When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(46)

She gasped as distilled, focused pleasure smacked into her awareness. Oh God . . . he was exceptionally good at what he was doing. Lucien watched her, his light eyes gleaming beneath heavy lids.

“Let go, ma chère. Submit to it,” he whispered hoarsely.

She couldn’t escape it. It wasn’t like she really had a choice other than to follow his command to the letter.

She clung onto him even as she let go, abandoning herself to pleasure . . . giving herself to Lucien.

Part IV: When I'm Bad

Chapter Seven

Watching Elise come, feeling her body tremble against his, hearing her excited cries, inhaling her unique scent—all of it made Lucien’s head swim in a sea of lust. His hand continued to move between her thighs, his finger sliding with ease in the delightfully lubricated valley between her labia, playing with her clit, prolonging her pleasure . . . coaxing more shudders from her firm, soft body.

He was going to eat her alive, she was so sweet. He was going to take her like a rutting bull. For a blinding moment, he pictured exactly how it would feel to have that tight, wet * melt around his thrusting cock, her muscular walls clasping him, pulling at him like a hot little mouth. . . .

He needed to taste her even more than he needed to f*ck her. He was intoxicated with lust, but still greedy for more sensation, starved for the pure essence of Elise on his tongue and in his throat. She whimpered in surprise when he leaned over the bed and placed her back on the mattress. He had a fleeting image of her eyes blinking open heavily. He touched her lips with his before he lowered himself, his knees on the floor.

“Lucien?” she murmured, her voice thick with satiation.

“I will taste you,” he said without preamble, spreading her white thighs. He stared for a moment. Her pubic hair was well trimmed, looking darker gold near her slit and between her labia due to her abundant juices. Her sex was a lush pink flower, the color of it decadently erotic in contrast to her pale thighs. Entranced, he parted her lips, revealing her swollen clitoris. Her scent filled his nose. He gave a low, feral growl and inhaled deeply.

“This * is mine,” he muttered, barely aware of what he was saying, guided solely by a primal need to possess, and hardly hearing his own voice his heart throbbed so loudly in his ears.

He slid his tongue through the creamy valley, agitating her clit. Her taste permeated his awareness and he was lost. He turned his head slightly, stabbing her clit with his tongue, only distantly conscious of Elise’s cries of surprised pleasure and her fingernails scraping his scalp as she held him to her. She was musk and honey and sunshine, golden sweet, the very flavor of sex. His sole focus became to get more of her taste, fill his mouth with it, his throat, his very being. With her juices as his reward, he learned her perfectly, discovering the optimal pressure of his tongue to pleasure her, the precise amount of suction she needed to make her cries go frantic.

He distantly became aware of several unwanted sensations battering at the edges of his rabid arousal. The sound of loud pounding on the door differentiated from the hammering of his heart.

“Oh, Lucien . . . God . . . someone . . . door,” Elise gasped even as her hand tightened at the back of his head and she pushed him closer to her *.

“Shut it up in there!” a woman’s harsh, cigarette-roughened voice shouted outside the door. “All that slapping and screaming and moaning, my customer is starting to get ideas that he can’t afford!”

“Should . . . stop,” Elise mumbled miserably. “I can’t keep quiet. It’s not . . . possible,” she moaned.

But Lucien was too far gone to care about disgruntled neighbors. He liked Elise’s unguarded cries of excitement. He adored them. He continued to eat the sweetest * he’d ever tasted, determined.

“YOU! Don’t act like you’re not in there. Put a muzzle on it. Screaming like a banshee . . . giving my customers ideas . . . French,” the woman added bitterly under her breath.

Elise began to squirm beneath him—he couldn’t be sure if she did it out of arousal or if she was trying to get him to stop—but Lucien refused to be denied. He held her hips down on the bed and lashed at her clit ruthlessly while applying a firm suction. He felt her go rigid in his hands, a helpless whine ringing in her throat. He turned his head more and sucked her entire clit. The tension in her muscles broke. Her whine swelled to a sharp shout, quieted, then swelled again into a moan as another wave of climax hit her.

He soaked in the sensations of her hungrily: her desperate cries, her raking fingernails, her scent, her taste.

The woman pounded angrily on the door for the next several moments as Elise came and he drowned in her essence. By the time Elise sagged onto the bed, panting, and he took one last, reluctant lick between her swollen sex lips, all was quiet.

Elise lifted her head and met his stare. His rabid lust fractured for a moment from amusement. The dazed, vaguely bewildered expression on Elise’s sex-flushed face was priceless.

“Was that Ms. Inga?” she asked him disbelievingly.

His hands transferred to her waist, his fingers delving gently into the muscles of her back greedily. He grunted in satisfaction. Her punishment and orgasms had made her flesh noticeably suppler.

“I have no idea if it was Ms. Inga. I’ve never made the woman’s acquaintance, and have no desire to ever do so.”

Still, what she’d said partially penetrated his brain. He glanced around the room, seeing the paint peeling on the walls, the rust stain from a leak in the corner, the threadbare carpet. He closed his eyes and willed the throb of his heartbeat in his raging erection to slow. He kissed a soft, pale thigh and stood.