When I'm With You Part III Read online

  She wouldn’t have thought it a possibility. But it wasn’t just any man.

  It was Lucien.

  Chapter Six

  He’d told himself he wouldn’t be consumed by her fires, but the slow burn began as he watched her remove the looped rope of cultured pearls from around her neck. The pearls interested him. They weren’t an expensive item. In fact, he’d frequently been proud of her during the past week in regard to the fact that she wasn’t flaunting her wealth with expensive jewelry, clothing, and designer handbags. Elise was a very beautiful woman, after all, not to mention the daughter of a renowned fashion designer. She was known for wearing the most expensive clothes in the world like they were her birthright. She’d been staying under the radar, though—as well as a blazing meteor like Elise Martin possibly could.

  The belt at her hips came off next. He’d noticed the moment that she approached him earlier this evening that the blue fabric of her dress emphasized her flawless, pale skin and sapphire eyes. Beneath the dress, she wore a matching pair of silk panties and bra. Her dress had fallen off her shoulder earlier when she’d been dancing so outrageously with Caden. He’d seen that the strap of the bra perfectly matched the color of her dress as she’d gyrated her hips, her gaze directly on him—daring him.

  Arousal and irritation spiked through him at the memory.

  She was petite, but built for sin. Her waist was so tiny, he would likely come near to encompassing it with his opened hands. She was far from slight, though. The curve from her waist to her round hips taunted a man’s hand, tempted him to touch smooth, satiny stretches of skin. Just looking at the pale expanse of her taut belly and the juncture between shapely thighs made him hard and heavy—ready from a glance. Her breasts were full for her petite figure. He’d idly wondered if they’d been enhanced before, but somehow he doubted it. Elise’s mother had been a screen goddess and praised for her hourglass figure. Despite her more compact size, Elise shared a lot of her mother’s looks. She was Madeline Martin’s beauty distilled and perfected.

  Another reason Madeline had envied her daughter.

  “Take off the bra. I’ll remove the panties,” he told her gruffly.

  His breath burned in his lungs as she unfastened the rear hook and her breasts spilled out of the cups. His cock lurched against his boxer briefs.

  No. Most definitely the real thing.

  Her lithesome arms fell to her sides, leaving her high, pink-tipped breasts exposed. Her eyes were still downcast. It was so strange to see her in anything remotely resembling a submissive pose. Unusual . . . and extremely arousing.

  He closed his eyes briefly, blocking himself from the potent vision of her, and turned his attention to the grungy room where she’d been living. His mouth tightened when he again took note of the bars on the windows. He stepped over to the dresser and picked up the long-handled silver and enamel hairbrush he’d seen there earlier.

  “Pick up your pearls and come over here,” he said, waving toward the end of the sagging double bed. It was made. He’d give her this—she’d kept the room as neat and clean as she possibly could. Again, his heart squeezed in his chest at the thought of this gem of a woman living in such squalor.

  He sat at the edge of the bed, making the springs squeak in protest. He noticed she still hadn’t moved and was looking in turn at him, the hairbrush in his hand, and the heap of pearls she’d set on the desk.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with them. Bring them here.” She scooped up the pearls and approached him, her gaze flickering from his face to his lap. His cock twitched as if she’d touched him.

  He did his best to ignore the flagrant display of naked beauty just inches away from fingers that were itching to touch. He set down the hairbrush and held out his hands. She blinked, realizing what he wanted, and handed him the pearls.

  “These pearls are valuable to you personally,” he stated rather than asked as he held the creamy, heavy gems in his hands. She blanched.

  “How did you know that?” she asked.

  “Because while they are lovely, they’re cultured and irregular in shape. You said the watch was the least valuable thing you could offer, but these”—he held up the pearls—“were a hundred times cheaper. More so.”

  “Don’t call them cheap.”

  “I’m not casting aspersions on your pearls. I’m just pointing out, the cabdriver would have likely prized their value over the watch. It would have made more sense to offer them. Who gave you the pearls?”

  He saw the mini-revolt spark in her beautiful eyes and something else . . . something he didn’t like. “That’s none of your business.”

  He examined her closely for several seconds, but she revealed nothing more. Anger flickered in him at her show of defiance. So did something else. Jealousy.

  “I’m going to bind your wrists. Go like this.” He held out his arms and put his wrists together, palms facing inward. For a split second, he saw panic flash across her beautiful face. Despite the outlandish reports of her sexual antics, this was not a woman used to being bound.

  “What are you going to do after that?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I told you earlier I owed you a punishment for teasing me the way you did. Now you’re going to get something extra for living in this hellhole and putting yourself at risk.” His eyelids narrowed when he saw her confusion . . . her desire. “Is there something you want to ask me?”

