by BETH KERY
“It’s ten until midnight in Chicago,” he murmured. “Did I catch you in the midst of your discipline lesson?”
“Yes,” she said impulsively, her brain starting to leap into panic again. Did she imagine that short pause on his end?
“Are you aroused?”
“Yes. Incredibly so,” she lied breathlessly.
“You’re lying.”
Irritation spiked through her at his quick, confident reply.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know what you sound like when you’re edgy with lust, and I know what you sound like when you’re relaxed. Aside from seeming a little nervous, you sound to me like a woman that’s just had a nice, hot orgasm.”
Her typically glib tongue went uncooperatively numb.
“I told you I would know if you were lying,” he said mildly, a thread of humor in his tone. “How many times?”
“How many times what?” she asked, irritation at his confidence in her failure and regret at her lack of control making her tone snappy.
“How many times did you pull your hand away and try to cool off?” he clarified evenly.
“Twice,” she admitted after a pause. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, but for some reason, another wave of lust went through her, so powerful that she placed her hand on her outer sex and pressed to staunch it.
“That’s more than I expected.”
“It is?” she asked, amazed.
“Did you imagine me telling you that you could come?”
“Well . . .”
“Elise?” he asked sharply.
She grimaced. “No. I . . . imagined that you told me I had to hang on just a bit longer.”
“But you put the vibrator on your little pussy and came anyway?”
His voice had dropped a decibel, sounding sultry in her ear. Her hand moved between her thighs. “I tried hard, Lucien. But the vibrator is very powerful. It made me think of . . .”
“What?” he asked sharply when she faded off.
“The stables. How you rode me so hard. How much I liked it.”
A rough groan made her ear and neck tingle.
“You little minx,” he mumbled tightly. “How will I ever convince you that you were wrong to goad me that way when you were inexperienced, if you keep shoving it in my face how much you liked it?”
Her pussy was growing very wet. It excited her, playing with herself as they spoke so intimately to each other while they were leagues apart.
“I can’t help it that I liked it. Do you wish I was different?”
“Don’t pout,” he chided. “You know I think you’re perfect, and you love shoving that in my face every opportunity you get as well, don’t you?” She smiled. He’d sounded amused. And extremely aroused. “I believe I told you I would punish you if you failed.”
She rubbed her slick clit with the ridge of her forefinger more rapidly.
“What will you do to me when you get back?” she asked, trepidation twining with the excitement in her voice.
“Oh, you won’t have to wait. You’ll receive your punishment now.”
That made her pause in her self-pleasuring.
“What do you mean?” she demanded. “You’re in Paris.”
“I know that. So you will administer the punishment in my place.”
He really did have an uncanny way of making her speechless.
“Open the top drawer of the bedside table. There’s a round, wooden paddle in there with a short handle. Perhaps you noticed it earlier.”
“Lucien,” she said, disbelieving at the hint of mirth she heard in his voice. “Do you have a camera set up in here? Are you spying on me?”
“Of course I don’t,” he said sharply. “Do you honestly think I’d record you without your permission?”
Her mouth fell open in surprise at the edge to his tone.
“No, I don’t have a hidden camera,” he said, exhaling and leveling his tone, as if he’d sensed her surprise. “I knew you had to get in the drawer to get the vibrator. I know what a curious thing you are. Did you see anything else in that drawer that interested you?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she replied stubbornly as she opened the drawer, stung by his effortless ability to read her.
He chuckled. “Do you have the paddle?”
She swallowed thickly as she wrapped her fist around the handle and withdrew the instrument of punishment.
“Yes.”
“Then put me on speaker phone and place the phone on the mattress near your hips.” She did what he’d suggested, her trepidation and excitement rising. “Now lie on your left side on the bed. Curl up your knees, little kitten,” he murmured, his seductive voice resonating throughout the still room. “Is the paddle in your right hand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Twist your hips a little. Present your bottom to the paddle.”
She bit her lower lip to prevent a whimper of arousal from escaping her throat. She now knew for a fact that the rumors of Lucien seducing from his voice alone were one hundred percent accurate. The polished wood felt hard and exciting next to her buttock as she pressed it there while she drew up her knees toward her waist and twisted her hips.
“Are you in position?” came Lucien’s voice in her ear.
“Yes.”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes,” Elise answered honestly. She lay on her side, her bent knees near her chest, her right thigh higher than the left in order to better expose her buttocks.
“You were correct in what you imagined me saying while you pleasured yourself. If you thought I was demanding that you continue to abstain just a bit longer, than you should have complied. But I’m pleased, as well, that you succeeded in pulling your hand away twice. Because of that, you may touch yourself at the same time you give yourself a good spanking. I give you permission to come, if you are so inclined.”
“Oh . . . okay,” she said, experiencing a strange mixture of shyness and arousal at his words. Instinctively, she ground her thighs together tightly to get pressure on her pussy. “May I begin now?”
“You may begin touching your pussy once I hear how hard you land the paddle. I will know whether or not you are going easy on yourself. Is the phone near your bottom?”
