Because You Are Mine Part VII: Because I Need To

by BETH KERY

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, she knocked softly on the door to Ian’s bedroom suite. She entered when she heard his distant “Come in.” He sat on the couch in the sitting area, his suit coat unbuttoned, his long legs bent before him, paging through his messages on his cell phone, his gaze steady on her as she approached.

  “I was just looking at the paintings again,” she said. “I’m sorry for running off like that.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked, setting down his phone on the couch.

  She nodded. “I was . . . overwhelmed.”

  A strained silence ensued as he studied her.

  “I thought they would make you happy. The paintings.”

  Her eyes burned and she stared at the Oriental carpet. Damn. She’d thought she’d gotten rid of all the onerous tears.

  “They do make me happy. More happy than I can say.” She dared to meet his gaze. “How did you know they would?”

  “I see how much pride you take in your work,” he said, standing. “I can only imagine how hard it was for you to part with them.”

  “Like giving a piece of myself away each time,” she said, attempting a smile, twisting her hands nervously. Her gaze flickered across his face as he stepped toward her, and she was snagged by his stare. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you. I mean . . . I know the paintings are yours. You bought them. But for me to see them all together again is so special. But don’t you think it’s all too much?”

  “Why would it be too much? Do you think I’m doing it to get you back in bed?”

  “No, but—”

  “I did it because you’re singularly talented. You know how much I appreciate art. It would please me to see your work valued as it should be. My patronage would mean nothing if you weren’t so talented, Francesca.”

  She exhaled slowly. How could she argue in the face of what appeared to be genuine sincerity. “Thank you. Thank you so much for thinking about me, Ian.”

  “I think about you more than you know.”

  She swallowed thickly, recalling what Davie had said earlier . . . “He’s good at hiding it.”

  “I’m sorry that I upset you last week. I really did have an important emergency to attend to. I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” he said. “My feelings about our relationship remain the same. I wish you’d reconsider what you said the other day. I can’t stop thinking about you, Francesca,” he said, his tone at the last making her gaze leap to his.

  “If . . . if we do continue in the way we were, Ian . . . would you promise to only try and control me . . . dominate me in the bedroom?” she asked breathlessly. It’d cost her more than she’d been prepared for to say that. When he didn’t immediately answer, her heart dipped in her chest. His expression was impassive, but his eyes gleamed with emotion.

  “Do you mean during sex? Because I can’t guarantee that I’ll only want you that way within the confines of a bedroom. As you know from Paris, the urge could arise anywhere.”

  “Oh . . . well, yes. That’s what I meant. I admit that I like it when you . . . dominate me during sex, but I don’t want my life controlled.”

  “You mean like I tried to control Elizabeth’s?”

  “You admitted that you trust me more than you did Elizabeth.”

  She sensed him considering and felt the need to better explain herself.

  “I actually want to thank you for encouraging me to gain better control of my life,” she said, not wanting him to think she was clueless as to the changes he’d already wrought in her during their relatively brief relationship. “I appreciate you doing that. But I want to be the one to be in the true driver’s seat, Ian. Outside of sex, I mean,” she added under her breath.

  His mouth pressed into a hard line. “I can’t guarantee I won’t tread where you don’t want me.”

  “But will you try?”

  His gaze ran over her face before he glanced away and exhaled.

  “Yes. I’ll try.”

  Her heart bounced. She rushed him and gave him a huge hug, squeezing his waist until he grunted. He looked amused when she looked up at him a moment later. He must be noticing the rush of happiness that had gone through her at his words. I’ll try.

  “I have an idea,” she said. “Let me take you for a ride on your motorcycle.”

  “I can’t,” he said regretfully, stroking her cheek.

  “But Jacob says I’m a really good driver—better than I am in a car.”

  He smiled full out, and she blinked at the impact. “That’s not what I meant. I have to get into the office. I’m way behind with work.”

  “Oh,” she said, crestfallen. She recovered quickly, though. She understood that he had massive responsibilities.

