When I'm With You Part VI: When You Trust Me Read online

  “Hurry up,” he said succinctly when he backed away.

  Even though she was disappointed when he walked out of the bathroom, leaving her alone, she liked his rough insistence for haste. She liked it a lot.

  While she showered, she thought about the other things she’d overheard Herr Schroeder and Lucien discuss. Who was this man who had died in prison and toward whom Lucien expressed such bitterness? Herr Schroeder likely had worked on several different cases for him over the years. Still . . . surely a business concern wouldn’t have made Lucien sound so disdainful.

  She would ask Lucien about it, but not tonight. Tonight was special between them. She’d sensed it ever since he’d opened up his office door earlier, said her name and pinned her with his stare. He’d come back early from Paris. He’d been honest with her about his search for his mother.

  That meant more to Elise than she could put into words.

  Ten minutes later, her curiosity and desire overcame her. Instead of waiting in bed, she walked out of the master suite in search of him, clean and fragrant from her shower. All the fatigue she’d experienced earlier that day was a mere memory. He came out of the extra bedroom almost at the same moment she left the master suite. They turned toward each other, half of the length of the hallway still between them. Her gaze lowered over the length of him covetously. He wore only a pair of black lounge pants, the drawstring tied several inches below his belly button, leaving his taut, ridged abdomen exposed. His smooth skin still looked moist from his shower. His muscles gleamed in the soft lighting from the hallway sconces.

  She saw his gaze dip over her, and again that strange feeling overcame her . . . that shyness she’d never known until Lucien.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, walking toward her. She couldn’t quite interpret his small, enigmatic smile. “Did Maria pick out that gown for you?” he asked, nodding at the short sapphire-blue nightgown she wore.

  “Maria?” Elise asked, surprised. She laughed. “Of course not. Why would she?”

  He shrugged, still looking amused. For the first time, she noticed he wore something she’d never seen before. A platinum chain looped around his neck. Attached to it was a small key.

  “What’s that?” she asked curiously, eyeing the key resting in the valley of bulging pectoral muscles.

  “You’ll see,” he murmured.

  “Is that my surprise?” she asked mischievously, eyeing the black velvet pouch he carried in one hand. He stepped nearer to her, so that the tips of her breasts were mere inches from his ribs.

  “Part of it,” he said, reaching up to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. Pleasure rippled through her at the caress of his fingertips.

  “Where is the rest?” she prodded, laughter in her eyes and a small smile pulling at her lips as she looked up at him.

  “Greedy little thing,” he chastised at the same moment he bent and swept her into his arms. She was still laughing in pleasant surprise when he opened the door that led to the stairs.

  “We’re going up to the terrace?” she asked breathlessly as he strode up the steps rapidly on long legs. “But I thought . . . the bedroom,” she said, unable to keep the disappointment from her tone. He carried her onto the massive deck that encompassed almost the entire rooftop. It was a warm June night. The sultry, pleasant lake breeze tickled her cheek. Lucien turned. She gasped at what she saw.

  “Oh . . . oh, it’s . . . how did you do that?”

  She stared at Lucien wide-eyed and then back at the lushly romantic scene before her. “I bought the essentials and helped out, but mostly we have Maria to thank for the niceties,” he replied as he carried her toward the east parapet that overlooked the expanse of Lake Michigan. He set her down at the foot of a bed.

  And what a bed.

  Elise twisted around, taking in her surroundings with amazed delight. She felt like she sat in the midst of a sensual, glowing lantern. She perched on a four-poster canopy bed, the tall posts made of a light bamboo composite that looked relatively easy to maneuver and manipulate for a temporary bed. But there was nothing makeshift about this decadent creation. White, opaque silk panes hung from the cross posts, shifting delicately in the gentle lake wind, the fabric blocking the view of the city behind them. The top of the bed was open to the night sky, and the east-facing portion was left exposed to the lake. Crisp white sheets covered the mattress and were folded down over a midnight-blue satin duvet. White rose petals had been sprinkled on the cover, as if to mimic the starlit night sky above them. One perfect white rose had been laid against the cushions at the head of the bed, the color of it a contrast to the dark blue of the pillowcases. Dozens of candles flickered and glowed in small glass holders that had been set along the four-foot-high brick parapet and all around the perimeter of the bed. A bucket stand had been set up next to the bed and filled with ice and a bottle of champagne.

