Because I Could Not Resist (Because You Are Mine Part 2)

by BETH KERY

  He dropped his hand into his lap. His gaze returned to the juncture of her thighs. His nostrils flared, and his face went rigid before he stood abruptly.

  “Over here, please,” he said. She followed him to where he stood in front of the fireplace. Her feet stalled when she saw what he picked up off the mantel—a long black paddle. “Come closer. You may look at it,” he said when he took in her wariness.

  He held up the paddle for her inspection. “I have them made by hand. I just received this one last week. Despite my insistence that I would never really use it to the purpose, I had it made with you in mind, Francesca.”

  Her eyes widened at that.

  “I’ll make you burn with the leather side,” he said quietly. Warm fluid gushed between her thighs at his matter-of-fact tone. He flipped his wrist, sending the paddle several inches in the air, catching it as it fell. She stared in amazement. The other side was covered with rich-looking dark brown fur. “And soothe the sting with the mink side,” he finished.

  Her mouth went dry, her mind blank.

  “We’ll begin now. Bend over and place your hands on your knees,” he instructed.

  She did as he demanded, her breath coming in erratic puffs. He came and stood beside her. She gave him an anxious sideways glance. The firelight gleamed in his eyes as his gaze ran over her body.

  “God, you’re beautiful. It frustrates me that you don’t see it, Francesca. Not in the mirror. Not in other men’s eyes. Not in your spirit.” Her eyes fluttered closed when he reached out and stroked along her spine, then her left hip and buttock. A ripple of pleasure went through her. “You really do deserve to be punished for even considering marring this skin. So flawless. White. Soft,” he said, his long fingers trailing along the crack of her ass. Her eyelids squeezed tight. Emotion surged in her throat, confusing her. He’d sounded genuinely awed.

  She didn’t unclench her eyelids until he stopped caressing her.

  “Spread your thighs some and arch your back. It will give me pleasure to see your lovely breasts while I paddle you,” he said. She adjusted her position, arching her spine. She gasped when he reached forward, cupping one of her breasts. He lightly pinched the nipple, and she quivered in pleasure.

  “Now bend your knees ever so slightly. It will help you to absorb the blow. There. That’s perfect. This is the position I expect you to take every time I paddle you.” She missed his plucking fingers and warm palm when he transferred his hand to her shoulder. “You’re skin is very delicate. I’ll give you fifteen strokes.”

  The leather side of the paddle struck her ass. Her eyes sprang wide, and she cried out. The quick flash of pain faded quickly to a burn. “All right?” Ian asked.

  “Yes,” she replied honestly, biting her lower lip.

  He swung again, this time smacking the tender curve of her lower buttocks. He caught her at the shoulder when she spilled forward slightly from the blow.

  “You have a gorgeous ass,” he said, his voice sounding low and husky. He smacked her again. “I approve of your running. Your ass is sleek and taut and plump. Ideal bottom for spanking.”

  She exhaled sharply as the paddle landed again. How was it that the burning sensation on her paddled ass was transferring to her clit? The nubbin of flesh felt hot and tingly. Ian landed another smack, and she couldn’t repress her cry.

  “Hurt?” he asked, pausing.

  She just nodded.

  “If it’s too much, you can say so. I will soften the blows.”

  “No . . . I can take it,” she said shakily.

  He abruptly reached across her and cupped her hip, then pressed his crotch against her. She gasped at the feeling of his large cock throbbing against the side of her buttock. “There,” he said. “That’s how much you please me.”

  Her cheeks flushed with heat. The burn at her clit amplified. He backed up and landed the paddle again and again with sharp cracking sounds. By the time he was ready to administer the final stroke, her ass felt like it was on fire. Perhaps he noticed the tremble in her thighs, because he murmured, “Hold steady” and his grip on her shoulder tightened. He pressed the paddle into her stinging ass, as if carefully aiming his final blow. He lifted the paddle and swung.

