Because You Are Mine Part VI: Because You Torment Me Read online

  “A little at first, perhaps. But my intent is to punish you for your impulsiveness, not to torture you.”

  “And . . . and putting your cock . . . there is part of my punishment?”

  He released her bottom and turned, walking over to the table. She tried to see what he was doing over there in the reflection, but his body, and her own, partially blocked her view. When he returned, he carried a glistening black rubber plug. Her eyes widened. It was larger than the one he’d put into her before. Between that intimidating-looking sex toy and Ian’s flagrant erection standing out lewdly from his body, Francesca didn’t know where to land her anxious gaze.

  “I don’t consider ass-fucking to be anything but a pleasure,” he said as he approached her. “Whether you consider it a punishment or a mutual exchange of pleasure is yet to be determined.”

  Having said that, he looped his left forearm around the straps of the hip harness, holding her steady. He used the side of his hand to pry back her ass cheeks and touched the tip of the plug to her anus.

  “Reach with your hands and rub your clit,” he ordered tensely.

  She swung her bound hands toward her pelvis, bending her elbows. Her clit was nestled against the padded strap. She sent a finger beneath the restraint and burrowed it between her labia. She was soaked. The second she rubbed her eager clit, pleasure spiked through her.

  Then . . . there was a sharp pain that was quickly gone.

  She gasped, realizing Ian had pushed the thick head of the plug into her ass. She rubbed with increased vigor. The building pressure was unbearable. Her body was on fire. Oh . . . she was about to come . . .

  Ian grabbed her wrists and pulled down her arms. She squawked a choked protest.

  She saw his amused expression in the mirror.

  “I think we have our definitive answer as to whether this will be a punishment or a pleasure for you, no?”

  She bit her lip, her gaze flickering nervously to her ass in the mirror. He’d fully inserted the rubber plug while she lost herself to pleasure. The flat base of the sex toy pressed tight against her ass cheeks.

  She was about to explode as she hovered there helplessly in the air, a tight bundle of burning nerves and quivering flesh. She froze at what she saw in the mirror. Ian was undressing. He removed his shoes and socks. He stripped off his shirt. She gawked at the sight of his lean waist, ridged abdomen, and wide, powerful chest. Her breath burned in her lungs in anticipation.

  Yes.

  He drew his pants and underwear down his long legs. She finally saw his fully exposed naked body.

  She clenched her eyes shut. He was so beautiful, such the epitome of male power, it hurt her to look at him a little, as hyperaroused as she was. A cry fell past her lips when she was suddenly spinning. Her eyes sprang wide, the room zooming past her. She came to a relative halt and lifted her forehead from the harness. Ian stood just inches from her face, his grip shifting to the chest harness, keeping her steady before him. She looked up at him.

  “That’s the beauty of the swing,” he said, obviously noticing her stunned expression. “I can put you in any position I want you, in the blink of an eye.” He grasped his cock from below and lifted it to her mouth, making his intention clear. The crown of his cock slid between her lips, stretching them. She looked up at him as she bathed the head, then batted at it with a firm tongue. A snarl pulled at his mouth as he watched her.

  How was it possible for her to feel so helpless and masterfully in control at once?

  He used his hand to swing her body several inches forward, several inches back. His cock slid in and out of her mouth. He continued this for a moment, fucking her face, totally controlling her, but never taking advantage, only sliding several inches along her tongue, back and forth, until his cock swelled huge between her clamping lips.

  “That’s good,” he muttered, stepping back, his cock popping out of her mouth. “Too good, in fact,” he added under his breath. “Hold steady.”

  Suddenly she was spinning again in the opposite direction. She stared at him in the mirror, bewildered. He slid the hip harness lower so that it trailed down her thighs.

  “Oh!” she squeaked when he suddenly lifted her by the waist, taking her body weight as though he lifted a feather pillow. He gently kept the butt plug inserted with one hand.

