She bit her lip as he reached for the pearl rope. She watched him, her heart starting to thrum at her throat as he looped the creamy gems around her ankles. The pearls clicked gently together as he manipulated them, adding to the voluptuous spell he spun around her. When he ran out of rope, and there wasn’t enough slack in the silk to loop around her entire foot again, he carefully looped the pearls around the two largest toes on both her feet.
“It’s very . . . secure,” she said when he scooted up on the mattress to sit next to her again. Her ankles were bound surprisingly tight together. He smiled as he looked down at her.
“You are well and truly trussed by jewels,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over her belly and mons and lingering on her ankles. “Do not climax until I remove the pearls, do you understand?”
“Why not?” she asked, confused by the sternness of his voice.
“First, because you don’t have my permission to do so. And second, the feet flex during climax. It’s an instinctual response. You will likely break the silk if you come.”
Her eyelids narrowed on him even as her clit throbbed in arousal. “You truly are a devil, do you know that?”
“You tease me about being a devil, but you know I would never truly harm you, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she exclaimed, her brow creasing at his sudden intensity.
He just nodded, seeming reassured. “Now . . . tell me again what you desire,” he said gruffly, his gaze fastening on her breasts and then flickering to her face.
“You. To submit to you.”
“I’m so proud of you,” he said gently. He palmed her jaw. “I know how hard it is for you, to willingly forsake control. Trust me,” he said.
“I do,” she whispered.
She felt his cock harden next to her and wondered what he was thinking as his gaze roved over her face with an expression of fierce possession. “You haunt me, night and day. Don’t ever worry that you can’t please me, Elise. If you are honest about your desires, you’ll please me every time.
He leaned closer. His addictive scent tickled her nose—a combination of his skin and his soap and his cologne. It mingled with the fresh breeze and the scent of rose petals, making her dizzy.
“I want to please you, Lucien. Tell me what to do,” she said.
His nostrils flared slightly as he looked down at her.
“You’re doing it, in spades.”
She repressed a whimper at the sound of his low, sexy voice and the blazing quality to his eyes. He caressed her, running his hands along her sides and over her hips, massaging her back muscles . . . shaping a breast to his palm. No one touched her like Lucien. She felt owned beneath his touch, cherished like she never had in her life. She also sensed his restrained hunger, his mounting excitement.
He plucked at her stiffening nipples and she moaned, twisting slightly on the luxurious bedding. She felt the pearls pulling taut and forced herself to stop. He moved, straddling her body, holding himself off her with his knees and flexing arms. She looked up at the glorious sight of him framed by the starlit night sky. How she wished she could press up against him, rub her breasts next to the hard, muscular wall of his chest, slide their bellies together, stroke his awesome erection.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you restrained and helpless to resist?”
The platinum key hung from his neck. It wasn’t the only thing hanging over her. She noticed how huge his cock looked, suspended in the air between them and barely covered by the thin layer of his pants. She slicked her tongue over her lower lip in nervous excitement.
“Elise?” he prompted.
“I’m guessing you like it?” she asked, still staring at his erection.
He chuckled. “Yes, you make me stiff as stone. But that’s not what I meant entirely,” he murmured. She held her breath, watching him as his elbows bent and he lowered his head. She whimpered when he inserted a tight nipple between his lips and lashed at it with a warm, wet tongue. He drew on her and she felt that tug all the way to her womb.
“I meant that it does something to me to see you willingly give yourself,” he said a moment later, his warm breath brushing against her damp, erect nipple. She opened her eyes and made a whimpering noise of protest at the absence of his mouth on her nipple.
“I would have given myself willingly anytime you asked,” she said.
“I know,” he said, shifting his body so that he was kneeling over her. “But I wanted you to ask.” Perhaps he noticed the flash of irritation that went through her at his words, because he added pointedly, “Not beg, ma chère. Ask. There’s a difference between asking and begging. There is no desperation in asking—only courage.”
Her lips closed, her complaint forgotten. He smiled. Her womb contracted. What a beautiful man.
He put his hands on the outer and under curves of her breasts and lifted them, plumping them in his palms. She moaned when she saw the way he stared at them so greedily.
“I have been dreaming night and day about your breasts. They’ve become the focal point of ridiculous amounts of masturbation.”
A vivid image popped into her mind’s eye of him fisting his formidable cock, his muscles flexed and rigid, stroking . . . pounding. . . .
She gasped at the powerful image. “I didn’t think you ever noticed them,” she said in a choked voice as he shaped her breasts to his hands, causing the nipples to poke between his thumb and forefinger. She’d never seen a more erotic sight in her life than the vision of her pale breasts in his dark, masculine hands.