny. He began to circle the chair. Just looking. The absence of his touch was almost too much to bear, but she didn’t move. She craved everything Jacques represented in this moment, and this was how to get it.

Her body flushed hot under the weight of his stare while he stalked her in the silence. So close, but so removed. Only his gaze touching her skin. Every nerve in her body converged into a warm hum that seemed to end between her thighs while she sat perfectly still.

Letting him look.

Wanting him to look.

The ocean crashed in the distance. The sound of her own breath echoed in her ears. She became hyperaware of her posture. The set of her shoulders. The arch of her back. The spread of her knees. Felt the fall of her hair. The hard chair beneath her bottom. The cool tile under her feet. Her nipples pearled, catching on the thin silk of her nightgown. Waves of tension and release washed through her core with each pass to build a grinding need. A compelling desperation.

When would he touch her? What would he do?

Jacques did nothing. Nothing but walk and stare.

Time became her enemy.

Didn’t he want to touch her?

With each rotation, her anxiety grew.

Maybe she wasn’t beautiful enough for him.

With each passing second, her apprehension mounted.

Maybe she was making a fool of herself.

When she began to struggle for air, Jacques took her hand and laid it over his erection. He stared into her eyes and held her fingers tight around him to silently communicate his pleasure before moving back. Knowing all she needed to know, Isabella let herself fall into the eroticism.

Jacques stepped in front of her and peeled his T-shirt over his chest, inch by mouthwatering inch, slowly revealing the hard lines of his long torso. He stood, silent, shirt in hand, and watched her watching him.

She didn’t move, could barely breathe. Every muscle was tight. The soft fabric of her nightgown irritated her hypersensitive skin. The secret clench inside her drew the aching need deeper into her body. She felt the orgasm building, and he wasn’t even touching her.

Then he circled behind the chair and brought the cotton shirt around to cover her face, holding it in place with both hands. The soft fabric was warm and smelled like Jacques. She inhaled deeply.

“That’s it, Isabella. Breathe. Breathe me in.”

She took another deep breath.

As Jacques held the shirt loosely over her face, his control sparked through her. Her body and mind focused completely on him. The sound of his breath. His smell. The feel of his hands on her face. Everything else disappeared, leaving only awareness of the man standing behind her and the fiercest desire to please him. The fall into Jacques’s possession was frightening, truly frightening, but the intensity of the arousal that came with the surrender was everything she wanted.

He moved the shirt away, held it in front of her face, and folded it over, once and again, into a long strip.

“Close your eyes.”

He wrapped the band around her eyes and secured it at the back of her head, blinding her.

“Do not move.”

She didn’t. Not one muscle. She wasn’t bound. She could get up, remove the blindfold, but the command held her fast to that kitchen chair. She listened to Jacques walking around the room. Opening the refrigerator, the cabinets.


When something touched her mouth, Isabella parted her lips. A strawberry. She bit down, and flavor burst onto her tongue, juicy and sweet. She went liquid with pleasure, inhaled through her nose, and licked her lips. Jacques brushed light fingertips over one breast. Her head rolled back. The nipple was so tight even the gentle touch felt intense.

“Will you taste as sweet, my morning Isabella?” he asked, swirling circles around the hard nub.

She could barely swallow.

Jacques offered another berry and, again, gently fondled her through the thin fabric of her nightgown while she chewed. Being fed made her feel so vulnerable. Being touched made her feel so sexual.

What would he offer next? A tingle of excitement hopped up her spine.

Jacques moved behind her chair again. One hand pressed under her jaw, tilting her face up and holding her head back. “You have the most beautiful mouth.”

A finger coated in honey slipped between her lips. She kept her mouth open and swirled her tongue around it before sucking the sweetness off his skin.

“I’m going to fuck this beautiful mouth.” His finger pumped in and out while he spoke, mimicking his words. It didn’t hurt, but her vulnerability spiked. So did her arousal. Then he traced her lips, outlining their contours. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, Jacques.” She felt her lips move against his finger.

“Say it all, Isabella. Say, I want you to fuck my beautiful mouth, Jacques.”

The command crushed the seduction; her mind and body seized with panic. She was in way over her head. Sex was one thing. This was something totally different.

Jacques crouched to bring his arms around her waist from behind. Both hands slipped over her thighs and up her belly. Her muscles locked tight. She stopped breathing.

“Are you ticklish?”

When she didn’t answer, he fluttered his fingertips over her belly button. “I asked a question.”

The words sprang free as she sucked the air back into her lungs. “Yes. I’m ticklish.” There was no humor in her frightened voice.

“I like the sound of your laughter. Laugh for me.”

Jacques tickled her a little more, and she did. A stunning rush of giggles exploded out of her. A perfect release to the tension he’d built up inside her. She gripped the seat to keep her bottom from bouncing off the chair while she laughed and squirmed until her sides ached. When Jacques finally stopped tickling her, he pressed a kiss behind her ear.

