When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(44)
“No. It’s bearable,” she said after a moment, her shaky yet brave response making him close his eyes briefly, shielding himself from the glory of her.
He carefully examined her reddening ass, kneading the exquisitely soft, hot flesh. Yes, she could take a few more, but not much. He would never want to mark her, and she had a very tender, sensitive ass.
“You will take three more,” he said, “but I’m not going easy on you for the last. Brace yourself.” He saw her muscles tense in anticipation. Still holding her steady with one hand and rubbing her ass with the other, he examined her, his gaze catching on the delicious under-curve of her firm breasts suspended in the air as she bent over. Such sweet, tempting fruit. He let go of her shoulder and reached beneath her. She jumped and whimpered when he gently pinched a nipple.
“This nipple is hard. Are you aroused, little girl?” he growled softly.
Her breath froze on an inhale. “And if I am?” she asked warily after a moment.
“Then you wouldn’t be the only one,” he admitted, tweaking erect flesh. Her moan sounded feverish. “But this is still a punishment. I thought I’d have a heart attack, seeing that degenerate Johnson with his hands on your earlier.”
“You . . . you did?”
“What do you think? He’s lucky I didn’t take his head off.”
She gasped, but he thought it was because of what he was doing to her nipple more than what he’d said. “I saw him before they put him in the ambulance. You nearly did.”
“The bastard will end up fine—unfortunately, for the rest of the world,” he said, sounding bitter as he considered the possibility of Baden Johnson back on the street in months or weeks. He pressed her nipple to the palm of his hand and made a subtle circling motion. Elise made a choked sound. “My point was, this is a punishment,” he said, reminding himself as much as her. “Your last three strokes will hurt.”
He molded her entire breast to his palm before he reluctantly let go of her. He’d never felt such tender, responsive flesh in his life. Her heart had been beating frantically against his hungry hand.
He could so easily lose himself in her.
* * *
Your last three strokes will hurt.
His warning echoed in her brain, mounting what was already almost an unbearable anticipation. Would it really hurt that much? And what about after he was finished? He’d said he owed her pleasure. The sharp pinch at her clit made her instinctively clench her thigh and buttock muscles. She so wanted to touch herself and come in a hot rush of excitement.
“I need your legs wider. Here, come over to this desk.”
He helped her stand. She followed him, wincing slightly at the burn on her bottom. She watched him move aside the desk chair and a few of her papers, clearing the surface. It humiliated her a little that she was completely naked, save the pearls and her sandals, her bottom more than likely red from her punishment, while Lucien was still immaculately dressed. He’d asked her to trust him. What better proof did he need for it than this?
Having cleared the desk, he approached her. She looked up, studying his handsome face as he carefully unwound the pearls, unbinding her. What was he thinking? How could he look so untouchable, so unreachable as he did these intimate things to her?
Her gaze slid down his taut abdomen to his crotch and thighs. No. He was far from cold when it came to her. His arousal was blatant and awesome to behold. Things were very full behind his crotch and the pillar of his cock pressed against fabric in a mouthwatering fashion. She swore she could make out the shape of the thick, tapering crown. Her clit tingled, and again, she longed to touch herself, staunch the ache. She opened her mouth to . . . what?
Beg him?
Her lips closed, but her tongue and throat seemed to burn with the repressed plea. He paused in his task.
“Yes? Do you want to say something?” he asked quietly.
Her pride rallied. “No,” she replied, jerking her gaze off his cock.
“Very well. Bend over and put your elbows on the desk,” he said matter-of-factly when he’d removed the pearls and placed them on the bed. He took her hand and guided her, his touch gentle. “Fold your arms. Good, now rest your forehead on your forearm.” She felt as if her lungs wouldn’t work properly as she struggled to do his bidding. She had to bend over farther than she had previously in order to reach the surface of the low desk. The position left her thoroughly exposed. She stilled when Lucien placed his hands on her shoulders. “Slide back some,” he said, his voice sounding thick . . . gruff.
She moved back on the desk and her breasts spilled over the edge. Lucien made a rough sound.
“Perfect,” he said. He gently struck her inner thigh with the hard edge of her grand-mère’s brush. “Spread your legs more.”
She did so, suppressing a moan. He opened his large hand over her lower ass and lifted. Cool air kissed her damp, heated sex.
“Lucien,” she cried out shakily, not sure if the single word was a plea for him to stop exposing her * or for him to touch what he’d exposed. She experienced his stare on her like a burning touch.
“God,” she heard him mutter. “Tu es belle.”
You’re beautiful. Her heart felt like it’d explode from her chest. It jump-started when he released her ass and swung the brush.
“Ow,” popped out of her throat. Her bottom smarted where he’d struck, but it’d been more surprise than pain that had instigated her response. He immediately replaced the brush with his hand, rubbing and soothing the stinging flesh.