When I'm With You: The Complete Novel (7 page)

“Yes,” she croaked.

“I will spank you with my hand twenty times. It will burn, but you need never fear that I will cause you any lasting harm. It isn’t my intention, now or ever, to harm you. Do you understand?”

No, she didn’t understand. She couldn’t comprehend anything that was happening. Why was she letting him do this to her?

Discipline. Need.

She recalled him saying those words last night and bit her lip, her anticipation more acute than she’d ever experienced in her life. Was it true? Was that the reason she’d come on her flagrantly rebellious mission today? Hadn’t he hinted what would happen if she stayed with him last night?

And she’d returned, determined to provoke him . . . into this?

“Elise?” he prompted.

“Yes, I understand,” she said in a choked voice.

He lifted his hand from her ass.

Smack.

She whimpered at the burst of sensation. He spanked her again, a brisk slap of skin against skin, and her eyes sprang wide.

Oh
. It stung, but it was also exciting to feel Lucien’s hand come into contact with her bottom, that quick flash of sensation. It was intimate, too, something about the secretiveness of what he was doing here in the midst of a business—the fact that she was
letting
him do something so personal to her, so illicit—was also thrilling.

She stared sightlessly at the blotter. His hand landed again and she suppressed a gasp, not of pain, but of an incendiary emotion she couldn’t name or control. It was as if his spanks were causing some friction in her, forcing something to the surface with his blows that she’d rather keep buried. He paused with his hand on her, his light caress almost as volatile as his punishment.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she grated out, hoping he heard the anger in her voice and not the other bewildering feelings brewing in her chest.

He spanked her again. She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. He knew what he was doing. His slaps were quick and brisk, meant to sting, not bruise or harm. He smacked her on the lower curve of her right buttock twice. A cry flew out of her throat. She shifted her hips instinctively, trying to avoid another swat on her prickling flesh. He bracketed her hips with his hands and kept her steady.

“Hold still, or you’ll earn more,” she heard him say, his voice thicker than before. Was he getting turned on? Arousal pinched at her clit for some reason. She crunched her eyelids closed in rising bewilderment. He rubbed the patch of flesh on her bottom as if in apology for making her nerves sizzle. Her ass felt hot beneath his big hand.

He smacked her again. She gasped. Distantly, she realized he’d turned on the stereo to muffle the sound of her spankings. His office was already remotely situated in the restaurant, the door was thick, and the luxurious furnishings and paintings likely muffled interior sounds.

Did he punish women in his office often?

The disconcerting thought fractured when he landed another spank. She was horrified when a tear burst from her clenched eyelids.

“Mario was right. You are a devil, Lucien Sauvage,” she accused, shifting her bottom. He popped the moving target with increased force.

“If you don’t keep your ass still, you will discover what a devil I can be.”

She bit her lower lip as she forced herself to still. He smacked her again. Her ass was on fire, and her pussy was growing wet. The nerves on her behind stung, but it was nothing compared to the pleasurable tingling of her clit. At the same time, she was truly humiliated by the fact that she was allowing Lucien to spank her bare-assed.

Yet . . . she wanted it. Needed it.

“Just get it over with, please. I can’t take much more,” she said brokenly when he paused to soothe her burning flesh with caressing fingertips.

“You will take what I give you.” He raised his hand again. The music swelled in her ears.

Smack, smack.

It was as if he were pushing something out of her with his punishment, building friction, trying to create a fire of feeling in her flesh. It was too much. Emotion exploded out of her. She shuddered uncontrollably.

Suddenly he was lifting her by the shoulders and she was in his arms. She pressed her hot, wet cheek against his silk tie and shook with feeling.

“I hate you. I hate you,” she muttered, not even sure what she was saying in her tumult.

“No you don’t,” he said quietly, his fingers moving gently in her hair, soothing her. “We are alike, you and I. Both alone. Both misfits. I struggled to escape the golden cage, too,
ma chère
. I’m trying to help you, if you’ll only listen.”

