Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(100)

“O-Okay,” he heard her say. He met her stare, looking into dark, velvety orbs. A wild surge of something went through him—lust, raw need, anger—when he recognized what shone in her eyes.

“Why do you look at me with so much trust?” he bit out.

“Because I do trust you.”

“You’re a fool.” He touched her elbow, guiding her. “Stay on your knees. Bend over. Expose your ass. Rest your breasts against your knees. Press your forehead to the cushion and keep it there throughout your punishment. Do not look at me, or I will punish you harder.” She truly was a nymph; her eyes possessed some kind of magic over him. If he looked into them enough, he’d soon start to believe in what he saw there shining like a steady, unwavering beacon.

He went to get the paddle. He knew why her eyes had gone wide upon seeing it a moment ago. It was made of varnished wood, long and narrow—only three inches wide. It was a more serious tool for corporal punishment than the black leather paddle he preferred for her delicate skin.

But he was determined to make her pay for her impulsive decision to follow him to London. He was determined to make her pay for igniting this storm of feeling inside him.

He barely restrained a groan as he approached and took in the vision of her. The elastic binder displayed her shapely ass to cock-jerking effect. He caressed one cheek, then the other, lifting the buttocks fully out of the restraint so that he might touch and punish every precious bit of the firm, fulsome flesh.

She started when he landed the paddle on the sweet lower curve of her ass, but he sensed that she held back her cry. Her restraint pleased him.

Just as everything about her did . . .

. . . everything but her impulsiveness; everything but her foolishness and innocence in believing she loves me.

Everything about her . . . especially her impulsiveness, and an innocent wisdom that should be cherished, not scorned.

He paddled her three times in quick succession, obliterating the confusing thoughts from his brain. His cock lurched in the increasingly confining material of his pants. Yes, this is what he needed. Lust would guide him through the bewildering brew of emotion he experienced.

Lust always did.

She couldn’t suppress her cry this time, and he paused, soothing the satiny, heating ass cheeks with his fingertips.

“I can’t believe you came to London,” he said, his voice vibrating with anger.

“I’d have gone farther to find you.”

He paused, his expression stiffening when he heard the quiver in her voice.

“Are you crying?” he asked sharply, studying the back of her head.

“No.”

“Are you in undue pain?”

“No.”

He tightened his hold on the paddle and swatted her ass twice. “This is the first time I’ve punished you without the clitoral stimulant. Perhaps the discomfort is trumping the pleasure,” he said, swinging the paddle back and landing it, snarling at the erotic sight of the blow reverberating through her firm, plump flesh. He grabbed his aching cock through his pants, wincing.

“No, it’s not that,” he heard her say in a muffled voice. She jumped slightly in her kneeling position when he paddled her again.

Curious as to what she meant, he pushed his fingers into the tight crevice of her thighs just above the binding restraint. Warm wetness coated his forefinger. Without making a remark, he withdrew his hand and whacked her ass several more times.

He would never truly control her, because she slayed him every time he tried.

Her ass was red and hot to the touch by the time he’d finished with her. She panted softly, and her cheeks were stained pink when he lifted her from the chest and placed her on her feet. He knelt before her, peeling the black elastic binder off her thighs and then down over her feet.

He unfastened the cuffs. She made a sound of surprise when he looped the elastic binder around her neck and began to work the wide strap down over her breasts. It wasn’t easy, but by the time he’d finished, her beautiful flushed breasts were plumped and displayed just as erotically over the top of the thick binder as her ass had been. He grunted in approval and cuffed her wrists again at her back.

“What are you going to do?” she asked him uncertainly when he picked up a black leather flogger. It was a supple one, meant more to enliven and sting the flesh than to whip and cause pain. He understood the flicker of fear in her tone. He’d never used a flogger on her before.

“Your punishment isn’t finished yet. This is a flogger.” He held it up for her to examine the thin, foot-long, supple straps attached to a leather-bound handle. “Don’t look so fearful . . . it looks more ominous than it is. It’s safe enough, in my hand. It will cause a nice sting and awaken your nerves.”

Her eyes went huge when he lifted it, but she didn’t protest when he brought the leather straps down on the side of a pale breast. “There. Is that too much?” he asked gruffly, pausing to caress and gently squeeze the firm globe. When she didn’t answer, he looked into her face. Her expression was a little helpless, but her eyes glowed with arousal. She shook her head, apparently speechless.

He hid his grim smile and brought down the flogger on her other breast, then back to the other, watching in fascination as the pale globes deepened in color to a pale pink and the nipples grew tight and hard, making his mouth water.

“Do they sting?” he asked her a moment later after he set down the flogger and massaged her breasts in his hands.