When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine 2)

Having cleared the desk, he approached her. She looked up, studying his handsome face as he carefully unwound the pearls, unbinding her. What was he thinking? How could he look so untouchable, so unreachable as he did these intimate things to her?

Her gaze slid down his taut abdomen to his crotch and thighs. No. He was far from cold when it came to her. His arousal was blatant and awesome to behold. Things were very full behind his crotch and the pillar of his cock pressed against fabric in a mouthwatering fashion. She swore she could make out the shape of the thick, tapering crown. Her clit tingled, and again, she longed to touch herself, staunch the ache. She opened her mouth to . . . what?

Beg him?

Her lips closed, but her tongue and throat seemed to burn with the repressed plea. He paused in his task.

“Yes? Do you want to say something?” he asked quietly.

Her pride rallied. “No,” she replied, jerking her gaze off his cock.

“Very well. Bend over and put your elbows on the desk,” he said matter-of-factly when he’d removed the pearls and placed them on the bed. He took her hand and guided her, his touch gentle. “Fold your arms. Good, now rest your forehead on your forearm.” She felt as if her lungs wouldn’t work properly as she struggled to do his bidding. She had to bend over farther than she had previously in order to reach the surface of the low desk. The position left her thoroughly exposed. She stilled when Lucien placed his hands on her shoulders. “Slide back some,” he said, his voice sounding thick . . . gruff.

She moved back on the desk and her breasts spilled over the edge. Lucien made a rough sound.

“Perfect,” he said. He gently struck her inner thigh with the hard edge of her grand-mère’s brush. “Spread your legs more.”

She did so, suppressing a moan. He opened his large hand over her lower ass and lifted. Cool air kissed her damp, heated sex.

“Lucien,” she cried out shakily, not sure if the single word was a plea for him to stop exposing her pussy or for him to touch what he’d exposed. She experienced his stare on her like a burning touch.

“God,” she heard him mutter. “Tu es belle.”

You’re beautiful. Her heart felt like it’d explode from her chest. It jump-started when he released her ass and swung the brush.

“Ow,” popped out of her throat. Her bottom smarted where he’d struck, but it’d been more surprise than pain that had instigated her response. He immediately replaced the brush with his hand, rubbing and soothing the stinging flesh.

“Two more like that.”

“Okay,” she managed shakily.

“Hold steady.”

She couldn’t stop herself. She turned her chin, still keeping her head on her folded arms, and watched him through a few curls as he swung, taut, powerful muscles flexing beneath his dress shirt. The brush made a cracking sound as it smacked her ass. She felt the burst of sensation and winced, gritting her teeth. Lucien’s gaze was fixed on her breast. She saw his nostrils flare as the blow shook through the suspended flesh.

A groan burned in her throat. His stare leapt to her face. A spark of arousal seemed to leap between them.

“Tu es belle,” she whispered between soft pants.

His expression turned fierce.

“Damn you, Elise.” He placed one hand on the back of her head and turned her, so that all she could see was her folded forearms and the cheap wood veneer of the desktop. Her thighs quaked. He’d sounded so . . . something just now. Was he angry?

Suddenly, his hand was spread on her far hip and his body was on the other side. He pressed and rubbed the side of her ass against his cock, his actions frankly lascivious. Her eyes sprang wide.

No . . . not angry. Aroused to the breaking point.

She whimpered as he ground their flesh together, mounting the almost unbearable tension in their straining bodies. Her ass was trapped, sandwiched between his hard body and his strong hold. It was the tautest, most electrical moment she’d ever experienced or imagined in her life.

The hairbrush landed with a crack. A cry popped out of her throat. Oh, how her ass burned.

Something hit the desk. She lifted her head and saw the instrument of torture itself—the hairbrush—resting on the desk. Then his hand was rubbing her bottom, soothing her, even as his cock throbbed next to her hip. The moment was so full, so incendiary, she felt as if she couldn’t take a complete breath.

“Your punishment is done. Stand up.”

She tried to do as he’d said, but her flesh felt heavy and torpid with arousal. He moved back slightly to help her. She made a sound of protest in her throat at the loss of his primal heat resonating against her. But then he was helping her to rise, and his arms enclosed her.

“Lucien,” she mouthed through numb-feeling lips, turning her face upward.

“I am here,” he said, his warm breath brushing against her mouth. He pressed her closer against him, overwhelming her with the sensation of his solid, powerful body. “You were very brave, accepting your punishment as you did.”

“I’ll never let you do that to me again.”

“Yes, you will.”

“You’re right,” she whispered. Who was she kidding? It was very exciting, submitting to him. “I will.”

He smiled and leaned down, covering her mouth with his, his kiss tender and passionate at once. His hands caressed her naked skin from flank to waist, weaving a spell she never wanted to escape. He cupped her bottom, leaning farther down over her. He was so tall, but she liked the way she fit against him. She shivered when she felt his fingers stretching at the back of her trembling thighs, then between them . . . seeking. He made a sound of dissatisfaction when they came up short.