“I didn’t tell you last time, but it gave me great pleasure to punish you,” he said, his hand flowing against her skin.
“It . . . it did?”
“Couldn’t you tell?” he asked drolly. His cock lurched in arousal. She stilled beneath him and he knew she’d felt it. “Put your hands above your head,” he instructed. She followed his command. Sensing her nervousness, he stroked her until she softened a little, her flesh becoming more malleable beneath his hand. Feeling the deep knots in her muscles, he molded and rubbed.
“You really are a tight little knot. I will work this tension out of you one day. You are so stiff,” he said, listening to her soft, sexy moans as he massaged her back.
He’d always instinctively had an understanding of muscle, innately comprehended how stress, trauma, emotional and physical pain was stored and carried in the flesh. He’d learned to read a horse’s tension from an early age by stroking muscle, seeing how an animal’s body language altered with strenuous exercise, soothing words, and a touch . . . a concisely applied swat of the crop. Later, he’d learned to read his lovers’ tension level, grew to understand how to build it with punishment, release it with an explosion of pleasure. . . .
Never had he touched a woman as tightly strung as Elise. He rubbed her shoulders and heard her exhale in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He winced. So much pain she carried.
“Is that better?” he asked, running his palm along her side, admiring her delicate rib cage and feeling her heart throbbing inside it.
“I think so,” he heard her say. She lay with her forehead pressed to the bedspread, reminding him of a child who closed their eyes before a painful procedure, like getting a shot. He smiled and caressed her just above the elastic band of her panties. She shivered as he stroked the patch of skin along her spine.
“Then we’ll begin,” he said, using both hands to peel her panties down over her buttocks. She moaned softly, and he wondered if she’d felt his body’s response to the vision of her, the decadent erotic feast she made, lying there nude and helpless in his lap. He worked the panties down her thighs in order to have full access to the lower curve of her plump buttocks.
He grasped one of her cheeks with his hand. “You knew you were teasing me, didn’t you?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes.”
He gave her a brisk swat. She jumped slightly in his lap.
“Stay still,” he ordered, using his hands to palm both buttocks at once. She made a whimpering sound and settled in his lap. He released her and slapped each cheek again, grunting in grim satisfaction when she remained immobile. His cock swelled tight at the evidence of even that small submission on her part. He placed a flurry of spanks, letting her feel the burn. He watched in fascinated lust as her pale bottom began to blush pink.
She was a fantasy to spank, her ass plump and firm. He landed a brisk slap on each lower curve of a buttock, grimacing in lust at the erotic vision of her bouncing flesh. He shut his eyes and resisted an almost overwhelming urge to grind her body against his straining erection.
“I really didn’t mean to say anything about our past association earlier tonight,” she squealed a moment later when he slapped both ass cheeks at once. She clenched her bottom tight.
“Perhaps, but you are impulsive. You act before you think. Relax,” he prompted, slapping very lightly several times at her ass until she released the contracting muscles. She continued her confession as if she hadn’t been interrupted.
“And I only followed you because I was wondering what you were doing in the penthouse. Oh . . . merde . . . that stings,” she moaned as he swatted her several more times. Her hips twisted feverishly in his lap, making him grunt in pleasure. He stilled her wriggling bottom, pressing her down against his straining cock. They groaned in unison. She was blushing pink now. He would have to be careful of her. Her skin was quite delicate, and he would never want to cause her any true harm. “Lucien?” she asked raggedly. “What were you doing, listening to Ian that way?”
“That’s my affair,” he said distractedly, molding an ass cheek in his hand and treating it to several focused slaps. Her ass was turning nice and hot.
“But why were you spying on Ian Noble?” she persisted.
He snarled in irritation and lust and slapped her one last time. Hard. He shoved her panties down her legs and whipped them over her feet. Unable to stop himself, he slid his fingers between her legs, touching her outer sex.
Ah, bless it. Warm wetness slicked his skin. She gasped at his touch and then wiggled her bottom down closer to his hand, tempting him.
“Stand up,” he said sharply, his restraint a brittle thing.
Even though he commanded her, he helped her, mindful of her bound state. He rose. She stood before him, her luscious breasts plumped by her pearl-bound arms, her hair a sexy muss of golden waves and curls. Something about the six – or seven-loop strand of creamy gems around her wrists and forearms next to her naked skin really did it for him. Everything about her did it for him. He paused for a moment when he glanced at her face and saw the pink flush of her lips and cheeks.
He frowned. She ought to be outlawed for the things she inspired in a man—dark, dirty things . . . out of control things he’d surely later regret.
“What were you saying?” he asked, mouth tight, straining to recall why he’d been irritated.
“I . . . I didn’t mean spying . . . like . . . like . . .”
“My father?” he prompted quietly.
She scraped white teeth over her plump lower lip, the damp drag spellbinding him momentarily, making him forget his anger.