She scooted the phone nearer to her ass and lifted the paddle.
Smack.
“Hmm, that seemed adequate. You tell me. Was it hard enough to fit the crime?”
“Perhaps I was a little easy on myself,” she said in a quavering voice.
He laughed. “Elise, you please me so much.”
Her heart bumped against her breastbone at the sound of arousal tightening his voice.
“You will paddle yourself ten more times. Count out loud, so I can hear you. I expect it to sting. If I notice the smacks weakening, I will tell you how many more you must take when you finish. Do you understand?”
Arousal flashed through her, electrical in its intensity. Could there be anything more exciting than hearing Lucien instruct her in self-punishment, anything more stimulating than his utter confidence that she would do precisely what he demanded?
“May I . . . may I touch myself now,” she asked, unable to disguise her breathless eagerness.
“You may begin.”
It was excruciating, the anticipation. She was having trouble catching her breath as she propped her upper body on her left elbow so as to better see the profile of her curved, naked bottom. She plunged her hand between her thighs and rubbed slick, hungry flesh. Her phone had never seemed remotely sexy before, but knowing Lucien was listening while she spanked and pleasured herself made the mundane technology incredibly erotic.
She lifted the paddle over her ass.
Smack.
She jumped slightly. In her excitement, she’d landed the paddle more briskly than she expected. Her buttock prickled with mild pain. Her hand moved more strenuously between her thighs. “One,” she called out, remembering what Lucien had instruc
ted.
She paddled her ass again and grimaced. “Two.”
At five, her bottom was starting to burn. Surely Lucien would be pleased, wouldn’t he? She rubbed her clit more rapidly in mounting excitement.
“Are you turning pink?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly hoarser than before, like a rough seduction.
“Yes,” she panted, inspecting her right buttock.
“And hot? Touch your bottom.”
She skimmed two fingertips over the taut skin with the hand that held the paddle, feeling the heat.
“Yes,” she told him, her hand moving even faster between her thighs. He gave a harsh groan.
“Continue,” he said, sounding much less calm than he had earlier.
“Six,” she said between pants as she paddled her ass again. The protesting nerves sent prickles of excitement along her anus, sacrum, and sex. Her pussy was aflame and drenched. She was going to come . . . very soon. She landed the paddle again with an even louder cracking sound. A puff of air flew past her lips.
“Seven.”
Lucien was masturbating while he listened to her punishment; she suddenly just knew that for a fact. She imagined his fist moving up and down on his thick stalk in a rapid, powerful, pistonlike motion from just below his fleshy cockhead to his full balls, his facial muscles rigid, his eyes hot. She’d seen him do it enough to have the image burned into her brain for an eternity.
She felt herself cresting at the erotic image and moaned out loud. She paddled her bottom briskly again, the flash of pain and the subsequent burn feeding her arousal. “Eight,” she grated out before popping her ass again in quick succession. “Nine . . . oh . . .”
Orgasm loomed. She struggled to stave it off by paddling her smarting ass extra hard, but the burst of sensation only served to send her over the edge.
“Ten,” she managed through a desperate, quaking voice before she groaned in delicious anticipation. She fell back onto the pillows and dropped the paddle heedlessly. Orgasm crashed into her. Her entire arm jerked back and forth as she pressed her hand between her thighs and pleasure swamped her consciousness.
A moment later, she gasped to catch her breath and her sawing arm movements slowed. Distantly, she became aware of Lucien’s voice emanating from her phone.
“Pick up the phone, damn it,” he bellowed.
She followed his instructions dazedly, instinctively drawing the phone near her ear even though it was still on speaker. He must have heard her ragged breathing because he immediately began issuing orders.
“Put the phone right next to your pussy. Quickly, Elise,” he hissed tersely, his breath sounding nearly as erratic as her own. She rolled onto her back and spread her thighs, then did what he’d said.
“I heard you coming,” he said roughly. “Are you wet?”
“I’m soaked,” she admitted starkly.
“Run your fingers over your pussy. Play with yourself. Let me hear how wet you are.”
She followed his orders. Sure enough, she was so intensely aroused a wet sound could be heard as she moved her fingers against her satiated, lubricated flesh.
“I can hear you,” Lucien said, and Elise knew he was nearing orgasm by the ragged sound of his voice. She pictured his flexing muscles as he pounded his cock . . . straining. “God, I wish I was there to suck and swallow every drop of you,” he said so quietly but so fiercely that her eyes sprang wide.
She went completely still and listened, enthralled. He grunted, as if he’d just been stabbed by a knife of pleasure. Slowly, she raised the phone to her ear as a taut second of silence was shattered by his sharp shout. Turning the speaker off—feeling closer to him with his voice directly in her ear—she absorbed his every gasp, his every groan as he climaxed.
Every time she was with him, he introduced her to yet another height of pleasure and intimacy. He’d done it again, in spades. How did he do it so effortlessly? So precisely?
She waited, completely satisfied listening to his pants as he recovered from what must have been a powerful orgasm.
“Do you think you’ll sleep well now, Lucien?” she asked quietly when his breathing slowed.