  “No.” Even though she said nothing else, her defiant expression said loud and clear, I can take whatever you can dish out. It’s all the same to me.

  “You are still pulling at the reins,” he said softly. “When you stop it and submit, the time will have come.”

  He saw bewilderment shadow her features, but then her gaze met his. Her anxiety seemed to vanish. Slowly, she held out her hands to be bound.

  He exhaled. Her show of trust aroused him even more than the vision of her gorgeous body. He resisted an urge to touch . . . caress . . . consume . . .

  . . . possess completely.

  “You’re going to restrain me with pearls?” she asked incredulously from above him a moment later as he began to twist the gems around her wrists.

  “If you struggle or try to get your hands free, you might break the silk.” He glanced up into her now flushed face. “I find that something delicate can restrain better than metal if the wearer values what binds.”

  He determinedly focused on the task of looping the pearls around her wrists, making the long strand stretch snugly from lower wrists to forearms. Her thrusting breasts fractured his focus, trembling slightly as she breathed and he maneuvered the necklace. He could imagine in graphic detail how soft the skin of them would be sliding against his lips. When he’d finished restraining her wrists, he looked up at her face.

  She was exquisite, her skin gleaming more luminously than the pearls. Her scent filtered into his nose—clean, light, extremely feminine. Her eyes looked large in her pale face, but they grew wider when he reached up, unable to resist, and stroked the under-curve of her left breast. He watched the rosebud tip darken and tighten. Blood pulsed into his cock.

  For a second, a haze of lust fogged his vision, stealing his will.

  “Lie down in my lap,” he murmured after he’d steadied himself. She complied without speaking. He guided her, taking some of her weight since her wrists were restrained. He noticed how careful she was of not stretching the silk and pearl bond and felt a stab of irritation.

  Who had given her the necklace? She clearly held it dear.

  Her skin felt like warm silk as he grasped one hip, holding her steady. The fingers of his other hand trailed down her back. He felt her ripple beneath his touch, mounting his lust. She settled in his lap, the sweet pressure of her body taunting his erection.

  “I didn’t tell you last time, but it gave me great pleasure to p
unish you,” he said, his hand flowing against her skin.

  “It . . . it did?”

  “Couldn’t you tell?” he asked drolly. His cock lurched in arousal. She stilled beneath him and he knew she’d felt it. “Put your hands above your head,” he instructed. She followed his command. Sensing her nervousness, he stroked her until she softened a little, her flesh becoming more malleable beneath his hand. Feeling the deep knots in her muscles, he molded and rubbed.

  “You really are a tight little knot. I will work this tension out of you one day. You are so stiff,” he said, listening to her soft, sexy moans as he massaged her back.

  He’d always instinctively had an understanding of muscle, innately comprehended how stress, trauma, emotional and physical pain was stored and carried in the flesh. He’d learned to read a horse’s tension from an early age by stroking muscle, seeing how an animal’s body language altered with strenuous exercise, soothing words, and a touch . . . a concisely applied swat of the crop. Later, he’d learned to read his lovers’ tension level, grew to understand how to build it with punishment, release it with an explosion of pleasure. . . .

  Never had he touched a woman as tightly strung as Elise. He rubbed her shoulders and heard her exhale in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He winced. So much pain she carried.

  “Is that better?” he asked, running his palm along her side, admiring her delicate rib cage and feeling her heart throbbing inside it.

  “I think so,” he heard her say. She lay with her forehead pressed to the bedspread, reminding him of a child who closed their eyes before a painful procedure, like getting a shot. He smiled and caressed her just above the elastic band of her panties. She shivered as he stroked the patch of skin along her spine.

  “Then we’ll begin,” he said, using both hands to peel her panties down over her buttocks. She moaned softly, and he wondered if she’d felt his body’s response to the vision of her, the decadent erotic feast she made, lying there nude and helpless in his lap. He worked the panties down her thighs in order to have full access to the lower curve of her plump buttocks.

  He grasped one of her cheeks with his hand. “You knew you were teasing me, didn’t you?” he asked gruffly.

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a brisk swat. She jumped slightly in his lap.

  “Stay still,” he ordered, using his hands to palm both buttocks at once. She made a whimpering sound and settled in his lap. He released her and slapped each cheek again, grunting in grim satisfaction when she remained immobile. His cock swelled tight at the evidence of even that small submission on her part. He placed a flurry of spanks, letting her feel the burn. He watched in fascinated lust as her pale bottom began to blush pink.

  She was a fantasy to spank, her ass plump and firm. He landed a brisk slap on each lower curve of a buttock, grimacing in lust at the erotic vision of her bouncing flesh. He shut his eyes and resisted an almost overwhelming urge to grind her body against his straining erection.