  A shout popped out of her mouth uncontrollably at the impact. He caught her as her body lurched forward.

  “Shhhh,” he soothed. “This part is done.”

  She cried out shakily as he turned the paddle and began to rub the fur over her burning bottom. It felt so good. The tingle in her clit had become a plaguing, burning ache. She longed to touch herself, apply pressure. Was the paddling at Ian’s hand responsible for her stark arousal, or was it the stimulation cream he’d applied? Just thinking of him rubbing the emollient on her clit with his thick, long finger made her moan. She felt feverish. Suddenly, he stopped stroking her ass with the fur and encouraged her to stand with the hand on her shoulder.

  She turned toward him at his urging, feeling strange . . . dazed . . . aroused. He was no longer holding the paddle. She just stood there, feeling overwhelmed, as he gently brushed her hair away from her face.

  “You did extremely well, Francesca. Better than I’d ever dreamed of,” he murmured, his thumbs brushed against her cheeks. “Are you crying because it hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why then, lovely?”

  Her throat was too constricted to speak. Besides, she didn’t know what she would say, even if she could.

  He cradled her jaw with his hands. Being overweight for most of her life, and tall for a woman, she usually felt huge and ungainly. But Ian was much larger than her. Next to him, she felt small, delicate . . . feminine. She suddenly realized his hands shook.

  “Ian, you’re hands are trembling,” she whispered.

  “I know. I suspect it’s from too much restraint. I’m doing everything in my power not to bend you over this very second and fuck you raw.”

  She blinked in shock. He seemed to notice and closed his eyes briefly, as if in regret at what he’d said.

  “I would like to spank you over my knee now. It would please me a great deal to have you lay in my lap, at my mercy. But you are very tender. If the paddling was too much, I won’t insist that we continue.”

  “No. I want to continue,” she whispered hoarsely. She looked into his eyes. I want to please you, Ian.

  His eyelids flickered. He continued to stroke her cheeks with the pads of his thumb, studying her closely.

  “All right,” he said finally, sounding resigned. “But come over to the fire first.”

  She followed him, but he detoured to the bathroom.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She waited by the fire, the heat from it combined with her body’s arousal creating a strange sense of lassitude and excitement. He returned a moment later carrying a large comb.

  “Let me comb your hair and let it dry a little by the fire.”

  She glanced at him in puzzlement. He gave her a small, sheepish smile.

  “I have to do something to calm myself down a little.”

  She returned his smile shakily and, at his urging, turned her back to him. The paradoxical sensation of relaxation and sharp anticipation grew as Ian parted her hair into portions, gathered handfuls of it and slowly, sensually drew the comb through it. Her head drooped.

  “Are you sleepy?” he murmured from behind her. His voice itself seemed to make her nipples prickle in awareness. The tingling burn on her clit was amplifying. Wicked cream.

  “No, not really. It just feels good.”

  He drew the comb from root all the way to the drying ends that hung just above her waist. “I’ve never seen hair the like of yours. Rose gold,” he mused gruffly. He caressed her tingling bottom, making her shiver, and exhaled as if in defeat. He set the comb on the mantel. “So much for the idea of that calming me down. Better just continue. Follow me.”

  He walked to the couch and sat on the middle cushion, his thighs slightly spread. He glanced down
to his lap in a silent command. Her self-consciousness returned with a fury. She was naked and he was clothed and she had no idea what she was supposed to do. She swallowed nervously when she saw his erection pressed against the crotch of his pants, the shaft of his cock running along his left thigh. Staring at the sight as if mesmerized, Francesca came down on the sofa on her hands and knees, bridging his thighs, then began to lower. He opened his hand along her ribs and hip, guiding her into the location he wanted.

  When she was settled, the lower swells of her breasts were pressed against his outer left thigh, her belly was draped across his thighs, and her bottom curved over his right thigh. He swept his hand along her waist, hip, and ass, and she felt his cock move against her ribs.

