Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(53)

He dropped his hand. Her bottom prickled and tingled, not unpleasantly. Her * felt hot and wet. She kept her eyes clamped closed, her ears pitched for signs of what he was doing in the silence. Then the folded leather strap touched her ass. He ran it over the smarting flesh in circles. Her clit pinched in anticipation. She clamped her teeth.

It was going to hurt. She dreaded it. She needed it.

“Hold steady,” Ian said. He lifted the leather and struck gently several times. She knew from having done this with him before they were just test strokes as he got the feel for the instrument he used. He lifted the belt. Her muscles tensed. Then it came, that quick, bright flash of pain, more concentrated than what came from the paddle or the flogger. She whimpered. Her hips moved, but not to escape another blow. From arousal.

“Shhh,” he murmured, and his hand was there, soothing the stinging flesh, caressing her bottom. “Okay?” he asked after a moment of rubbing her.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. She waited, her anticipation so sharp it cut at her. Whoosh. He landed the belt again and she gasped. Immediately, his hand was there, easing the pain, mounting her need until all she craved was another strike of the belt. It was unbearable. It was exquisite . . . and just what she needed.

After five strikes, she was moaning uncontrollably in rabid arousal. He paused after landing a blow on the tender area of her buttocks just above her thighs. He palmed her from below tautly, and then abruptly released the stinging flesh, jiggling it, making her moan harder.

“Stand up straight,” Ian said, his voice sounding strained. She backed away from the post. “Put your hands behind your head, elbows out, and face me.”

She did what he said, her breathing erratic. When she turned toward him, the vision of him undid her. She shut her eyes defensively. He looked unbearably beautiful to her in his tuxedo pants with his dress shirt open at the collar, his sleeves rolled back displaying his strong forearms, his masculine hand gripping the belt. He stepped toward her and ran the folded strap of leather along her waist, her ribs, and the outer curve of a breast.

“Open your eyes, Francesca,” he demanded quietly.

“No,” she said shakily, determined to keep some tiny part of herself inviolate. Safe. She’d given all of herself once, and felt the consequence every second of her life. The caressing leather stilled on her breast, and then fell away. She sensed him crossing in front of her. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Bend over and spread your thighs. Present your bottom. Keep your hands on your head,” he said sharply when she started to lower them as she bent. “I’ll steady you with my hand.”

The belt struck her ass. She whimpered. Her thighs quivered. She felt very exposed and vulnerable in this position.

“It’s okay,” she heard Ian say roughly, his hand rubbing her stinging ass. “Just two more strokes like that, and then you’ll feel relief.” His hand lowered between her thighs. She cried out in acute pleasure when he burrowed a thick finger between her labia and stimulated her clit. The burn didn’t amplify slowly, it was suddenly full-blown at coming into contact with his rigid finger. She lurched forward at the unexpected, sharp sensation, but he caught her with his hand at her shoulder.

“That’s right,” she heard him say as he rubbed her clit, his voice that familiar rough-gentle paradox. “You’re going to come for me and let it all go. Give all the responsibility to me.”

“Oh,” she moaned uncontrollably, the sting of her ass somehow amplifying the sizzle of her clit. It was delicious. Untenable. Then his hand was gone from her sex and the belt bit again at her ass. She cried out at the jolt of pain, the thrill of peaking ecstasy. He lowered the hand from her shoulder and used it to part her burning buttocks, further exposing her to him. She trembled when he ran the leather over her damp outer sex, and then along the cleft between the cheeks, teasing her *. The anticipation was killing her.

He once again put his hand on her shoulder. She heard the leather whooshing in the air. The belt struck her ass, cracking in her ears like a gunshot. She was keening uncontrollably, on the very edge of orgasm. She felt the leather fall past the back of her thighs to the floor and he was pulling her against him, the front of his pants pressing tightly against her, grinding her hip and buttock against his furious erection, his hand plunging between her thighs.

“Come . . . and keep it coming.”

She ignited at his touch, exploding in orgasm. His harsh words echoed distantly in her ears as pleasure shook her in intense waves. Come and keep it coming. His hand moved between her thighs, the tension snapping back into her muscles each time after she shuddered in release. Why wasn’t it stopping? Oh God, it’d never felt so good. So awful. So divine.

By the time her orgasm finally did begin to wane, he had to hold her tightly against his body, still supporting her at the shoulder in order to keep her from slithering to the floor. Her legs had gone weak; her flesh transformed to quivering mush. She panted for air as he encouraged her to straighten, then he was lifting her feet off the floor. The front of her body pressed against him, her belly heaving against his abdomen, her * quivering against his erection. His hand opened at the side of her face, cupping her cheek and jaw.

“I’m sorry. It was necessary. But I’m still sorry.”

She blinked and brought his handsome face into focus. He looked rigid with need.