He gave a bark of laughter. “I expect I won’t have any other choice. You wore me out.”
She smiled. “Who knew? I’ve heard of phone sex, but never thought it could be so . . . fulfilling.”
“It never has been before. I suspect you set some kind of world record,” he replied thickly.
“You did that. I was just an innocent victim,” she muttered, her pique just a limpid act. She felt supremely relaxed and satisfied.
“You are about as much of a victim as Attila the Hun.”
“I resent that,” she purred, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“You had better improve on your lessons by tomorrow at eleven thirty.”
“Or what?” she postured.
“You know what. You’ve met your match. Even the Huns were conquered.”
She heard the hint of steel in his sensual purr and swallowed thickly. His tone had gentled when he called her name again across countries and an ocean, and it felt to her as if his head were on the pillow next to her.
“Elise?”
“Yes?” she answered groggily.
“Get under the covers. I don’t want you to catch a chill,” he said. “And Elise?”
She paused in fumbling with the comforter and sheet, doing what he’d said.
“Yes?”
“You’ll do better tomorrow with your self-discipline. I have faith in you.”
A rush of feeling went through her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Good night, ma chère. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Lucien.”
A choking loneliness overcame her as she hit the disconnect button, set the alarm, and turned off the bedside lamp. She snuggled into Lucien’s bed, struck by how enormous it seemed . . . how empty without him.
Despite the pang of loneliness, Lucien had trained her body well—not just for pleasure, but for health. She was asleep within three minutes of hanging up the phone.
* * *
Two days later, Sharon peeped through the kitchen door while Elise was stirring a thickening béarnaise sauce.
“Francesca Arno stopped in. She was wondering if you had a moment to speak?”
Elise winced. “I can’t right now. I can’t leave this—”
“I’ve got it,” Evan said, coming up behind her and reaching for the whisk. Elise glanced at Denise, who nodded to her with a distracted smile as she prepared a roast duck. She washed her hands and walked through the swinging door, looking for Francesca.
“Hi,” Elise said, glad to see Francesca standing in the bar area, a glass of club soda and lime on the bar in front of her.
“I’m sorry; I know how busy you must be. I promise I won’t take long. It’s a bit of an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh.” Francesca looked contrite when she noticed Elise’s anxiety. “I should have specified. Not a real emergency. A bride’s emergency.”
Elise laughed. “My father used to say there’s no catastrophe in the universe larger than a bride’s, because she makes her panic everyone else’s.”
Francesca joined her in laughter. “It’s so funny you mentioned him. He’s the reason I stopped by. Or one of them, anyway.
Elise’s amusement vanished. “My father?” she asked, stunned.
Francesca nodded. “Yes. Louis Martin.”
Elise just stared, her mind racing. Lucien had specifically told her he didn’t want anyone here in Chicago to know of their former connection. She’d made a point of not talking about her family or her past because she didn’t want people to start to see the possible previous connections between Lucien and her. Lucien’s desire for anonymity coincided with her own desire to start a new life.
How was she supposed to respond to Francesca?
“Your father is Louis Martin, right? The famous fashion designer?” Francesca p
rompted.
“I . . . he . . . How did you know that?” Elise sputtered.
Francesca’s expression fell. “I’m sorry. Did you not want people to know?”
I don’t know what I want, Elise thought anxiously. She wasn’t sure what secrets Lucien wanted her to keep and what he didn’t. Why was he always so infuriatingly vague about all that?
“It’s just that I hadn’t told anyone here. I’m trying to start out fresh in a new place.”
Regret went through her when she saw Francesca’s crestfallen expression. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”
“It’s okay, really,” Elise assured. “I just don’t understand how you knew Louis Martin was my father.”
“Ian told me,” Francesca admitted. “He knew that I was obsessing about the perfect dress for a beach wedding—casual but elegant, simple but classic—all the characteristics your father is known for. Ian suggested I speak to you about the possibility of contracting your father for a design.”
“He did?” Elise asked numbly. Lucien was not going to like this. Plus, knowing Lucien, he’d think it was somehow her fault that Ian and Francesca knew about her family.
“How could Ian have possibly known I was Louis Martin’s daughter? Is he that involved in French fashion?”
Francesca studied her face anxiously. “Not specifically, but Ian is very aware of the goings-on in the European business community. He spends a lot of his time in Europe. And Ian just has a way of . . .” She blushed. “Finding out things about people,” she finished, an apology in her eyes.
Of course. For a business mogul like Ian Noble, knowledge was power. She’d been admitted into the realms of his private penthouse. If he was smart—and Ian was reputedly brilliant—he wouldn’t have done that without having at least a minimal check done on her background to assure she wasn’t a thief or spy.
She was processing all this when Francesca spoke again. “Again, I’m sorry, Elise. I didn’t realize you were trying to keep your background secret. I knew you didn’t offer a lot of information, but I just thought it was modesty on your part. Even at the engagement party, I heard Ian ask Lucien if you were Louis Martin’s daughter, and Lucien confirmed that you were.”
