When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(41)
Author: Beth Kery

“Do you often restrain people who stay in your guest bedroom?” she asked, amazed.

“I just put the restraints on this bed when we arrived, specifically for you.” She stared at him incredulously. “I already have some on my bed.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to disguise her anxiety. “Your maid must think that’s pretty interesting every time she makes the bed.”

“Maria is the soul of discretion,” he replied levelly. “I will restrain you often. This will be a good opportunity for you to get used to being bound.”

“But I thought you said you weren’t going to punish me.”

“I did. But I will restrain you for other things.”

Her clit pinched in excitement. She resisted an urge to ground it against the soft sheets. “For what things?” she asked.

“For sex, certainly. For pleasure, frequently. When you find it difficult to submit, I’ll use restraints, with your permission, to make submitting less of a challenge for you. You will have no choice but to accept what I give you. Tonight, I’m going to teach you to let go and relax . . . to begin to train you to my hand.”

No choice but to accept what I give you.

Train you to my hand.

The phrases uttered in his low, decadently sexy voice reverberated in her brain and vibrated in her flesh. He sat next to her on the bed and she looked up at him in helpless excitement.

“I’m going to restrain your ankles and wrists. You will be at my mercy, but I will keep you safe, Elise. Always. If you let go and submit, I’ll know it. I’ll give you pleasure if you do. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she mouthed.

He smiled and brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek. A shiver of pleasure went through her at his touch. “Then turn your face away from me and rest your cheek on the pillow. Your eyes have a way of undoing me. Try to relax. I’m going to finish restraining you.”

Her heart began to thump uncomfortably against her breastbone as she lay there and allowed him to bind her naked body. When he got to her ankles, he flipped back the luxurious comforter and drew her legs toward each corner of the bed. It felt strange when he’d finished, to be spread-eagled, unable to move . . . vulnerable. He carefully covered her again with the sheet and comforter. By the time she felt his weight sink into the mattress next to her ribs, her breathing was coming erratically from nerves.

He drew back the bed coverings down to the top of her buttocks, exposing her back. He stroked the muscles deeply with a big, warm hand, and she shuddered in a release of anxiety and pleasure.

“That’s right. It’s time to give up control,” he murmured. “Just relax.”

He massaged her deeply, expertly for the next several minutes. She tried to resist, but his hands kneaded her rigid flesh into submission. Wherever did he learn the intricacies of pressure and release so well? She gasped when he swept his hand from her tailbone to her neck, applying a firm pressure. He repeated the movement, seeming to iron her anxiety and her resistance right out of her. She made a desperate noise in her throat as she tried to control an upwelling of emotion she couldn’t comprehend.

“Let it go, Elise,” he ordered, digging his fingers deftly into her shoulders. “Let go, period. I’ve got you. Just relax.”

“No,” she grated out when he grasped her rib cage, holding her completely at his mercy, and worked his thumbs along her spine. She had no idea why she was protesting. His massage was heavenly. It was the fact that he was telling her to let go of control.

“Yes,” he said simply. He pressed his thumbs beneath her shoulder blades and maintained a relentless pressure. The air burned in her lungs. It hurt unbearably. It felt so good. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. What was he doing to her with those devil hands? Something snapped in her.

She choked as emotion erupted out of her throat.

“That’s right,” she heard him say as if from a distance as he rubbed her back muscles, working the remaining tension out of her. She sunk into the mattress, gasping, every muscle in her body going limp, even though she never gave them permission to do so.

He continued to rub her—for how long she didn’t know—occasionally murmuring to her in soothing tones, sometimes in English, sometimes in French. The torrential rush of emotion she’d experienced was unlike anything she’d ever known. She wasn’t crying from sadness or anger, but from some kind of whirlwind of unnamable feeling that felt as if it’d been living in her body, residing in muscle and flesh without her permission.

The tears on her cheeks dried. A wave of sleepiness overwhelmed her, and her entire awareness focused on the sensation of Lucien’s magical hands. He peeled back the covers, exposing her ass and upper thighs.

Her eyelids flew open. Tension sprang back into her muscles. His low chuckle and warm touch on her thighs reassured her anxiety, but did nothing to alleviate mounting excitement.

“Don’t get worked up all over again. You did well. I’m proud of you. It’s hard to let go, when you feel like the rest of the world could turn into an enemy at any moment. You come by your vigilance honestly. But you must learn to let down your guard with me,” he chided. “Now . . . I’m going to give you a reward, something for especially sweet dreams.”

His hand moved between her thighs, cupping her sex. Before she had a chance to say anything or respond, his finger deftly burrowed between her labia. She cried out, her arousal sharp, immediate, and unexpected. Had he done that somehow, built tension in her sex without her being aware of it? He rubbed and circled and pulsed, and she had no choice but to lie there with her legs spread wide, her spirit split open, and take every bit of pleasure he offered her.

She twisted her head on the pillow, desperate to see him while he touched her so intimately. Through several tendrils of hair, she saw him sitting at the edge of the bed, one knee on the mattress, his arm stretched between her thighs. With his other hand, he stroked his naked cock.

She stared, transfixed, her arousal mounting exponentially. She’d never actually seen his cock before. God, he was so beautiful. His pajama bottoms were bunched below the protruding shaft, hiding his balls, but his cock was large and thick, the crown shaped like a fleshy, tapering mushroom cap. She recalled how succulent it had felt next to her lips and tongue. Her mouth watered. He stroked himself as he stared at his other hand moving between her thighs. She watched, transfixed. Something about her helplessness, her inability to touch him, somehow sharpened her desire until it cut at her.