When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(50)
He continued to rub her—for how long she didn’t know—occasionally murmuring to her in soothing tones, sometimes in English, sometimes in French. The torrential rush of emotion she’d experienced was unlike anything she’d ever known. She wasn’t crying from sadness or anger, but from some kind of whirlwind of unnamable feeling that felt as if it’d been living in her body, residing in muscle and flesh without her permission.
The tears on her cheeks dried. A wave of sleepiness overwhelmed her, and her entire awareness focused on the sensation of Lucien’s magical hands. He peeled back the covers, exposing her ass and upper thighs.
Her eyelids flew open. Tension sprang back into her muscles. His low chuckle and warm touch on her thighs reassured her anxiety, but did nothing to alleviate mounting excitement.
“Don’t get worked up all over again. You did well. I’m proud of you. It’s hard to let go, when you feel like the rest of the world could turn into an enemy at any moment. You come by your vigilance honestly. But you must learn to let down your guard with me,” he chided. “Now . . . I’m going to give you a reward, something for especially sweet dreams.”
His hand moved between her thighs, cupping her sex. Before she had a chance to say anything or respond, his finger deftly burrowed between her labia. She cried out, her arousal sharp, immediate, and unexpected. Had he done that somehow, built tension in her sex without her being aware of it? He rubbed and circled and pulsed, and she had no choice but to lie there with her legs spread wide, her spirit split open, and take every bit of pleasure he offered her.
She twisted her head on the pillow, desperate to see him while he touched her so intimately. Through several tendrils of hair, she saw him sitting at the edge of the bed, one knee on the mattress, his arm stretched between her thighs. With his other hand, he stroked his naked cock.
She stared, transfixed, her arousal mounting exponentially. She’d never actually seen his cock before. God, he was so beautiful. His pajama bottoms were bunched below the protruding shaft, hiding his balls, but his cock was large and thick, the crown shaped like a fleshy, tapering mushroom cap. She recalled how succulent it had felt next to her lips and tongue. Her mouth watered. He stroked himself as he stared at his other hand moving between her thighs. She watched, transfixed. Something about her helplessness, her inability to touch him, somehow sharpened her desire until it cut at her.
It was all too much. She dropped her head to the pillow as the pleasure crested and broke.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said gruffly from above her as she began to shake in delicious orgasm. “Now you’re beginning to learn what it means to submit to me.”
He nursed her through her climax, his fingers agile and knowing in the slippery flesh. The entire time, she kept her gaze pinned to his big hand moving like a piston over his swollen cock, faster and faster.
“Lucien,” she cried out as he coaxed yet another climax out of her. He glanced at her face for the first time, both of his hands still moving . . . pleasuring them both. A convulsion went through his rigid facial muscles and she realized he was coming too. Jets of white semen shot onto his flat, ridged abdomen as he jacked himself with a forcefulness that both stunned and aroused her. She felt his gaze on her as she watched him ejaculate.
It was an incredibly intimate, powerful experience.
His hands slowed. Their soughing breaths cut through the silence. Eventually, he reached for some tissues on the bedside table and used them to mop up his emissions, his manner matter-of-fact. Arousal prickled at her sex once again, but her climaxes had been so powerful she was mostly utterly satiated. By the time he stood and released her restraints, she was a muscleless mass of limp flesh. She wanted to turn around and look at him when she felt him sit on the bed next to her, his touch reassuring on her back, but she was too overwhelmed with heavy, warm drowsiness.
“Are you awake?” he asked quietly when he’d covered her, tucking the sheet firmly around her.
She made an incoherent sound.
“We will do this every night at eleven thirty until your body learns when it’s time to rest and your mind learns to let go and relax. Do you understand?”
She understood and was more than willing. It’d been a delightful, wonderful experience.
Yes, she attempted to say. How frustrating. She was having trouble moving her lips. They weighed far too much. Trying to say the word out loud was the last memory she had until morning.
Chapter Eight
Four days later, Denise Riordan watched and instructed Elise as she put the finishing touches on a new dish they were doing for a special—smoked salmon terrine with mushrooms. Elise glanced up distractedly when the kitchen door swung open. She noticed Lucien’s singular form and started, cursing under her breath when she poured some aioli sauce on the table instead of the plate.
“It’s okay. Here,” Denise said, taking the sauce from her and handing her a towel. “It looks marvelous,” Fusion’s new chef said with a smile before she handed the dish to a waiting server.
Elise glanced at Lucien skittishly. It had become rare for her to encounter him. She thought she might have seen more of him before she moved into his penthouse than she had in the past four days.
Of course . . . he did put her to bed every night, getting her used not only to falling asleep but to the restraints. Not to mention his magical hands. The hard part wasn’t accustoming herself to his touch. The difficult thing was not aching for his touch every second of the day and night.