“Lucien,” she whispered, so much feeling infused into that one word, so much longing. She rubbed her cheek against his tie, drying unwanted tears. His clean, spicy, citrusy scent permeated her misery. So did the sensation of his hard body.

He was clearly, awesomely aroused.

She stilled at the realization, her misery fading. The inexplicable ache at her core amplified.

What would happen now?

His long fingers skimmed against her skin and he lifted her chin. She stared up at him, defiant even in her utter confusion. “I’m going to give you what you need.”

“I don’t understand you,” she whispered.

“Such a beautiful, wild thing, such a pure, strong flame,” he murmured, his gaze traveling over her face as he caressed the line of her jaw. “But you will burn yourself to ashes if left unchecked. You’ve been grasping for an outer limit to your world for years now, something to contain you. Now you’ve run into it. And I’m not turning away this time,” he said simply, skimming her cheek with his fingertips.

She stared up at him mutely. He leaned down and kissed her lips, his mouth so tender and so cherishing that she felt as if she were dreaming.

“Now bend back over the desk so that we can finish.”

She arched against him. She’d rather just skip the spanking, hot as it was making her, and possess what she’d desired for half her life. Who knew that she’d respond so strongly to a bit of kink? She wasn’t the only one responding. What she felt of Lucien—his size and hardness—made her fevered. She’d love to stroke and suck the awesome cock she felt pressing against his trousers.

“Do as I say,” he said, avoiding the come hither gyration of her hips, his gray eyes flashing, his tone hard. “Don’t try and grab control of this, Elise. Don’t test me. You’ll lose.”

She gasped at the realization that he understood precisely what she’d been doing with her seduction. She let him turn her in his arms, despite her sharp disappointment. He pressed gently at her lower back, prompting her to bend over. His hand moved up her spine, massaging, molding, working the muscles.

“So much tension in your muscles . . . so much pain,” he said quietly. He didn’t seem to be expecting a response, which was fine with her. She was too overwhelmed by his touch to speak. His hand brushed against her prickling, hot ass. Her clit pinched in arousal, the sharpness of her response shocking her. The anticipation was killing her.

“But why?
Why
are you doing this?” burst out of her throat, her voice going high in panic.

“Because I care,” he said. Her eyes sprang wide when he pressed his hand to her buttocks. Then it was gone, and she knew he was drawing his hand back in preparation to strike. Her sex clenched tight in anxious excitement. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t, Elise. And you wouldn’t be letting me if you didn’t know that.”

Read more of Elise and Lucien’s red-hot romance in

Part II of WHEN I’M WITH YOU

WHEN YOU DEFY ME

Available from InterMix on March 12, 2013

Keep reading for a sneak peek of the first

erotic serial romance from Beth Kery

BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

Available now from Berkley/InterMix

Francesca glanced around when Ian Noble entered the room, mostly because everyone else in the luxurious restaurant bar did the same thing. Her heart jumped. Through the crowd she saw a tall man dressed in an impeccably tailored suit remove his overcoat, revealing a long, lean body. She immediately recognized Ian Noble. Her gaze lingered on the elegant black overcoat draped over his arm. The random thought hit her brain that while the black coat was right, the suit was all wrong. He belonged in jeans, didn’t he? Her observation made no sense whatsoever. He looked fantastic in the suit, for one, and for another, according to a recent article she’d read in
GQ
, he was reputed to almost single-handedly keep London’s Savile Row thriving. What else would a businessman who was the scion of a minor branch of the British monarchy wear? One of the men who had entered with him reached to take his coat, but he shook his head once.

Apparently, the enigmatic Mr. Noble wasn’t planning on doing more than making a cursory appearance at the cocktail party he was hosting in Francesca’s honor.

“There’s Mr. Noble now. He’ll be so pleased to meet you. He loves your work,” Lin Soong said. Francesca heard the subtle note of pride in the woman’s voice, as if Ian Noble was her lover instead of her employer.