  “I really didn’t mean to say anything about our past association earlier tonight,” she squealed a moment later when he slapped both ass cheeks at once. She clenched her bottom tight.

  “Perhaps, but you are impulsive. You act before you think. Relax,” he prompted, slapping very lightly several times at her ass until she released the contracting muscles. She continued her confession as if she hadn’t been interrupted.

  “And I only followed you because I was wondering what you were doing in the penthouse. Oh . . . merde . . . that stings,” she moaned as he swatted her several more times. Her hips twisted feverishly in his lap, making him grunt in pleasure. He stilled her wriggling bottom, pressing her down against his straining cock. They groaned in unison. She was blushing pink now. He would have to be careful of her. Her skin was quite delicate, and he would never want to cause her any true harm. “Lucien?” she asked raggedly. “What were you doing, listening to Ian that way?”

  “That’s my affair,” he said distractedly, molding an ass cheek in his hand and treating it to several focused slaps. Her ass was turning nice and hot.

  “But why were you spying on Ian Noble?” she persisted.

  He snarled in irritation and lust and slapped her one last time. Hard. He shoved her panties down her legs and whipped them over her feet. Unable to stop himself, he slid his fingers between her legs, touching her outer sex.

  Ah, bless it. Warm wetness slicked his skin. She gasped at his touch and then wiggled her bottom down closer to his hand, tempting him.

  “Stand up,” he said sharply, his restraint a brittle thing.

  Even though he commanded her, he helped her, mindful of her bound state. He rose. She stood before him, her luscious breasts plumped by her pearl-bound arms, her hair a sexy muss of golden waves and curls. Something about the six – or seven-loop strand of creamy gems around her wrists and forearms next to her naked skin really did it for him. Everything about her did it for him. He paused for a moment when he glanced at her face and saw the pink flush of her lips and cheeks.

  He frowned. She ought to be outlawed for the things she inspired in a man—dark, dirty things . . . out of control things he’d surely later regret.

  “What were you saying?” he asked, mouth tight, straining to recall why he’d been irritated.

  “I . . . I didn’t mean spying . . . like . . . like . . .”

  “My father?” he prompted quietly.

  She scraped white teeth over her plump lower lip, the damp drag spellbinding him momentarily, making him forget his anger.

  “I don’t think you’re like your father, Lucien. At least I hope you’re not. But that man in Paris, he mentioned Ian Noble. I don’t understand—”

  “I’m not asking you to understand,” he said, touching her cheek and feeling her warmth. “I’m asking you to trust me. Do you?”

  She nodded, but he saw the wariness in her eyes. He frowned and picked up the hairbrush from the bed. “Do you at least trust me enough to bend over for the rest of your punishment?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re going to spank me with Grand-Mère’s hairbrush?”

  He smiled. “I like to innovate with whatever is available to me, and Grand-Mère will never know. It’ll be our own little secret,” he said, positioning himself next to her body instead of in front of her. “Now bend over.”

  Her lips curved alluringly. She held his gaze as she leaned over slowly—a nimble, sleek seduction—putting her bound hands on her knees.

  “Witch,” he accused. Her smile widened and he smiled back. He couldn’t stop himself. She couldn’t help it if everything she did was sex distilled. “Stare at the floor this instant. What did I tell you last time about seducing me during a punishment?” he asked mildly as he rubbed her firm, pink bottom. She stilled beneath him when his fingers brushed close to her thighs at the lower curve of her ass. He was so tempted to dip his fingers into the sweet, wet heaven of her.

  “You said you’d give me more punishment,” he heard her say. He blinked, his lustful trance fracturing.

  “That’s right,” he murmured as he trailed a hand up her spine and felt her shiver beneath his touch. His cock swelled so tight, he didn’t think there was room in his skin anymore. He wanted to ride her until the oblivion of climax shook him, abandon himself to her fires. But if he didn’t maintain control, both of them would be lost.

  He firmed his hold on her shoulder and drew back the hairbrush, the smooth enameled three-by-four-inch back of it facing Elise’s ass.

  “This will sting more than the spanking,” he said. “Why in God’s name couldn’t you have asked me for help?”

  “I couldn’t,” he heard her say in a muffled voice.

  “But why?” he demanded.

  A pause. He waited, his arm suspended in the air.

  “I was too proud,” he finally heard her w
hisper.

  He swung the hairbrush. It hit her bottom with a brisk pop, the blow shivering through her taut flesh in a way that made his cock jump. He held her steady when she squeaked and lurched forward slightly.

  He popped her bottom again and again.

  “Ooh!”

  “Is it too much?” he asked, palming a buttock and rubbing it. She was growing hot. He listened, his ear cocked, ignoring his raging cock.

  “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.”