“I don’t think you’re like your father, Lucien. At least I hope you’re not. But that man in Paris, he mentioned Ian Noble. I don’t understand—”
“I’m not asking you to understand,” he said, touching her cheek and feeling her warmth. “I’m asking you to trust me. Do you?”
She nodded, but he saw the wariness in her eyes. He frowned and picked up the hairbrush from the bed. “Do you at least trust me enough to bend over for the rest of your punishment?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “You’re going to spank me with Grand-Mère’s hairbrush?”
He smiled. “I like to innovate with whatever is available to me, and Grand-Mère will never know. It’ll be our own little secret,” he said, positioning himself next to her body instead of in front of her. “Now bend over.”
Her lips curved alluringly. She held his gaze as she leaned over slowly—a nimble, sleek seduction—putting her bound hands on her knees.
“Witch,” he accused. Her smile widened and he smiled back. He couldn’t stop himself. She couldn’t help it if everything she did was sex distilled. “Stare at the floor this instant. What did I tell you last time about seducing me during a punishment?” he asked mildly as he rubbed her firm, pink bottom. She stilled beneath him when his fingers brushed close to her thighs at the lower curve of her ass. He was so tempted to dip his fingers into the sweet, wet heaven of her.
“You said you’d give me more punishment,” he heard her say. He blinked, his lustful trance fracturing.
“That’s right,” he murmured as he trailed a hand up her spine and felt her shiver beneath his touch. His cock swelled so tight, he didn’t think there was room in his skin anymore. He wanted to ride her until the oblivion of climax shook him, abandon himself to her fires. But if he didn’t maintain control, both of them would be lost.
He firmed his hold on her shoulder and drew back the hairbrush, the smooth enameled three-by-four-inch back of it facing Elise’s ass.
“This will sting more than the spanking,” he said. “Why in God’s name couldn’t you have asked me for help?”
“I couldn’t,” he heard her say in a muffled voice.
“But why?” he demanded.
A pause. He waited, his arm suspended in the air.
“I was too proud,” he finally heard her whisper.
He swung the hairbrush. It hit her bottom with a brisk pop, the blow shivering through her taut flesh in a way that made his cock jump. He held her steady when she squeaked and lurched forward slightly.
He popped her bottom again and again.
“Ooh!”
“Is it too much?” he asked, palming a buttock and rubbing it. She was growing hot. He listened, his ear cocked, ignoring his raging cock.
“No. It’s bearable,” she said after a moment, her shaky yet brave response making him close his eyes briefly, shielding himself from the glory of her.
He carefully examined her reddening ass, kneading the exquisitely soft, hot flesh. Yes, she could take a few more, but not much. He would never want to mark her, and she had a very tender, sensitive ass.
“You will take three more,” he said, “but I’m not going easy on you for the last. Brace yourself.” He saw her muscles tense in anticipation. Still holding her steady with one hand and rubbing her ass with the other, he examined her, his gaze catching on the delicious under-curve of her firm breasts suspended in the air as she bent over. Such sweet, tempting fruit. He let go of her shoulder and reached beneath her. She jumped and whimpered when he gently pinched a nipple.
“This nipple is hard. Are you aroused, little girl?” he growled softly.
Her breath froze on an inhale. “And if I am?” she asked warily after a moment.
“Then you wouldn’t be the only one,” he admitted, tweaking erect flesh. Her moan sounded feverish. “But this is still a punishment. I thought I’d have a heart attack, seeing that degenerate Johnson with his hands on your earlier.”
“You . . . you did?”
“What do you think? He’s lucky I didn’t take his head off.”
She gasped, but he thought it was because of what he was doing to her nipple more than what he’d said. “I saw him before they put him in the ambulance. You nearly did.”
“The bastard will end up fine—unfortunately, for the rest of the world,” he said, sounding bitter as he considered the possibility of Baden Johnson back on the street in months or weeks. He pressed her nipple to the palm of his hand and made a subtle circling motion. Elise made a choked sound. “My point was, this is a punishment,” he said, reminding himself as much as her. “Your last three strokes will hurt.”
He molded her entire breast to his palm before he reluctantly let go of her. He’d never felt such tender, responsive flesh in his life. Her heart had been beating frantically against his hungry hand.
He could so easily lose himself in her.
* * *
Your last three strokes will hurt.
His warning echoed in her brain, mounting what was already almost an unbearable anticipation. Would it really hurt that much? And what about after he was finished? He’d said he owed her pleasure. The sharp pinch at her clit made her instinctively clench her thigh and buttock muscles. She so wanted to touch herself and come in a hot rush of excitement.
“I need your legs wider. Here, come over to this desk.”
He helped her stand. She followed him, wincing slightly at the burn on her bottom. She watched him move aside the desk chair and a few of her papers, clearing the surface. It humiliated her a little that she was completely naked, save the pearls and her sandals, her bottom more than likely red from her punishment, while Lucien was still immaculately dressed. He’d asked her to trust him. What better proof did he need for it than this?