by BETH KERY
He molded her entire breast to his palm before he reluctantly let go of her. He’d never felt such tender, responsive flesh in his life. Her heart had been beating frantically against his hungry hand.
He could so easily lose himself in her.
* * *
Your last three strokes will hurt.
His warning echoed in her brain, mounting what was already almost an unbearable anticipation. Would it really hurt that much? And what about after he was finished? He’d said he owed her pleasure. The sharp pinch at her clit made her instinctively clench her thigh and buttock muscles. She so wanted to touch herself and come in a hot rush of excitement.
“I need your legs wider. Here, come over to this desk.”
He helped her stand. She followed him, wincing slightly at the burn on her bottom. She watched him move aside the desk chair and a few of her papers, clearing the surface. It humiliated her a little that she was completely naked, save the pearls and her sandals, her bottom more than likely red from her punishment, while Lucien was still immaculately dressed. He’d asked her to trust him. What better proof did he need for it than this?
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.
“You are so tiny,” he murmured fondly, lifting her in his arms in one fluid movement. Her feet came off the floor. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips and gripped onto his shoulders.
He seized her mouth with his. She purred. Her legs curled tighter around his waist. Her entire awareness swam in the power of his kiss, of his touch, of hard, straining muscle. He held her steady with one arm. His free hand cupped an ass cheek, parting her.
He pushed just a fingertip into her pussy and groaned roughly.
“You’re tight,” he muttered thickly, sounding a little crazed. He removed his finger. “And wet. God, you’re soaking. You enjoy being punished, don’t you?” he said against her lips. She whimpered as he transferred some of the juices from her slit to her outer sex. His finger burrowed between her labia.
“Answer me,” he said harshly.
“Yes.”
He seized her mouth in another scorching kiss.
She cried out in stark arousal. He’d
been too tall to easily reach her pussy while they stood, but now he had her exactly where he wanted her. She was completely at his mercy, she realized, holding her nude body against him, her entire weight held suspended with one arm. He pillaged her mouth while he palmed her outer sex and stroked her clit with bulls-eye precision.
Not that she was protesting. She was about to ignite.
She bobbed her hips eagerly, increasing the pressure of his finger and kissing him back for all she was worth. Oh, this was delicious. The friction mounted as she bounced in his hold, riding his hand. Her clit simmered. She was going to explode into a million pieces.
Her rabid arousal was interrupted by a smacking sound and a burst of pain. Lucien had spanked her sore bottom. She cried out into his mouth. He sealed the kiss. She blinked, trying to bring him into focus. When she did, she saw his rigid features.
“You do not ride me,” he said gently. “I ride you.”
“Nobody rides me.”
Lucien’s eyes flashed. She blushed when she realized what had burst out of her throat without thought.
“We shall see about that. Now hold still while I watch you come,” he said through a tight jaw. She opened her mouth to soften her outburst, but then his long finger was sliding between very slick labia and he was rubbing her clit, giving her just what she needed.
She gasped as distilled, focused pleasure smacked into her awareness. Oh God . . . he was exceptionally good at what he was doing. Lucien watched her, his light eyes gleaming beneath heavy lids.
“Let go, ma chère. Submit to it,” he whispered hoarsely.
She couldn’t escape it. It wasn’t like she really had a choice other than to follow his command to the letter.
She clung onto him even as she let go, abandoning herself to pleasure . . . giving herself to Lucien.
Read more of Elise and Lucien’s red-hot romance in
Part IV of WHEN I’M WITH YOU
WHEN I’M BAD
Available from InterMix on March 26, 2013
Keep reading for a taste of Beth Kery’s popular novel from
the One Night of Passion series
ADDICTED TO YOU
Available now from Berkley Heat
No one in their right mind would want to visit him, so the sound of knocking at his front door took him by surprise.
Maybe it was Sherona Legion? But he’d warned the only viable candidate for visitation for miles on end—curvy, kind Sherona—about visiting him on this godforsaken hilltop. Who knew what he’d do to her, the state he’d put himself in? Of course, Sherona’d taken Rill at his word for a year and a half, so he couldn’t imagine who was trying to barge in on his drunken, morose solitude now.
He was so caught off guard by the phenomenon of someone visiting that he briefly reverted to his old self—his civilized self—hastening to answer the door.
He was a big man, so when he tripped on the useless little rug in the entryway, he crashed to the wood floor with the impact of an ax-felled oak.
He rolled over and sat up, curses blistering his tongue, the savage Rill Pierce once again fully in evidence.
“My, my. How the mighty have fallen,” she said from above him.
He glanced up in midprocess of ripping the frilly rug in half, his blurry-eyed gaze encountering long legs and curving hips. Nope, this was definitely not Sherona Legion. His eyes lingered in a lap he’d like to spend the next twenty-four hours in without pause.
He grinned.
There was good reason he’d warned away Sherona Legion. In his drunken state, his usual tight controls on his baser nature had evaporated. It was precisely why he’d made a vow long ago not to drink to excess around women.