  “But now that you mention it, I did bring home a surprise for you from London,” he said, a grin still ghosting his typically stern mouth.

  “What?”

  He dropped his hands and walked around her to the closet. When he returned, he held a black motorcycle helmet in one hand, a pair of black leather gloves tucked into the opening, and a hanger with a sleek, superhip black leather jacket suspended from it.

  “Oh my God, I love it,” she breathed out, immediately going for the jacket. It was hip-length, with a silver diagonal zipper and buttons. She could tell it would fit her tight. Her fingers ran over the supple leather appreciatively. “Should I try it on?” she asked Ian, brimming over with excitement.

  “No protests over the gift?” he asked humorously as she rapidly removed the jacket from the hanger.

  She flushed at that. “I should protest . . . it’s just . . . they both look like they were made for me,” she said, eyeing the helmet excitedly.

  “That’s because they were,” he murmured. She gave him a smile over her shoulder as she hurried into the bathroom, wanting to see her reflection wearing the jacket. How did he always know the perfect gift? She wished she could do the same for him in return. She heard Ian’s phone ring in the distance as she zipped the coat and turned from side to side. It fit her perfectly—tight, sleek, and sexy.

  She walked back into the bedroom suite, beaming. He sat on the couch again, talking on the phone. His eyebrows went up in subdued admiration as she modeled the jacket for him, his blue eyes running over her from head to toe.

  “Let’s look into a bond issuance,” he was saying to whomever was on the other line. She walked toward him, feeling ridiculously happy after her conversation with Ian. Had she made a mistake in reneging on her dare to be finished with him?

  But he’d said he’d try to not be so controlling. That’d meant a lot to her. She knew people couldn’t change their stripes overnight, and in Ian’s case, his desire to control and monitor those around him went all the way back to his childhood, when he’d been forced to look out for his mother versus the other way around.

  Maybe that was what was partially behind her willingness to accept his gift. If he was going to try and bend a little, she should, too. Of course, the darling jacket and helmet were definitely easy gifts to accept, she acknowledged to herself, her hands running over the sleek lines of the jacket. Something sparked in Ian’s eyes when she caressed the leather just beneath her breasts.

  Something flashed in her blood, as well. She took another step toward him. He watched her fixedly, his nostrils flaring slightly. The absence from each other—her deep down fear that she’d never touch him again—suddenly flared bright in her awareness.

  “Let’s see the interest on the bonds and the filing costs, and we’ll compare that to a bank loan,” Ian said into the phone.

  A strange brew of daring, gratitude, and desire stirred inside her chest. He’d given her the incalculable gift of her paintings. He’d given her back her past.

  She wanted to give him something in return.

  His expression flattened when she came before him and gently nudged apart his knees. His eyes widened when she knelt between them. He caught her hand when she reached for his silver belt buckle. She met his stare, imploring
silently, and his grip on her slackened.

  She unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants with fleet fingers.

  “But the bond issuance would give us more flexibility for future acquisitions where we want to use bank loans,” Ian was saying into the phone. Her knuckles brushed across his brief-covered balls as she tried to lower the waistband of his pants. He grunted and then cleared his throat to cover it. She glanced up at him thankfully when he lifted his hips slightly, assisting her in getting his pants and briefs down to his thighs.

  She held his cock in her hand a moment later, studying it with fascination. He was as soft as she’d ever seen him. A wave of tenderness and lust swept through her at the vision of him, at the sensation . . . at his male scent filtering into her nose. Within seconds, she felt him stiffen, saw him lengthen and thicken.

  Amazing.

  She closed her eyes and slid him into her mouth, wanting to feel him grow harder there. Oh, I like this, she thought as a haze of desire surrounded her. When she took him into her mouth before he was fully erect, she could swallow more of him. Her head bobbed in his lap as she became more enthusiastic. His cock swelled, stretching her squeezing lips wide. She thrilled as his fingers ran through her hair, and then spread across her skull. In the distance, she heard him say, “Uh . . . what was that, Michael? Yes, just price out the two scenarios.”