  A small smile shaped Lucien’s mouth when she looked at him. She shook her head in disbelief.

  “You’re a romantic, Lucien Sauvage.”

  “Would you like some champagne?” he asked as he sat down next to her.

  She shook her head, unable to pull her gaze off him. “Maybe later,” she whispered. Something caught her eye. “My pearls,” she exclaimed in surprise, seeing the long rope coiled on the far side of the bed.

  “I had Maria bring them up. I hope you don’t mind,” he said huskily. Elise swallowed, guessing he probably planned to use them again to restrain her.

  “It’s a good thing you pay Maria so well,” she mumbled, blushing. “I can just imagine the stories she could tell about you, given some of the things she sees around here.”

  “There’s nothing scandalous about pearls.”

  “I’m willing to bet there is with what you plan to do with them.”

  He chuckled and prodded her with a hand on her upper arm. She scooted over the mattress with him. The delicate scent of rose petals filtered into her nose by the time they leaned back together on the pillows. The building where they perched was the tallest in the near vicinity. With the silk drapes blocking the city, they were in their own private little cocoon, even with the bed being open to the sky and lake. Lucien reached behind her and set the rose in her lap.

  “Is all of this to make up for the fact that you kept me in the dark for so long about your mother and Ian?”

  “All of this is because I missed you,” he said, his nostrils flaring slightly as his gaze ran over her face. “And because I’ve wanted you for a long, long time and circumstances have prevented it.”

  “Circumstances? Such as my lack of discipline?”

  “Such as my inability to maintain my own discipline when you refused to attempt to control yours,” he said with a pointed glance. His head lowered. Her breath caught when he brushed his lips across hers and she inhaled his clean, spicy scent. “And because until the night I had to leave for Paris, you refused to tell me what it was you wanted. What you needed.”

  She placed one opened hand against a smooth pectoral muscle, wondering at the solidness of him, the strength. “To submit to you?” she asked shakily.

  He nodded, his gaze unwavering.

  “In bed. To submit to you in bed,” she clarified breathlessly. “Because I don’t know that I can submit to anyone—even you—elsewhere.”

  “You will,” he said softly, the hint of a smile on his mouth when he felt her backbone stiffen. “Whenever I want you, you will submit. It will often not be anywhere near a bed.”

  She swallowed thickly and nodded. “You know what I meant. Sexually.”

  “I know what you meant,” he said, his voice a velvet caress against her skin. He toyed with the strap of her gown, watching himself, his actions and stare highly distracting to her. “And yes, submission sexually is what I meant. What I expect.”

  “All right,” she whispered, her pulse beginning to throb at her throat. What was he going to do with her, now that she’d agreed to submit and they were face-to-face? Liquid arousal surged b
etween her thighs. She pressed them together to staunch the sudden ache. The rose fell away, unheeded.

  His gaze shifted to meet her stare, but he kept playing with the strap of her gown, his fingertips flickering against her shoulder making it difficult for her to concentrate.

  “Would you like your gift now?”

  “What?” Elise asked, his hot eyes making her forget the velvet pouch he’d carried. She recalled sluggishly when he placed the pouch in her lap. She stared down at it dazedly.

  “I had them made specifically for you.”

  “You did?” she asked with restrained excitement. His long fingers moved in her lap, flipping back the flap of the pouch and sending prickles of pleasure through her. He tilted the pouch and two exquisite bracelets fell onto the silk of her gown.

  “Oh, Lucien,” she whispered. The bracelets were a pair, although not identical. Candlelight made the sapphires flicker as though they contained trapped fires. The gems were interspersed with tiny, perfectly detailed platinum charms. Her eyes wide, she studied and took delight in each one in turn: a spoon in commemoration of her love of cooking; a horse in midstride that very much resembled Kesara; a tiny lock; a miniature flag with the English Union Jack on one side and the French tricolor on the other (the only painted charm), a homage to her heritage; and . . .

