When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(42)

“No.” Even though she said nothing else, her defiant expression said loud and clear, I can take whatever you can dish out. It’s all the same to me.

“You are still pulling at the reins,” he said softly. “When you stop it and submit, the time will have come.”

He saw bewilderment shadow her features, but then her gaze met his. Her anxiety seemed to vanish. Slowly, she held out her hands to be bound.

He exhaled. Her show of trust aroused him even more than the vision of her gorgeous body. He resisted an urge to touch . . . caress . . . consume . . .

. . . possess completely.

“You’re going to restrain me with pearls?” she asked incredulously from above him a moment later as he began to twist the gems around her wrists.

“If you struggle or try to get your hands free, you might break the silk.” He glanced up into her now flushed face. “I find that something delicate can restrain better than metal if the wearer values what binds.”

He determinedly focused on the task of looping the pearls around her wrists, making the long strand stretch snugly from lower wrists to forearms. Her thrusting breasts fractured his focus, trembling slightly as she breathed and he maneuvered the necklace. He could imagine in graphic detail how soft the skin of them would be sliding against his lips. When he’d finished restraining her wrists, he looked up at her face.

She was exquisite, her skin gleaming more luminously than the pearls. Her scent filtered into his nose—clean, light, extremely feminine. Her eyes looked large in her pale face, but they grew wider when he reached up, unable to resist, and stroked the under-curve of her left breast. He watched the rosebud tip darken and tighten. Blood pulsed into his cock.

For a second, a haze of lust fogged his vision, stealing his will.

“Lie down in my lap,” he murmured after he’d steadied himself. She complied without speaking. He guided her, taking some of her weight since her wrists were restrained. He noticed how careful she was of not stretching the silk and pearl bond and felt a stab of irritation.

Who had given her the necklace? She clearly held it dear.

Her skin felt like warm silk as he grasped one hip, holding her steady. The fingers of his other hand trailed down her back. He felt her ripple beneath his touch, mounting his lust. She settled in his lap, the sweet pressure of her body taunting his erection.

“I didn’t tell you last time, but it gave me great pleasure to punish you,” he said, his hand flowing against her skin.

“It . . . it did?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” he asked drolly. His cock lurched in arousal. She stilled beneath him and he knew she’d felt it. “Put your hands above your head,” he instructed. She followed his command. Sensing her nervousness, he stroked her until she softened a little, her flesh becoming more malleable beneath his hand. Feeling the deep knots in her muscles, he molded and rubbed.

“You really are a tight little knot. I will work this tension out of you one day. You are so stiff,” he said, listening to her soft, sexy moans as he massaged her back.

He’d always instinctively had an understanding of muscle, innately comprehended how stress, trauma, emotional and physical pain was stored and carried in the flesh. He’d learned to read a horse’s tension from an early age by stroking muscle, seeing how an animal’s body language altered with strenuous exercise, soothing words, and a touch . . . a concisely applied swat of the crop. Later, he’d learned to read his lovers’ tension level, grew to understand how to build it with punishment, release it with an explosion of pleasure. . . .

Never had he touched a woman as tightly strung as Elise. He rubbed her shoulders and heard her exhale in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He winced. So much pain she carried.

“Is that better?” he asked, running his palm along her side, admiring her delicate rib cage and feeling her heart throbbing inside it.

“I think so,” he heard her say. She lay with her forehead pressed to the bedspread, reminding him of a child who closed their eyes before a painful procedure, like getting a shot. He smiled and caressed her just above the elastic band of her panties. She shivered as he stroked the patch of skin along her spine.

“Then we’ll begin,” he said, using both hands to peel her panties down over her buttocks. She moaned softly, and he wondered if she’d felt his body’s response to the vision of her, the decadent erotic feast she made, lying there nude and helpless in his lap. He worked the panties down her thighs in order to have full access to the lower curve of her plump buttocks.

He grasped one of her cheeks with his hand. “You knew you were teasing me, didn’t you?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes.”

He gave her a brisk swat. She jumped slightly in his lap.

“Stay still,” he ordered, using his hands to palm both buttocks at once. She made a whimpering sound and settled in his lap. He released her and slapped each cheek again, grunting in grim satisfaction when she remained immobile. His cock swelled tight at the evidence of even that small submission on her part. He placed a flurry of spanks, letting her feel the burn. He watched in fascinated lust as her pale bottom began to blush pink.

She was a fantasy to spank, her ass plump and firm. He landed a brisk slap on each lower curve of a buttock, grimacing in lust at the erotic vision of her bouncing flesh. He shut his eyes and resisted an almost overwhelming urge to grind her body against his straining erection.