Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(18)
Author: Beth Kery

Within a matter of seconds, she was back in bed, her thighs splayed wide, the vibrator humming as she pressed it to her clit.

Ian had used this very tool on her many times. Sometimes he used it on her while he spanked her over his knee, combining the sting of punishment with the pleasure of the vibrator to optimal effect. Oh God, she’d loved it when he bound her wrists and ordered her over his knee, how she was at his mercy as he caressed her naked body and swatted her ass until it burned. She could feel every nuance of the tension in his strong thighs and experience firsthand his arousal in that position—the leap of his cock when he landed a smack on the bottom curve of a buttock, the way he greedily squeezed her pinked ass and ground his erection against her.

And what he’d do to her when her punishment was finished and she was limp from wave after wave of orgasm . . .

He would make it clear she’d had more than her share of pleasure, and then it was time for his. He’d own her completely, fuck her until she had no choice but to explode again in the midst of his furious, white-hot possession.

It was too much to bear, this brutal, precise remembering, but she had to give in to it, just as she’d always eventually surrendered to him. She flipped the switch on the vibrator to a higher setting and felt the air licking at her wet pussy, her hips thrusting and circling greedily against the precise little instrument. She thrust a finger into her vagina and groaned wildly at the inadequacy of the penetration, wanting more, needing a thick, throbbing cock to fill her, agitate screaming nerves, force her soft flesh into total submission—

Needing Ian.

Damn him straight to hell.

She thrust another finger into the tight channel. Too long. It’d been too long since she’d been stretched and filled and possessed. She was so close . . . so close to relief. She withdrew her fingers to the tips and plunged back into the warm, clamping channel, rhythmically, imagining someone else pleasuring her.

You will come for me now, lovely.

So certain. So firm. She had no choice but to obey.

Knocking at the door shattered her fantasy.

She froze, gasping for air. Her pussy burned and throbbed with impending climax. Someone rapped firmly on the door to the suite once again. She arose from the bed rapidly, her legs feeling weak. She tossed the vibrator that glistened with her juices beneath the sheets and scurried toward the door.

“Who is it?” she asked, trying to disguise her breathless state. She pressed her hand against her pussy through the cloth of her gown and winced. She’d been on the very edge of climax. She ached for release.

“It’s Gerard. I’m sorry to bother you again. May I come in for a moment? I promise I won’t take long.”

She glanced down at her appearance in alarm.

“I’m sorry, I can’t right now, Gerard. I was getting ready for bed. I’m not dressed.”

“I can wait while you put something on,” he called through the door. “Please, Francesca. It’s important.”

She opened her mouth, but could think of no other protest. He’d shoved aside the only excuse her lust-impaired brain could supply.

“All right,” she said, flustered. “Give me a moment.”

A minute later, she opened the door and managed a weak smile.

“Come in,” she murmured, waving toward the seating area that took up half of the large main room of the suite.

“Thank you,” Gerard said, giving her an apologetic glance before he stepped over the threshold. Francesca closed the door, pausing to cinch the robe she wore tighter. She’d washed with soap and very cold water and waited for her breathing to even, but her skin still felt prickly and her cheeks warm. Was Gerard going to make interrupting her masturbation a habit?

It’s not his fault. It’s yours for being so stupid and relenting to your memories . . . to your need so easily.

She cleared her throat, banishing the thought, and followed Gerard to the seating area. She sat on a chair across from where he’d settled on the couch. He was dressed similarly as he had been last night, except tonight his pajama bottoms were black and his robe a deep blood red. He scraped his thick hair off his forehead with his fingers in an anxious gesture and studied her closely.

“Gerard? What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. How are you doing?” he asked intently.

“Very well, thank you,” she said, laughing at his pressured, formal tone.

He smiled. “Considering the circumstances, I mean.”

“Yes. I know what you meant,” she conceded. Her polite, pointed glance told him she was ready to hear why he’d insisted upon talking to her.

“Again, forgive me for intruding. It’s just that’s it’s hard to talk to you with the others always there. Privately, I mean.” His gaze traveled over her face and ever so briefly lowered to the small patch of exposed skin at her chest above her closed robe.

Men know. Many of them anyway.

She shifted uneasily at the recollection of Ian’s words and the knowledge of what she’d been doing before Gerard arrived.

“Why do you need to speak to me alone?” she asked.

“It’s this proposed trip to Belford Hall, the painting commission—have you given Anne a certain answer about whether or not you agree to it?”

“Not entirely, no, even though she acts—”

“As if it’s a decided deal,” Gerard said with a dry smile. “Classic Anne, to operate as if her wishes were already reality. It works amazingly well for her. Usually.” She noticed a lock of waving hair had fallen appealingly onto his forehead when he’d raked his hand through it. She returned his smile with effort.

“What’s the trip have to do with why you wanted to speak with me?”

He leaned forward, his thighs parting slightly, his elbows on his knees. His sleeves fell back, revealing strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair.

“It’s just . . . well, do you really think it’s a good idea? To go to Ian’s childhood home, with the state of things between you two being what they are?”

Her smile fell. She blinked past her shock at his words. “I honestly hadn’t thought of that. I was thinking of it being a getaway . . . a change of scenery. But of course you’re right. Belford Hall was Ian’s home. It will be again, someday.”

“Francesca,” Gerard began hesitantly. His face suddenly tightened in frustration and he hissed something she couldn’t quite catch beneath his breath. “What exactly is the state of things?” he asked in a pressured rush.