  He was fully tumescent now, filling her mouth . . . overfilling it, his hand on the back of her head gripping into her hair, using his hold to gently guide the rhythm. She began to use her hand in tandem with her mouth, stroking the thick stalk upward as she slid him out of her mouth, fisting it strenuously in a downward motion as she sunk down again over his cock.

  He made a muted choking sound and coughed.

  “Uh . . . yes, do me a favor Michael, and just get me the price scenarios for a ten-year bond issuance and a twenty. I’ll make a decision when I see all the data. Yes, that’s all for now, thank you.”

  She was vaguely aware of his phone dropping to the couch cushion. She looked up at him, his cock embedded at half-staff in her mouth.

  “Don’t give me that innocent look,” he murmured, using his hold on her hair to move her up and down on the staff of his cock, controlling her. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” he asked more firmly even as he encouraged her to move faster. She nodded and hummed an affirmation. He hissed. “You make it your goal to torture me, Francesca.”

  She sucked with all her might and shook her head slightly. He gasped.

  “No need to deny the obvious, lovely,” he said, his voice growing rough.

  She moaned feverishly, losing herself in the magic of giving him pleasure.

  She took him into her throat. He hissed in pleasure and then pulled up on her hair, demanding she suck him fast and shallow. She pumped with her fist, avid to please him, wild to feel him succumb, desperate to taste him. He pushed her head down on him, and she took him into her throat again, her nostrils flaring for air. His hips lifted slightly off the couch, and he gasped. His restrained moan became a growl as he began to come. She felt him swell huge, her eyes going wide as he began to ejaculate, bypassing her gag reflex by coming directly in her throat.

  He backed out after only a second or two, plunging back and forth between her clamping lips, emptying himself onto her tongue.

  After a moment, his tight grip on her hair loosened as he massaged her scalp. His big, solid body slumped into the couch cushions. She slid him out of her mouth with a wet popping noise.

  “You deserve a pink ass for that,” he said, watching her with a narrow-eyed gaze as she licked her lips of his residue. She saw his small smile and returned it. He hardly looked angry. More like a well-pleased, utterly satiated male.

  “Are you going to give me one?” she asked, a shiver of excitement going through her.

  “Without a doubt. You’re going to get a good paddling. I can’t have you distracting me while I do business, Francesca,” he murmured, his actions belying his words as he stroked her hair with one hand and caressed her cheek with the other, his manner tender. Cherishing. She couldn’t help but feel that he’d quite enjoyed being distracted.

  “Go into the bathroom and put on a robe,” he said.

  She stood and followed his instructions, her pulse fluttering at her throat. When she reentered the suite a few minutes later, she paused at the sight of Ian waiting for her, wearing only a pair of pants, his muscular, ridged torso bare.

  “Follow me,” he said, taking her hand. Her eyes widened when she saw him extricate the keys from his briefcase.

  “What I did wasn’t that bad, was it?” she asked anxiously as he unlocked the room where he said she’d receive her more severe punishments.

  “You compromised my ability to think rationally while I was making a business decision,” he mused as he led her into the inner chamber and closed the door behind them, locking it.

  He led her over to the tall stool she’d noticed on her first night in the room, the one that was situated before the balletlike bar on the wall and was curved unusually at the back. The front of it was normal enough, like a half circle. But the rear of it dipped inward, as if a crescent of the circle had been cut out. Ian left her and went over to the cherry cabinet, opening a drawer. She studied the stool, puzzled and increasingly excited. When she saw that Ian carried the jar of clitoral stimulant and the black leather paddle, her sex clenched tight.

  He watched her face intently a moment later as he rubbed the cream on her clit.

  “I’m going to give you fifteen good whacks. You deserve more for what you did.”

  Her cheeks heated with defiance and arousal. “You were hardly complaining.”

  His stern mouth twitched at that.

