“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.