No real woman existed like the one in front of him in Vulture’s Canyon, Illinois. Rill was left with the intoxicated conclusion that a sex angel had been dropped on his doorstep, and God had packaged her in a tight tank top and even tighter jeans. If there was a deity looking out for him—something Rill seriously doubted, considering he was sin personified—then said omniscient being would know how he loved nothing more than a woman in jeans that hugged every tight curve.
He unglued his eyes from the tempting juncture of shapely thighs and looked up. He grinned like the town idiot when he saw a glorious spill of brown and gold-streaked hair and thrusting breasts pressed snugly against white cotton.
“Well, well, well . . . what have we here,” he mumbled thickly. He reached and ran his hands over the back of the woman’s thighs. His cock lurched when he encountered her tightly encased buttocks.
He’d finally gotten drunk enough to hallucinate. He was getting good at this wastrel business.
“Rill, what are you—”
She abruptly stopped talking when he kneaded her two round ass cheeks in his palms. His face hovered next to paradise. It was amazing what a guy who had no future and who daily tried to forget his past might consider heaven, but there you had it. He closed his eyes and inhaled, catching the scent of cotton mixing with the subtle spice of woman.
No, it wasn’t just his whiskey-soaked brain. It wasn’t just the fact that he hadn’t inhaled the scent of pussy in his nose in a god-awful long time. Drunken hallucination or not, his angel was sweet.
He kissed her with an open mouth at the bottom of her zipper.
She gasped.
“And here that doctor was preaching to me about rehab,” he mumbled. “You’re just what the doctor ordered—least you would be if I didn’t have a wanker with a rod up his ass takin’ care of me. Come ’ere.”
He spread his hands on her hips, liking the way he encompassed all those tight curves in his grip. He pulled. She fell onto his lap and thighs with a cock-tugging thud. He buried his face in fragrant hair and soft, firm breasts and nuzzled. Inhaling her scent was like breathing in a potent opiate. He could get lost in this unexplored territory—
Lost . . .
“Rill . . . what the hell are you doing?”
Did angels stun, because that was exactly how his sounded. He turned his head, drowning in the arousing sensation of wedging his face in the valley of delicious breasts.
“I’m enjoying my hallucination to its fullest,” he mumbled as his hands came up to cradle those firm breasts. He held her against his face and twisted his nose in a fleshy nirvana.
His angel snorted.
“You’re not hallucinating. You’re hammered. There’s a difference.”
She’d sounded derisive, but he’d heard the telling tremble in her voice when he pressed his lips against a distended nipple.
“One and the same, if you can get drunk enough,” he muttered.
He cupped one ass cheek and rode her jeans-covered pussy against the ridge of his cock. She inhaled sharply and froze. He knew why. A powerful jolt of lust had torn through him as well. He’d thought his cock had been tamed with a combination of whiskey and his own hand for the past eighteen months, but he’d thought wrong.
It had just awakened, and not with a whimper but with a bang. In a matter of seconds he’d been transformed by the power of volatile need.
His thumb stroked the peak of a breast. He grunted appreciatively when he felt the button tighten. He wasn’t surprised she wore such a flimsy bra. She was supposed to be his fantasy, after all, and Lord knew he preferred women wearing very little, if anything, over their breasts. At least in the privacy of his mind that was his preference. In real life, he’d prefer they covered up and kept the beast in him from rearing its head.
Drunken delirium or not, he was going to love every minute of letting the beast out of its cage. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and he’d be plunged into the abyss once again. But that moment wasn’t now, thanks to this hallucinatory, blessed angel. He moved his head and slipped a stiffened nipple between his grinning lips. His smile faded at the sensation of t
urgid flesh against his laving tongue.
“You’re stiff as a bullet,” he muttered a moment later. He wanted that flesh served up raw on his tongue. Nevertheless, he forced himself to still, his nose pressed against supple, fragrant flesh. “Do you want me to do this more?”
“What?”
“Do you want me to stop, or do you want me to see to the other one?” he clarified in a tight voice.
Her breathy whisper felt like a caress along his cock. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He moved hastily.
“Rill!” she cried out when he suddenly shoved her tank top over her head. She sputtered against cloth, and he jerked the garment off her. He whisked aside the flimsy satin of her white bra, unveiling bountiful pale flesh capped by a fat, erect nipple. He paused, recognizing true beauty even with the feeble tool of his whiskey-pickled brain.
“Aw, baby,” he whispered. His cock throbbed hard enough to make him wince when he saw how his whisking breath made her nipple peak beneath it. “You’re so pretty.”
Something between a whimper and a moan leaked out of her throat when he wrapped his lips around her nipple. His tongue moved like the fingertips of a blind man reading the secrets of the universe in Braille. He learned every tiny bump with fascination. He coaxed the center nubbin until it pressed like a hard little dart against his laving tongue.
When he drew on her, it was as if he had also drawn that sexy, surprised cry from her lungs. Power and lust stabbed at him. Heat rushed into his prick, and he once again rocked her against his straining erection. Her ass cheek filled his palm. He was inundated with the scents of sex and flowers and the sensation of ripe, soft flesh. Heat penetrated her clothing and his own, resonating from her pussy to his cock.