  “Sit down on the stool, your face toward the wall,” he commanded. She did so, staying forward on the chair in order to avoid the crescent cutout at the back of the stool. “Scoot back so that your bottom falls over the edge. Lean forward and put your hands on the bar. That’s right.”

  A rush of realization went through her as she leaned over and gave the bar her upper body weight and her ass fell over the edge of the chair into the cutout. The cream started to make her clit burn as she watched in the mirror as Ian moved behind her, the black leather paddle gripped in his large hand.

  Oh, no. Her bottom was utterly exposed and vulnerable . . . and right at the perfect location for his swinging arm.

  Whack.

  A whimper popped out of her throat at the quick sting and the lingering burn.

  “Shhh,” Ian soothed, turning the paddle and rubbing her ass with the fur. “Too much?”

  “I can take it,” she said breathlessly.

  He caught her gaze in the mirror and smiled.

  He swung his arm back and landed another smack, and then another. This time, he used his hand to soothe her bottom, caressing her and gently squeezing each buttock in his palm.

  “It’s too bad you have such a gorgeous ass,” he muttered as he watched himself stroke her.

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have to punish it so much.”

  Her snort altered to a moan when he swung again, stinging the lower curve of her buttocks. She saw his cock leap against the fabric of his pants. He hissed and grabbed at it through the material.

  “I thought I was being punished for distracting you while you worked,” she said, watching wide-eyed as he stroked his cock while he swung the paddle again. “Ouch,” she said in a beleaguered tone a second later when he paddled her in the same smarting area—the lower curve of her buttocks. He really did like spanking her there. Despite the quick sting, her clit pinched tight in arousal.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, now landing the paddle higher up on her cheeks. “You are being paddled for distracting me. I’m just saying . . . such a gorgeous ass is destined to be punished often,” he said, a small smile pulling at his mouth. She suppressed a moan when he landed another blow. She coul
d see that her ass was starting to blush pink in the mirror to her right.

  She couldn’t suppress a moan of pure arousal when he unzipped his trousers and shoved them and his briefs beneath his balls and his erection.

  “Ian,” she groaned upon seeing his exposed cock.

  “You see what I mean?” he asked, paddling her again and making air pop out of her lungs. He stroked his cock and smacked her again. She couldn’t keep her gaze off his hand moving up and down on the delineated shaft of his rigid penis. “I hadn’t planned to fuck you, just punish you. But your sweet ass has made me change my mind.”

  “Ooh,” erupted out of her throat when he paddled her ass again. Her bottom was starting to burn. She gritted her teeth when she saw him swing his arm back.

  “How many more?” she asked, whimpering her when he smacked her again.

  “I don’t know. You’ve distracted me again,” he said grimly, landing another blow. She saw him stroke his now fully erect cock faster, wincing as he did so. He paddled her on the lower curve of her bottom again, making the flesh bounce upward with the stringent blow. He cursed hotly and tossed the paddle onto the couch, surprising her.

  “My punishment is done?” she asked, put off by the abruptness of his action.

  “No,” he said, walking rapidly over to the cabinet and extracting a condom. “But my cock is just about,” he said tensely. She watched in breathless anticipation as he removed his clothing hastily and came toward her, rolling the condom on his enormous erection as he did so.

  “Stand up,” he said, walking up behind her.

  Her clit simmered between her thighs as she did his bidding. Her bottom burned. She resisted an urge to rub it to soothe the sting.

  “Hold onto the bar and bend over,” he said, his touch on her hip gentle. She followed his order. Almost as soon as she’d firmed her upper body by holding onto the bar, he parted her buttocks and drove his cock into her.

  “So wet. So willing,” he grated out, staring down at her ass.

  “Ahhhhh,” she moaned, her eyes springing wide at his sudden, total possession.

  “I told you,” he muttered darkly, firming his hold on her hips and starting to pump in and out of her pussy. “You do this to me, Francesca. You have to accept the consequences. I will take you for my pleasure alone.”