  “Loop your feet the other way through the lower strap, so that you’re in a sitting position. She did her best to follow his instructions, but it was his expert maneuvering that got her into the position he desired. When she’d settled again and he’d secured her, the lack of tension in the head harness had caused it to fall away. The upper-body harness had lowered to her ribs, and she sat in the lower leather harness, her knees bent, her bound wrists in her lap. Once she was secure against the upper restraint, he slid the butt harness lower, down to the top of her thighs.

  She was dizzy with excitement and Ian’s masterful handling of the swing. She felt like she was taking part in some kind of triple-X-rated version of Cirque du Soleil.

  He slid the lubricated black rubber plug out of her ass, making her gasp. He dropped it to the floor. She stared, panting, mesmerized as she watched him lubricate his cock until it glistened. He stepped behind her. He grabbed first the straps to the lower harness, then the ones to the upper one, flexing his biceps until they bulged, pulling her body toward him.

  She was in a sort of suspended sitting position in front of Ian, her back to him, her upper body slanted forward at an angle . . . her ass fully exposed as it draped in the loop of the harness like an offering.

  She couldn’t breathe. She felt the slick, hard head of his cock brush against her tingling ass, then press against the entrance of her anus.

  “Ian,” she grated out between clenched teeth.

  “It’s time for you to burn, lovely,” he said in a low growl.

  He lowered his grip on the straps and grabbed the edge of the padded leather beneath her thighs. She had nowhere to go but onto his cock. He thrust his hips and pulled her toward him at once. She cried out as his cock slid into her ass several inches and sharp pain spiked through her. He paused, his large body a coiled spring.

  She gaped at his reflection in the mirror. It looked like he’d just undergone a strenuous workout. Every bulging muscle in his body was delineated and tense. Perspiration gleamed on his ridged abdomen and heaving rib cage. His powerful ass and thigh muscles were flexed tight as he held himself on the edge. He was awesome to behold in that moment—a sexual storm on the threshold of breaking. The part of his cock that wasn’t sunk into her ass looked intimidatingly huge. He throbbed in the narrow channel. She swore she could feel his pulse in the sensitive flesh. It stunned her, this feeling of their flesh being so close, so melded.

  “Are you all right?” he asked tautly.

  “Yes,” she said, realizing she meant it. The initial sharp pain had faded, leaving only a compelling, forbidden pressure. Her cheeks and lips were stained dark pink. Her clit sizzled.

  “Good, because your ass is on fire,” he muttered at the same time he thrust and pulled her body closer. A ragged shout tore from his throat. He began to swing her back and forth on his thrusting cock. “Ah God, it’s good to be inside you raw.”

  Francesca whimpered in awe at the new erotic sensation . . . at the vision of Ian losing himself in desire. There was no pain, but an intense, unbearably exciting pressure built in her. The nerves in her ass were so sensitive she could feel every nuance of his cock. Her thigh muscles squeezed tight, putting pressure on her clit. Orgasm loomed. She stared in openmouthed wonder at the mirror as his cock disappeared farther and farther into her body with each new thrust. Finally, his pelvis bumped against her ass cheeks.

  He held her to him and growled gutturally. The moment was too full for her. Too incendiary. She began to shudder as orgasm slammed into her, the force of it all the more powerful because it had been held at abeyance for so long.

  Distantly, she heard Ian’s harsh curse. He fucked her as s
he came, serving her ass to his cock in a forceful, greedy possession, his hips thumping rapidly against her tingling, sore bottom as he maneuvered the swing—and her body—taking his pleasure to the fullest. It was too much, really. She couldn’t have taken the pressure for long. She was utterly at his mercy, her ass tightening around his driving cock as she climaxed thunderously.

  He drove into her one last time, his groan striking her as helpless somehow, even though he was the master in this situation. He wrapped his forearm around her waist, pulling her to him in a desperate hold. She cried out brokenly when she felt his cock swell impossibly large. A roar erupted from his throat. He bent his head, grimacing, and pressed his mouth against her back. She bit her lip and clenched her eyes as she felt him explode deep inside her.