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, grinning happily when she recognized a platinum fishing rod—a memento of that golden summer spent with Lucien so long ago. “Thank you,” she said fervently, beaming at him. She’d received some of the most expensive gifts in the world before, but never anything so intimate. So personal. “I love them. They’re so beautiful. So unique.”

  “Like the wearer,” he said. She flushed with pleasure. He lifted his arm. She watched in amazement as he drew the chain and key off his neck. “Other charms may be added. You can wear them on one wrist when you go out in public. But when we’re together like this, I’d prefer you wore one on each wrist. I will use them to cuff you.”

  “What?” she asked breathlessly, thinking she’d misunderstood him. Her eyes widened when he matter-of-factly lowered the straps of her gown down over her arms, causing the fabric to slide down her chest and drape at the tips of her breasts. “But . . . the bracelets are so delicate.”

  “Do you value them?”

  “So much,” she assured.

  “Then as you learned with the pearls, you will take care not to pull at your restraints. Don’t worry,” he said, picking up one of the bracelets and releasing the clasp. He slipped it around her right wrist. “If I ever feel you are losing control, I will restrain you with something more durable. But it will please me to see you bound by restraints that pay tribute to your beauty.” He met her stare as he fastened the second bracelet around her other wrist. “It will please me to see you exhibit a little control, even in the midst of letting go.”

  Elise swallowed thickly, both intimidated and aroused by his words. She would take care of the bracelets. They were an exquisite gift from Lucien. He would also drive her to mindless ecstasy. She knew he would. She watched as he used the key to unfasten the tiny platinum lock. He replaced the chain back around his neck, then bent his head to insert the lock through a metal loop on the opposite bracelet. The lock clicked shut. Her wrists were bound together now. Could she keep the priceless cuffs intact? she wondered anxiously. A pressure grew in her as Lucien regarded her, and she knew this delicious friction is what he’d intended all along by his gift of precious restraints.

  “Put your arms above your head and lean back against the pillows,” he instructed gruffly, his hand warm on her upper arm. She raised her bound wrists over her head. He pressed closer to her, his crotch brushing her hip. At the same moment that she slid against the slick surface of the bedding, reclining on the pillows, his hand glided downward, tugging her nightgown down over the peaks of her breasts, then down over her belly and hips and off her feet. She was naked, completely exposed to the night sky and the candlelight. Her nipples stiffened, not from the cool lake breeze but from Lucien’s hot stare. He groaned softly as he looked down at her.

  She bit her lip as he reached for the pearl rope. She watched him, her heart starting to thrum at her throat as he looped the creamy gems around her ankles. The pearls clicked gently together as he manipulated them, adding to the voluptuous spell he spun around her. When he ran out of rope, and there wasn’t enough slack in the silk to loop around her entire foot again, he carefully looped the pearls around the two largest toes on both her feet.

  “It’s very . . . secure,” she said when he scooted up on the mattress to sit next to her again. Her ankles were bound surprisingly tight together. He smiled as he looked down at her.

  “You are well and truly trussed by jewels,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over her belly and mons and lingering on her ankles. “Do not climax until I remove the pearls, do you understand?”

  “Why not?” she asked, confused by the sternness of his voice.

  “First, because you don’t have my permission to do so. And second, the feet flex during climax. It’s an instinctual response. You will likely break the silk if you come.”

  Her eyelids narrowed on him even as her clit throbbed in arousal. “You truly are a devil, do you know that?”

  “You tease me about being a devil, but you know I would never truly harm you, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” she exclaimed, her brow creasing at his sudden intensity.

  He just nodded, seeming reassured. “Now . . . tell me again what you desire,” he said gruffly, his gaze fastening on her breasts and then flickering to her face.

  “You. To submit to you.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said gently. He palmed her jaw. “I know how hard it is for you, to willingly forsake control. Trust me,” he said.

