When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(70)

Her clit simmered, begging to be touched.

She wanted the vibrator. She needed Lucien.

“You devil,” she muttered, perfectly seeing the glint in Lucien’s gray eyes, his small, sexy smile in her imagination. She writhed in discomfort and arousal . . . burning . . . straining to ignite. Slowly, some of the unbearable tension started to dissipate from her muscles.

Now, again.

The warm, hard vibrator was back, pulsing her clit at Lucien’s imagined permission. She whimpered with pleasure. This little thing could get a girl into real trouble, Elise thought dazedly as ecstasy swamped her and she burned in bliss. She was going to come.

No, ma fifille. You don’t have my permission yet.

She growled in acute frustration and slammed her hand onto the mattress. For a few seconds, she just lay there panting shallowly, her body coiled tight, every muscle straining, her nerves shouting in protest. She waited for her flesh to cool. She prayed for it.

Breathe through it, Elise. You are so lovely when you show control. You may come very soon, I promise. Endure just a moment more. Don’t give up. I’m with you.

“No, you’re not,” she grated out in supreme frustration. She was alone. And she was missing him. And he was thousands of miles away.

He would never know.

Within seconds she was shaking in climax, moaning, drowning in forbidden pleasure, her hips gyrating against her hand and the vibrator.

She sunk into the mattress moments later, her flesh deliciously limp and satiated following her explosive orgasm. It’d felt so good. So decadent.

You’ve been the very embodiment of self-indulgence.

Her eyelids flew open. This time, Lucien’s voice hadn’t been a product of her imagination, but a memory of something he’d once told her. Guilt and regret slinked into her awareness. She should have done better. She could have, but she’d chosen not to, feeling sorry for herself because Lucien was gone and not with her.

Her phone began to ring. She sat up, startled. She stared at the device on the bedside table, seeing the number on the screen. Panic flickered through her.

No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t possibly know that she’d failed.

“Hello?” she asked shakily.

“Are you all tucked into bed?”

She shivered at the sound of his low voice tickling in her ear.

“Yes,” she said too matter-of-factly. “And what of you? How did things go with the police?”

“As good as can be expected,” he said with a sigh. “We presented the evidence. Leboeuf and the accountant have been arrested.”

Concern overrode her earlier panic when she heard the weariness in his voice. “Have you slept?” she asked, knowing that it was early morning in Paris.

“No, I just arrived at my apartment. I thought I would sleep on the plane, but I ended up working with my banker to ensure the transfer of funds from my private accounts to the Three Kings. Everyone received their paychecks, right on time. I also had to work on hiring a private investigator to see if he can trace the embezzled funds. Perhaps a good portion of it can be recovered. I’ve just come from an all-night meeting with Monsieur Atale. I was a fool not to hire him as the executive director of the Three Kings right off the bat. He’s a good man. But I was wary of people that had worked for my father previously. I thought it was best to bring in an outsider.”

“That’s hindsight, Lucien. I know that you wouldn’t hire someone who didn’t have excellent qualifications. You can’t see the inner workings of a criminal’s mind and heart.”

Her breath hitched when he didn’t respond.

“You should rest,” she said, sensing his tension at the topic of his father and trying to turn the subject. “You sound absolutely exhausted.”

“I’m in bed right now.”

Her thighs clamped tight. She realized her instinctive reaction had come from the quiet, seductive quality of his voice.

“It’s ten until midnight in Chicago,” he murmured. “Did I catch you in the midst of your discipline lesson?”

“Yes,” she said impulsively, her brain starting to leap into panic again. Did she imagine that short pause on his end?

“Are you aroused?”

“Yes. Incredibly so,” she lied breathlessly.

“You’re lying.”

Irritation spiked through her at his quick, confident reply.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know what you sound like when you’re edgy with lust, and I know what you sound like when you’re relaxed. Aside from seeming a little nervous, you sound to me like a woman that’s just had a nice, hot orgasm.”

Her typically glib tongue went uncooperatively numb.

“I told you I would know if you were lying,” he said mildly, a thread of humor in his tone. “How many times?”

“How many times what?” she asked, irritation at his confidence in her failure and regret at her lack of control making her tone snappy.

“How many times did you pull your hand away and try to cool off?” he clarified evenly.

“Twice,” she admitted after a pause. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, but for some reason, another wave of lust went through her, so powerful that she placed her hand on her outer sex and pressed to staunch it.

“That’s more than I expected.”