When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine 2)
Page 19He designated an intersection in the Gold Coast neighborhood for them to meet.
“I will set up medical exams for both of us tomorrow,” he said.
“Medical exams?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “We should both know we are safe for sexual interaction. I know that I am, but I want to assure you of the same. Are you on birth control?” he asked levelly.
She nodded.
“Good. In the meantime . . .”
“Yes, darling?” she prodded when he faded off.
His gaze flashed to meet hers. Darling. The word sounded completely contrived, frequently practiced, and yet . . . undoubtedly alluring uttered from her flushed, ripe lips. Damn her. Always turning the tables. She waited, just a hint of amusement shining in her eyes.
“You are my employee. We’ll keep our distance from each other, for the time being.”
“You were the one who begged for the job,” he reminded her mildly.
“But that has nothing to do with—”
“It does,” he said sharply, shooting her a challenging look. “Remember? My rules? We’ll go at my pace, or you’ll feel a consequence.”
Her hand flickered to the side of her bottom, as if she’d suddenly re-experienced the sting of his hand. He scowled; his cock lurched.
“Elise?” he prompted, waiting for her agreement.
“Oh, fine,” she muttered, giving him a mutinous glance before she started for the door.
“One more thing.”
She turned her chin over her shoulder, meeting his stare.
He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed.
As he watched her scurry out of his office, his cock throbbing furiously, his emotional state raw, he wondered whether he’d just untied the first knot in his sack, or tied off and tightened the monster of them all.
Later that evening, Lucien stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his sixty-second-floor penthouse onto a gray, brooding Lake Michigan, holding a snifter of cognac in his hand. Originally, he hadn’t planned to be alone tonight. He’d had a date following his match. He’d planned to spend the evening as he traditionally spent time after a polo match.
But then today had occurred. Then Elise had happened. And here he was, alone with a mess of unfinished business, a headful of doubt, and a hard-on that would not remit, no matter how much he distracted himself.
They had won the match tonight, despite his fierce Argentinian-bred polo pony’s fouls. His teammates had joked that no one could handle Jax save Lucien, but it wasn’t his horse that had been an unruly beast this afternoon. It’d been Lucien. Jax had just caught his surly mood and become too aggressive in his defensive bumps of other players, incurring fouls.
His temper had been unregulated when he was a child and young man. He’d learned control beneath the hand of an older lover at the age of eighteen. Natalia had sensed his need to master his emotions and desires and had tutored him in BDSM sex, Natalia typically taking the role of master in the bedroom. It hadn’t taken long for Lucien’s dominant nature to assert itself, however, and the couple had decided to amicably part ways. Lucien would forever be thankful to Natalia for teaching him the value of control. At thirty-one, he didn’t consider himself to be a hard-core dominant, and didn’t require it in order to have satisfactory sex with casual lovers. When it came to Elise, however, he sensed the importance of immediately asserting his role as the sexual dominant. It would be such a pleasure to dominate her, but he intuited that it was important to Elise. She needed to learn the power of not only self-control but of relinquishing control to another.
She needed to learn to trust. He needed her to put his trust in him. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to ask it of her, given her history of fragile, impermanent connections, but he wanted it nonetheless.
How could he expect Elise to trust him when he harbored seeds of doubt about his very identity . . . about the fundamental rightness of his existence?
Still . . . the taint lingered; it’s legacy a haunting self-doubt that Lucien absolutely refused to let overcome him.
He forced his brain back onto the memory of the match this afternoon. Despite his typical discipline, he had allowed his foul mood—not to mention his high and dry state—to get the better of him during the polo match, and that rankled at him.
He was as horny as a servicing bull. He’d been heavy and aching all afternoon—ever since he’d punished Elise. Pounding in the saddle during the match had only magnified the tight, uncomfortable pressure in his balls. The memory of Elise bending over his desk, of warming the satiny smooth skin of her bare ass with his slapping hand, plagued him.
He always got worked up after a match, granted. It’d become a tradition for him since he’d first started playing polo as a teenager to have sex after time spent in the saddle. The aggressive, intense game had always primed him for play with a woman.
But tonight was unprecedented in his experience. He was coiled tight with sexual energy, but for once he had nowhere to spend his tension. He cupped his heavy balls through his pants and slid his hand along the rigid length of his shaft.