  “This is the exact position you will take for an over-the-knee spanking. Do you understand?” he asked, his warm hand now caressing her ass. The nerves there still prickled, not uncomfortably, from her paddling.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding at the same time. Her hair fell into her face.

  “There’s just one other thing,” he said. He carefully smoothed back her hair and gathered it at one shoulder. He lightly pushed with his hand at the back of her skull, and her forehead pressed into the soft fabric of the couch. “I will often blindfold you for a spanking—I want you to be totally focused on my hand, the feeling of your punishment . . . my arousal. But for now, keep your face down and close your eyes.”

  She clamped her eyelids shut and squirmed in his lap. She felt him go still.

  “What? Did that arouse you?”

  “I . . . I guess so,” she said, confused. She supposed he was right. A stab of lust had gone through her at his words. Why would that be? “It must be the cream,” she muttered.

  He resumed stroking her ass. “Let us pray it’s more than the cream,” he murmured, and she heard the smile in his voice. “Now stay completely still, or I will spank you harder.”

  He lifted his hand and slapped her right buttock, then her left, then her right in quick succession, the cracking noises echoing in her ears even when he paused. She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. He was obviously experienced at spanking; his strokes were precise, firm, quick but unhurried. He landed another flurry of blows, covering all of her ass and upper thighs. Her bottom began to burn in a different way than it had from her paddling. Ian’s hand created a slow, simmering kind of heat that resonated off her skin. She also learned quickly enough where he liked spanking her most—on the round lower curve of her buttocks. Every time he smacked her there, his cock lurched against her and she felt the tension leap in his thighs. His slapping hand grew every bit as hot as her ass. Heat resonated from his cock, as well, through the fabric of his trousers and into her skin.

  He landed a slap on the bottom curve of her ass, then suddenly grabbed the entire buttock and lifted his groin, grinding her against his cock. Her shaky moan mingled with his low, feral growl. Her clit went from a burn to a sizzle at the pressure and the sharp awareness of his arousal. She felt dizzy, fevered, like she was on fire from the inside out. She wanted nothing more than to twist in his lap and get pressure on her clit . . . to hump against his cock like a wild, shameless thing. He lowered his hips and resumed spanking her. When he paused after a rapid round of slaps and again molded a buttock greedily into his palm, her control broke.

  “Oh, Ian . . . no. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore,” she moaned, writhing in his lap. He stilled, her ass cheek still squeezed in his palm.

  “It’s too painful?” he asked tautly.

  “No. I can’t stay still anymore. I burn.”

  For an anxious few seconds, he didn’t move. Then he let go of her ass and slid his hand between her thighs. She whimpered in frantic agony when his fingertips skimmed across her outer sex. His cock leapt against her.

  “Christ . . . you’re soaking wet,” she heard him utter. He sounded stunned. She was too excited to be embarrassed . . . too far gone. She gasped when he put a hand on her shoulder, urging her upward.

  “Come here,” he ordered in a hard tone.

  Oh, no. Had she irritated him again? She pushed herself onto her knees with his assistance.

  “Straddle my lap,” he ordered.

  Her nearly dried hair scattered around her shoulders and back as she did his bidding. He placed his hands on her hips, settling her hot, burning bottom on his thighs. He smoothed her hair behind her shoulders, exposing her breasts. His gaze fixed on them, his upper lip curling slightly in a snarl.

  “Look at that,” he said under his breath. “Your nipples are nearly as red as your ass.” His gaze flickered up to her face. “So are your cheeks, Francesca . . . and your lips. You enjoyed being punished, lovely. And that pleases me so much. It’s going to be so good fucking your wet little pussy.”

  Her sex clenched painfully. He opened his large hands around her ribs and lowered his head, bringing her breasts to him. She tensed, expecting the delightful, forceful suck he’d treated her nipple to in the workout room, but instead, he pursed his lips slightly, kissing first one turgid nipple, then the other sweetly. “So perfect,” he whispered. His hands moved rapidly. Her excitement spiked when she realized he was unfastening his pants. He slipped just the crest of her breast between his lips, sucking lightly and whipping the flesh with his wet, warm tongue.