  He groaned and thrust in and out of her shallowly as he continued to ejaculate, his breath falling hot and ragged against the skin of her back. Her eyes stung. Her tears weren’t from pain but from the powerful feeling burning in her chest.

  Had she fallen in love with this man?

  How else could she explain her total and absolute trust in him, her willingness to surrender completely to him?

  What else could this euphoric feeling be as she watched him there in the mirror, abandoning himself completely to bliss? Either she was falling in love or she was going mad.

  Either way, he’d been right before. She was completely at his mercy.

  Read more of Francesca and Ian’s red-hot romance in

  Part VII of BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

  BECAUSE I NEED TO

  Available from InterMix on September 11, 2012

  Want to know what all the buzz is about? Keep reading

  for a taste of Beth Kery’s popular novel

  WICKED BURN

  Available now from Berkley Sensation!

  The goddamned walls in his temporary apartment residence might as well be made of cardboard, Vic Savian thought as he came into full wakefulness at the low, mellow sound of a voice emanating from the hallway. He’d never actually heard the mystery woman who lived across the hall from him speak, but he recognized her immediately, nonetheless.

  Weird. Just her voice made his cock stir and stiffen against the cool sheets.

  He’d seen her twice now, once in Louie’s—the steak-house located in the lobby of Riverview Towers. The other time they’d been alone on the elevator together.

  He’d have bet the finest stallion in his stable that she was as aware of him on that elevator ride as he was of her.

  Sort of an understatement, actually, to say that Vic had been aware of her. He’d noticed everything about her . . . the light sprinkling of freckles on her nose, the movement of her lips when they closed and parted, the pulse at her elegant throat, the shape of her breasts beneath the conservative yet sensual silk blouse she wore.

  She was beautiful. Vic knew better than most how overused that word was when it came to women. But other descriptors—pretty, attractive, sexy—fell far short when it came to the woman across the hall.

  She was luminous.

  He liked women. He liked them smart, feisty, sexy, skilled, and hot. But this woman’s beauty irked him. He steered clear of beautiful women. Ever since the debacle with Jenny.

  His head came up off the pillow when he heard her speak again. Did her voice sound strained?

  When he heard a man respond in an angry tone, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his jeans.

  “Evan, I’ve made it very clear where I stand with you. I’ve never played coy. And no, I can’t give you some kind of timeline as to when I might feel differently,” she said before Evan had the chance to say the predictable.

  What was it about getting dressed up for a black-tie affair that made a man think he was going to get laid? Niall Chandler wondered dispiritedly. God, she was an idiot. She should never have agreed to accompany him to the Chicago Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art fund-raiser tonight. As a member of the museum’s board of trustees, Evan Forrester had the potential to make her job very difficult if he chose to play the part of a rejected lover.

  “You’re not even giving this a chance. Look, I don’t have any of the details, but I’d have to be an idiot not to know that I’m supposed to treat you like fine china, given all the vague references and dirty looks your boss is always giving me, not to mention that secretary of yours. But sometimes the only way to get over something is to just take the plunge. Come on, Niall . . . jump off that pedestal of ice, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “The weather down below is nice and hot.”

  Niall’s eyes widened in disbelief not only at his knowing, almost sly tone but the fact that he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, sandwiching her between the door and his body. She twisted her face away when he tried to kiss her, but he merely transferred his attentions to her neck.

  “You were driving me crazy tonight in this dress,” he muttered against her skin. His hands began to press and slide along her back and waist.

  “Evan, stop it,” Niall insisted. When he brushed aside her wrap and planted a kiss on the top of her right breast, her hand rose instinctively. He looked up when she gave him a hard, flat-palmed thump to the side of his head.

  “Why . . . you little bitch, that hurt!”

