Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(75)

His brisk, knowledgeable manipulation of the swing and her body let her know Ian had a lot of experience with it.

“Let me get you something for your hair.”

For an anxious moment, she couldn’t see him. Then his deft hands were sweeping her long hair away from her face, lifting the gathered mass. She turned her chin slightly and was able to see him in the mirror as he twirled his hand, twisting her hair and finally binding it on her head with a huge clip. She couldn’t take her eyes off his powerful form in the mirror; couldn’t take her eyes off herself, naked and suspended there in midair, vulnerable to anything and everything Ian wanted to do to her.

Perhaps he noticed her anxious studying of them in the mirror, because he brushed his long fingers beneath her chin and met her stare in the mirror.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said.

She blinked, seeing something in his eyes that gave her courage. Passion. Tenderness. A clear intent to possess, but not in a way she should fear or abhor. She nodded once, feeling breathless.

He walked over to the table, and when he returned, he carried the paddle. Her clit pinched in arousal at the sight of it gripped surely in his large hand. It suddenly struck her how vulnerable her bottom was, suspended there at hip height in midair. She held her breath when he came to a halt and raised the paddle, brushing the exquisitely soft fur over her still-tingling spanked ass.

He gripped the straps above the harness that held her hips, securing her in place. She watched wide-eyed in the mirror as he tossed the paddle in the air a few inches and flipped it expertly. When it landed, the leather side faced her ass.

“I will give you ten strokes,” he said gruffly, placing the paddle against her ass. Her cheeks heated at the sensation . . . at the vision of the black leather pressing into the flesh of her pink buttocks.

He lifted the paddle and swung. She gasped at the impact, her body swinging forward ever so slightly in Ian’s grip. “Ow,” popped out of her throat when he paddled her again, stinging her nerves. He kept the paddle pressed to her ass cheeks.

“I said you’d be safe, and you always will be.” In the mirror, she saw that he stared at her ass as he circled the paddle, massaging her. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be some discomfort. This is a punishment, after all.”

She whimpered when he landed another smack on her lower buttocks. He grunted, low and rough, and used the paddle to massage the smarting skin once again. “I love turning your ass red,” he muttered, and landed another smack. This blow was forceful enough to send her jerking forward in Ian’s hold several inches. “You keep the count, Francesca,” he said. “I’m losing my concentration.”

She stared at his rigid features when he said that, her heart charging like a locomotive, the clit cream taunting her between her thighs. Ian lose concentration? He swung his arm back, and her eyes sprang wide in trepidation.

Smack.

“Five,” she squeaked. She couldn’t take her eyes off him in the mirror: the way his shirt stretched across his wide chest when he swung his arm back, the rigid focus on her as he landed the paddle, the absolute strength of his grip on the swing as he kept her ass in place for her punishment.

He landed several more smacks, and then cursed under his breath. He released his death grip on the hip harness. Francesca swayed forward and back six inches in each direction. She hardly noticed; she was too busy watching him in the mirror. He rapidly slipped a loop of leather at the end of the paddle around his wrist and began to unfasten his pants. The garments remained around his hips, but he drew his erection over the waistband of his white boxer briefs. He stroked the long, thick, naked shaft.

“Ian,” she moaned, heat rushing between her thighs at the vision of his stark, virile power. He slipped the paddle off his wrist and gripped it tight again.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice rough with arousal.

“You’re killing me,” she said uncontrollably, not sure what she meant. There was just so much pressure pent up inside her. It felt like she was about to combust and burn. Why did this suspended, helpless position arouse her so much?

“It’s no more than what you do to me,” he said grimly as he firmed his hold on the hip harness and swung the paddle.

“Eight,” she yelped. Her ass was burning now, but still most of her attention was on the sensation of Ian’s cock leaping up in the air as he landed the blow, the velvety soft, firm crown batting her hip.

By the time “ten” popped out of her throat, things were soaked between her thighs, she was panting raggedly, and her ass was on fire. Ian ran the fur over her stinging ass cheeks and released his hold on the harness. She bit off a whimper when he grabbed one of her flaming buttocks and massaged it greedily with his palm.

“Your ass is going to be so good, lovely. So hot. You’re going to melt my cock,” he said, a wry smile tilting his hard mouth.

“Will it hurt?” she asked shakily.

He paused in his lascivious caress, still gripping her ass, and met her eyes in the mirror.

“A little at first, perhaps. But my intent is to punish you for your impulsiveness, not to torture you.”

“And . . . and putting your cock . . . there is part of my punishment?”

He released her bottom and turned, walking over to the table. She tried to see what he was doing over there in the reflection, but his body, and her own, partially blocked her view. When he returned, he carried a glistening black rubber plug. Her eyes widened. It was larger than the one he’d put into her before. Between that intimidating-looking sex toy and Ian’s flagrant erection standing out lewdly from his body, Francesca didn’t know where to land her anxious gaze.