  Her clit sizzled, tormenting her. Her hips twitched in his lap. She couldn’t control herself. She clutched onto his head and made a wild, fevered sound in her throat. He lifted his head and glanced up at her face.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed, his blue eyes alight with lust. He moved his hand, sliding it down her heaving belly. She whimpered when he slid his finger between her creamy labia. He touched her clit. That’s all. One touch.

  She exploded like a cache of dynamite.

  She hardly knew what she was doing, so much pleasure swamped her existence at that moment. For a moment or two, he continued to stroke her clit as climax thundered through her. Distantly, she was aware of him cursing harshly and pushing her closer to his body, as if he wanted to absorb her shudders of orgasm. She shook against him, helpless in the face of roaring pleasure.

  He shifted his hand. She cried out when she felt him push a thick finger into her vagina.

  The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the couch next to Ian, and he was staring down at her as she gasped for air.

  “You’ve never been with a man. Have you?”

  Her soughing breath froze. It hadn’t really been a question but an accusation.

  “No,” she said, resuming her panting. Why was he looking at her like that? “I told you.”

  Fury sparked in his eyes. “When exactly did you tell me you were a virgin, Francesca? Because I sincerely doubt I would have let such a crucial piece of information slip my mind,” he snarled.

  “There—before we came into the room tonight,” she said, pointing stupidly at the door to his bedroom. “You asked if I’d ever done this before, and I said—”

  “I meant had you ever let a man punish you. Dominate you. Not—fuck,” he muttered in a blistering fashion. He stood jerkily and began to pace in front of the fireplace, raking his fingers through his short hair. He looked a little demented.

  “Ian, what—”

  “I knew this was a mistake,” he muttered bitterly. “Who did I think I was kidding?”

  Her lips parted in dawning shock. He thought this had been a mistake? He was rejecting her? Now? Fresh images and sensations bombarded her consciousness, memories of how wild she’d been, how out of control with lust and need.

  She relearned a painful childhood lesson at that moment, one that she would have done well to recall tonight. It caused no greater shame than to express need, to make oneself vulnerable, and then to have that pure, honest emotion thrown back at you as if it was garbage.

  Tears blinding her eyes, she reached desperately for the cashmere throw blanket at the corner of the couch. She whipped it around her naked body before she stood. Ian came to a
halt when he saw what she was doing.

  “What are you doing?” he barked.

  “I’m leaving,” she replied, stalking toward the bathroom.

  “Francesca, stop right this second,” he commanded, his voice quiet . . . intimidating.

  She paused and glanced back at him. Hurt and fury rose in her, tightening her throat. “You just lost the right to order me around,” she grated out.

  He blanched.

  She turned just in time to prevent him from seeing the gathered tears spill out of her eyes. Ian Noble had seen enough of her vulnerability for one night.

  He’d seen more than enough for a lifetime.

  Read more of Francesca and Ian’s red-hot romance in

  Part III of BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

  BECAUSE YOU HAUNT ME

  Available from InterMix on August 14, 2012

  Want to know what all the buzz is about? Keep reading

  for a taste of Beth Kery’s popular novel

  WICKED BURN

  Available now from Berkley Sensation!

  The goddamned walls in his temporary apartment residence might as well be made of cardboard, Vic Savian thought as he came into full wakefulness at the low, mellow sound of a voice emanating from the hallway. He’d never actually heard the mystery woman who lived across the hall from him speak, but he recognized her immediately, nonetheless.

  Weird. Just her voice made his cock stir and stiffen against the cool sheets.

  He’d seen her twice now, once in Louie’s—the steak-house located in the lobby of Riverview Towers. The other time they’d been alone on the elevator together.