“Trust me, Isabella. I will always take care of you,” he reassured and released his arms. “Open your beautiful mouth for me. Keep your lips parted. Always open to me.”

A blueberry slipped into her mouth. Then more berries, a few pieces of cheese, and some sweet bread. When they weren’t feeding her, his hands brushed gentle touches over her breasts, caressing her through the silk nightgown until she ached.

“I think you’ve had enough to eat. Hmm. What else shall I give you?”

Isabella quaked at the wanton images that popped into her head.

He chuckled. “I see you would like something else, my greedy angel.”

Warm hands cupped her breasts from behind. She eased against the chair back and let her head rest on his chest while he squeezed her gently. His breath fell over her forehead. She could feel his eyes on her skin.

“You have the most beautiful body.” Admiration coated his words. “The most beautiful, sensual body. It calls to me in ways that only people like you and I can understand.”

Jacques pinched one pearled nipple through the silk, then the other, holding them in a tight press between fingers and thumbs. She gasped, startled by the quick pain, then moaned while a deep, steady throb pulsed along the invisible line that connected her breasts to her clitoris. It twitched.

“It’s never about truly hurting you,” Jacques promised. “It’s about trust.”

She curved her back, offering the taut points without hesitation to his skilled fingers, desperate to know what he would do next.

“That’s it, Isabella. Give yourself to me. Let me take you where you have waited so long to go.”

Pressure. Release. Pressure. Release.

The sensations spiraled through her and swept to her sex. His touch wasn’t really painful, but even if it was, she would never deny him. Her head lolled to the side as she gave herself over to it.

Jacques began to play with her more aggressively. To pinch her more sharply. Part of her couldn’t believe her reaction; the other part ached for more. She burrowed her face into his pec, straining to get nearer to him even as he tormented her.

“Perfect, Isabella. Absolutely perfect.”

Despite the painful touch, Jacques’s praise brought undeniable pleasure. The gnawing ache inside her grew into something monstrous, a beast of need that threatened to consume her entirely. When his hands fell away, the low throb in her breasts continued to beat in time with her pounding heart.

Jacques moved around the chair and eased into a crouch between her knees. A single finger skimmed under the strap of her nightgown to guide it off her shoulder and expose one breast.

“My morning Isabella is so lovely. So full and lush.” He traced lazy circles around the exposed nipple, coating it with sticky wetness. “And so sweet.”

Cupping her, he kissed the soft skin before licking the honey off the tip.

“I like this. I could nibble on you all day.”

Jacques opened his mouth and began to suck, softly at first, then harder, until it was hard enough to force a moan. Then he bit her, and she tumbled into the place where what should have hurt like hell became pure heaven. The walls of her sex clenched tight, and a shuddering flash of tortured pleasure flared through her entire body. He kissed the spot he’d bitten.

The erotic breast play continued, stoking her arousal, raising her anticipation, hotter and higher.

Pleasure. Pain. Pleasure again.

Jacques was blurring the line.

His hands traveled slowly up her thighs to spread her legs wider. His fingers rested over her hips, and his thumbs trailed light pressure along the line of her hip bones, intensifying the low ache inside her. She fought the urge to shift her body and lure those decadent thumbs to ease the begging need they were creating, but when his knuckles rolled over the mound of her sex, her very wet sex, her body jerked as if he’d hit her.

“We’re getting this pretty nightgown all wet.”

Jacques’s voice held the deep edge of masculine laughter, the kind that announced his confidence at having a woman within his power. He began working little circles right over her swollen clit, gently rubbing her through the silk. Round and round and round until she was straining not to squirm in the chair. The dampened fabric slipped beneath his fingertips and tickled over her thighs, spreading the sensation beyond his direct touch.

Her body burned. Sweat trickled over her temples, down her cleavage, and along her spine. Her wicked lover fingered her mercilessly to bring her close, then denied her. She bit her lip, dug her fingernails into her legs, and tapped her heel against the tile floor, desperately torn between the desire for release and the need to obey.

More light pressure.

More swirling circles.

More denial.

Making her teeter between heaven and hell until all she could do was beg.

“Please, Jacques. Please let me come.” She was practically panting.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Then they were moving, her arms and legs wrapped around him while he carried her across the floor. She yelped when her bare bottom hit the cold granite. Moaned when Jacques forced her legs apart and leaned in so close that she felt his breath on her mons.

“Would you enjoy it, my morning Isabella, if I kissed you here?”

Isabella put her feet on his shoulders, arched her back, and let the pleading posture answer his question.

Ah yes. Breakfast in paradise.

Jillian Verne © 2016

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Jacques and Isabella are from Masters of the Order: Paradise, coming Feb. 16, 2016 from Loose Id, LLC, available for pre-order at 10% off the retail price now.

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