  Niall barely had time to register the tall shadow out of the corner of her eye before Evan cried out and winced in pain. He crashed loudly into the far wall of the hallway, then bounced forward, looking stunned and dazed. He grabbed frantically for his ear, as if to assure himself that it was still attached to his head. Niall realized that the man who stood with them in the hallway must have twisted it viciously before he threw Evan off her.

  “Get out of here,” the stranger said tersely.

  Niall stared up at the man in amazement. His tone had been one of annoyance and profound distaste, as if he’d just come out into the hallway and seen a dog humping her leg instead of a man pawing her body without her consent. It was especially striking, that tone, since Evan was the picture of urbane sophistication in his tuxedo and black cashmere overcoat.

  Her savior, on the other hand, brought to mind comparisons to ruthless cowboy outlaws and primitive, raw sex.

  Niall blinked in surprise at her turn of thought. Well, it wasn’t the first time her mind had strayed that way against her will. It had done the same on the other two occasions she’d seen the man who lived across the hall from her, especially when she’d been forced to breathe his spicy male scent in the six-by-six-foot confines of an elevator.

  He made her nervous, agitated . . . stirred up.

  At least on the elevator he’d been wearing clothing, though. Tonight he wore nothing but a partially fastened pair of faded jeans that looked like they’d been washed and worn so many times that they’d shaped themselves perfectly to his lean hips, tight butt, and long, hard thighs.

  Niall forced her eyes away from that compelling sight when she heard Evan speak.

  “Who the hell are you to think you can tell me to leave like that?” Evan sputtered in furious disbelief. He took several rapid steps down the hallway, however, almost tripping on his own feet, when Niall’s neighbor abruptly lunged toward him. The tall man never responded verbally, but Niall thought she saw Evan’s answer in his rigid profile and steely gaze.

  He’s the guy who looks like he’s ready to kick your ass from here to next week if you don’t get a move on, Niall thought.

  “You’d better just go, Evan,” she managed shakily. “Please,” she added when Evan opened his mouth like he was going to argue. He finally turned, keeping the grim, tall figure that menaced him in the corner of his eye until the last second before he headed down the hallway.

  Niall exhaled unevenly when she heard the ding of the elevator door as it closed. She found it difficult to meet her neighbor’s stare.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You okay?”

  His voice reminded her of a stark landscape of open plains domed with the vast mystery of a starli
t sky.

  “Sure.” She laughed a little unevenly. “Feeling a bit dense, actually. I didn’t see it coming.”

  “How about a drink?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m all right. He just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  “I wasn’t asking if you wanted to have a drink with me in order to calm you down.”

  Her eyes snapped up to his. For the first time, she saw that they were a light gray, the outer rim edged by a defining black line.

  A second passed . . . then several. A tiny smile pulled at his well-shaped lips, softening the hardness of his mouth infinitesimally.

  Had he really just propositioned her so casually? Niall questioned herself. And was she really considering taking him up on the offer?

  Something flamed to life inside of her as she met his steady stare . . . something Niall had assumed had been snuffed out of existence three years ago. His lips twitched slightly, and she realized she’d been wrong.

  What she experienced at that moment wasn’t anything she’d ever known in her thirty-three years of life on this planet.

  “All right,” she agreed softly.

  He stepped back so that she could move past him toward the door of his apartment. Niall noticed that he didn’t look smug at her acceptance.

  Nor did he seem even vaguely surprised.

  Niall smiled a moment later as she glanced around his living room while he moved about in the kitchen.

  “I see we have the same decorator,” she said through the little window over the counter that overlooked the kitchen. She heard the anxious tremor in her voice and admonished herself for it. Just because she had agreed to have a drink didn’t mean that she was going to sleep with him—a complete stranger.

  His dark brown hair fell over his brow as he bent to retrieve a bottle from a lower shelf. When he stood, her gaze brushed appreciatively across his ridged abdomen, the sweep of his wide shoulders, and the hard, defined muscles of his upper arm. Most of the men that she knew would have put on a shirt in this situation. But Niall was glad that he hadn’t.