“He looks like he has far more important things to do than meet me,” Francesca said, smiling. She took a sip of club soda and watched as Noble spoke tersely on a cell phone while two men stood nearby, his overcoat remaining slung in the crook of his arm in readiness for a quick getaway. The subtle slant of his mouth told her he was irritated. For some reason, this all-too-human display of emotion relaxed her a little. She hadn’t revealed it to her roommates—she was known for possessing a ‘
whatever, bring it on attitude’
—but she’d been strangely anxious about meeting Ian Noble.

The crowd returned to their conversation, but the energy level of the room had somehow amplified with Noble’s arrival. Odd that such a distinctive, sophisticated man would become an icon for a tech-savvy, T-shirt-wearing generation. He looked to be thirtyish. She’d read Noble had earned his first billion with his breakthrough social-media company years ago, before he’d put it up for a public offering, made thirteen billion more, then promptly started another hugely successful Internet retail business.

Everything he touched turned to gold, apparently. Why? Because he was Ian Noble. He could do anything he damn well pleased. Francesca’s mouth curved in amusement at the thought. It somehow helped to think he was arrogant and unlikeable. Yes, he was her benefactor, but like artists throughout history, Francesca had a healthy dose of distrust for the patron shelling out the money. Sadly, all starving artists needed their Ian Nobles.

“I’ll just go and tell him you’re here. As I’ve mentioned, he was quite taken with your painting. He chose it hands down over the two other finalists,” Lin said, referring to the competition Francesca had won. The winner would be granted the prestigious commission to create the centerpiece painting for the grand lobby of Noble’s new Chicago skyscraper, which they were in. The cocktail reception in Francesca’s honor was being held in a restaurant called Fusion, a trendy, pricey restaurant located inside Noble’s high-rise. Most importantly to Francesca, she would be awarded a hundred thousand dollars, something she could sorely use as a struggling master of fine arts graduate student.

Lin magically materialized a young African-American woman named Zoe Charon to converse with Francesca in her absence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Zoe said, flashing an orthodontist’s dream smile as she shook Francesca’s hand. “And congratulations on your commission. Just think: I’ll be looking at your painting every time I walk into work.”

Francesca suffered an increasingly familiar pang of discomfort over her clothing in comparison to Zoe’s suit. Lin, Zoe, and just about every person at the reception in her honor were appareled in the height of sophisticated, sleek fashion. How was she to know that boho chic wouldn’t work at a Noble cocktail party? How was she to know that her brand of boho chic wasn’t
really
chic at all?

She learned Zoe was an assistant manager for Noble Enterprises, in a department called Imagetronics.
What the hell was that?
Francesca wondered distractedly as she nodded in polite interest, her gaze flickering again toward the front of the restaurant.

Noble’s mouth softened slightly when Lin reached him and spoke. A few seconds later, a detached, bored expression settled on his features. He shook his head once and glanced at his watch. Clearly Noble didn’t want to go through the ritual of meeting one of the many recipients of his philanthropic efforts any more than Francesca wanted to meet him. This cocktail party in her honor had been one of the onerous activities that accompanied the winning of the commission.

She turned to Zoe and grinned broadly, determined to enjoy herself now that she’d confirmed her anxiety about meeting Noble had been a waste of time.

“So what’s the deal with Ian Noble?”

Zoe started at her bald question and glanced toward the front of the bar where Noble stood.

“The deal? He’s a god, in a word.”

Francesca smirked. “Not much for understatement, are you?”

Zoe broke into laughter. Francesca joined her. For a moment they were just two young women giggling over the most handsome man at the party. Which Ian Noble was, Francesca conceded. Forget the party. He was the most arresting man she’d ever seen in her life.

Her laughter ceased when she noticed Zoe’s expression. She turned. Noble’s gaze was directly on her. A hot, heavy sensation expanded in her belly. She didn’t have time to draw breath before he was stalking across the room toward her, leaving a surprised-looking Lin in his wake.

Francesca experienced a ridiculous urge to run.

“Oh . . . he’s headed this way . . . Lin must have told him who you were,” Zoe said, sounding as bewildered and caught off guard as Francesca felt. Zoe was more practiced in the art of social elegance than Francesca, however. By the time Noble reached them, all traces of the giggling girl were gone and in its place stood a contained, beautiful woman.