“I was the one who talked you into letting me go. Neither one of us would have guessed that man would come have come from Chicago to Britain.”
“I guessed it,” Ian said harshly. He untied her robe roughly and jerked the sides over her shoulders. Beneath the robe she wore a simple, thigh-high ivory silk gown. She gasped when Ian cupped a breast, shaping it to his palm. He hissed something she couldn’t quite make out, then pressed his forearm to her back. When he leaned down over her, she instinctively arched against the brace of his arm. He sucked on the tip of her breast straight through the silk, his warm tongue rubbing the wet fabric erotically against the nipple, demanding that her flesh awaken to his call. Her sex tightened in answer. Francesca sensed the depth of his almost rabid need. He lifted his head a moment later when she moaned in rising pleasure. His eyes looked a little wild.
“I love you so much.”
“I know,” she replied. And she did. How could she deny it, when she saw the truth of what he said reflecting in his eyes like fiery words?
“I’m going to spank you and then I’m going to have you again and again, until we’re both too exhausted to move.” He opened his hand along her jaw. “I’m going to fill you up with me. I’m going to take my fill of you, Francesca. Not that it will work. It never does. I always want more,” he said grimly, bending to take her mouth again in another kiss.
Chapter Eleven
Heat rushed through her at his incendiary, erotic words. His voice still echoed in her head when he finally sealed their kiss.
“Are you going to spank me because I talked you into taking me into town with you?” she asked shakily.
“Maybe a little bit. But mostly I’m going to do it because I’ll love it. And you will, too.” She felt his cock swell next to her belly. He felt delicious and full and heavy.
“All right,” she conceded, excitement starting to bubble inside her. Maybe it was the idea of danger hovering, maybe it was the knowledge—no matter how remote—that they could be separated at any moment. Ian might leave, true, but they were also only human. Life was cruel at times, and random . . . and so was death. But they were here together now, both of them teeming with life and lust and love. She would grab this moment with him, squeeze it for all it was worth.
“Come here,” Ian said, taking her hand. She looked over at him in confusion when he led her to a stretch of blank wall between an antique chest and an elaborate oil painting of a man on a white horse in sixteenth-century garb. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
She watched him go into his closet, just as he had last night to get the belt. The skin on her bottom seemed to prickle in anticipation. Her clit did the same. When he came out of the closet, however, he wasn’t carrying a belt, but instead a wooden paddle. Her eyes widened as he neared her.
“I thought you didn’t have any things like that here,” she said, eyes fixed on the paddle. At first glance, it looked like the paddles he had used on her in the past, but it wasn’t. It was flat on one side and slightly convex on the other, an elevated ridge running down the middle of it. The paddle portion was about a foot long and three or four inches wide, not including the handle with a leather carrying loop attached on the end.
“I was thinking about how to improvise,” Ian said with a small smile. Her breath stuck in her lungs when he removed a silver cuff link from his sleeve, slipped it into his pocket and began to roll back the sleeve on the arm that held the paddle. He flipped the paddle, holding it up for her inspection. “It’s a miniature cricket bat. In fact, it’s the first one Grandfather bought me when I came to Belford as a boy. I uncovered it in a cabinet in the billiards room earlier today. Well, in fact I was searching for it.”
“With no intention of playing cricket whatsoever,” she said, amusement mingling with her arousal.
“I played regularly in school,” Ian told her with a smoky look as he transferred the paddle to his other hand and fleetly removed his other cuff link. She licked her lower lip distractedly at the vision of him rolling back the white shirtsleeve and revealing another strong, hair-sprinkled forearm. She could see the outline of his cock quite well in his trousers. It’d been trapped by his boxer briefs in an upward slanted position pointing toward his left pocket, the fat, tapered head delineated even through the fabric. Her mouth watered with a sudden acute desire to feel him plunging in her mouth. “I’m quite good at it, you know, handling the bat,” he said, stepping toward her, the paddle now firmly in his right hand.
“I’m sure you are,” she said, looking at him with mounting lust spiked with just a hint of wariness. She lowered her gaze to the paddle. He held it up.
“It’s very light. They’re made of willow,” he said huskily. “Touch it.”
She swallowed thickly and ran her fingers over the tool he intended for her punishment. It was lightweight.
“It will sting.” She said her thought out loud, shakily.
“I believe it will, yes. I’ve never used it to this purpose. Be sure and keep me apprised of how it feels,” he said, his small grin a little wicked, walking behind her. She gasped in excitement when he pressed the paddle to her ass and circled it against her buttocks through her gown and underwear. For an erotic moment, she just stood there while he ran the paddle over her prickling flesh softly.
“Drop the gown,” he said thickly after a moment as he slid the paddle over the bottom curve of her cheeks and rubbed, now lasciviously.