  “I do,” she whispered.

  She felt his cock harden next to her and wondered what he was thinking as his gaze roved over her face with an expression of fierce possession. “You haunt me, night and day. Don’t ever worry that you can’t please me, Elise. If you are honest about your desires, you’ll please me every time.

  He leaned closer. His addictive scent tickled her nose—a combination of his skin and his soap and his cologne. It mingled with the fresh breeze and the scent of rose petals, making her dizzy.

  “I want to please you, Lucien. Tell me what to do,” she said.

  His nostrils flared slightly as he looked down at her.

  “You’re doing it, in spades.”

  She repressed a whimper at the sound of his low, sexy voice and the blazing quality to his eyes. He caressed her, running his hands along her sides and over her hips, massaging her back muscles . . . shaping a breast to his palm. No one touched her like Lucien. She felt owned beneath his touch, cherished like she never had in her life. She also sensed his restrained hunger, his mounting excitement.

  He plucked at her stiffening nipples and she moaned, twisting slightly on the luxurious bedding. She felt the pearls pulling taut and forced herself to stop. He moved, straddling her body, holding himself off her with his knees and flexing arms. She looked up at the glorious sight of him framed by the starlit night sky. How she wished she could press up against him, rub her breasts next to the hard, muscular wall of his chest, slide their bellies together, stroke his awesome erection.

  “Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you restrained and helpless to resist?”

  The platinum key hung from his neck. It wasn’t the only thing hanging over her. She noticed how huge his cock looked, suspended in the air between them and barely covered by the thin layer of his pants. She slicked her tongue over her lower lip in nervous excitement.

  “Elise?” he prompted.

  “I’m guessing you like it?” she asked, still staring at his erection.

  He chuckled. “Yes, you make me stiff as stone. But that’s not what I meant entirely,” he murmured. She held her breath, watching him as his elbows bent and he lowered his head. She whim
pered when he inserted a tight nipple between his lips and lashed at it with a warm, wet tongue. He drew on her and she felt that tug all the way to her womb.

  “I meant that it does something to me to see you willingly give yourself,” he said a moment later, his warm breath brushing against her damp, erect nipple. She opened her eyes and made a whimpering noise of protest at the absence of his mouth on her nipple.

  “I would have given myself willingly anytime you asked,” she said.

  “I know,” he said, shifting his body so that he was kneeling over her. “But I wanted you to ask.” Perhaps he noticed the flash of irritation that went through her at his words, because he added pointedly, “Not beg, ma chère. Ask. There’s a difference between asking and begging. There is no desperation in asking—only courage.”

  Her lips closed, her complaint forgotten. He smiled. Her womb contracted. What a beautiful man.

  He put his hands on the outer and under curves of her breasts and lifted them, plumping them in his palms. She moaned when she saw the way he stared at them so greedily.

  “I have been dreaming night and day about your breasts. They’ve become the focal point of ridiculous amounts of masturbation.”

  A vivid image popped into her mind’s eye of him fisting his formidable cock, his muscles flexed and rigid, stroking . . . pounding. . . .

  She gasped at the powerful image. “I didn’t think you ever noticed them,” she said in a choked voice as he shaped her breasts to his hands, causing the nipples to poke between his thumb and forefinger. She’d never seen a more erotic sight in her life than the vision of her pale breasts in his dark, masculine hands.

  “When I’m finished with you, you’ll have little doubt about how much I think of you. And know that everything I’m about to do to you I’ve thought about in vivid detail more times than I can count,” he growled softly before he leaned down and took her mouth in a scorching kiss. She kissed him back eagerly, her awareness eclipsed in entirety by his delicious taste and skilled, sensuous tongue, by the feeling of his hands massaging her breasts in a manner that struck her as firm . . . lascivious. He wasn’t treating her with kid gloves. He wasn’t harsh, by any means, but he was making his desire baldly evident. Had she really once thought that he was cold toward her? Ridiculous. He was rabid with lust. His control was just as strong, but tonight, he liberated it.