Her head fell back against his breastbone. It felt divine, the friction from his rubbing finger optimal. Her clit began to sizzle beneath his touch. Her hips ground against the pressure. He pressed her tighter against him, so that she could feel his cock throbbing against her lower back and hip. He’d been right about how wet she was—she could tell by the easy slide of his finger. She could even hear him moving in the lubricated flesh. How humiliating.
How exciting.
She subtly gyrated against him, growing wild with mounting arousal, her teeth clenched tight. She couldn’t seem to stop it. He pleasured her more knowledgeably than she pleasured herself, something about his restrained strength and obvious skill creating a riot of bliss in her flesh. Her entire body grew rigid, and her nipples tightened almost painfully, making her wish he’d touch them, pinch them to ease the sharp pressure.
“Damn you,” she muttered brokenly.
“Come,” he demanded. The music swelled in her ears, cresting.
She clamped her eyelids shut and shook in delicious release.
“That’s right,” she heard him say, his voice seemingly both far away and so close it was like he was inside her head. “One day you’re going to come like that while I’m buried in you, and it’s going to feel so incredibly good.”
His hand continued to work between her thighs, stimulating her until she sagged against him, panting. Her eyelids opened sluggishly a moment later when she felt his hand slow and stop.
For a moment, she didn’t move or breathe as he cupped her outer sex in a possessive gesture and she felt his cock pulse against her, hard, heavy and more than ready.
He released her. She whimpered at the sudden loss of his heat.
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice sounding rough. She watched as he strode across the office to a closed door. When he jerked it open, she realized it was an entrance to a bathroom.
The door snapped shut behind him.
He came out a moment later as she finished fastening her pants. She studied him anxiously from beneath lowered eyelashes as she pulled down her smock. His short, thick hair looked sexily mussed. The strands at his temples and nape were damp, as if he’d splashed his face and neck with water. She felt as if she had suddenly been transported to a strange country and didn’t understand the language. She didn’t know how she was supposed to respond to him. None of her former experience with sex had prepared her for this.
“Why don’t you go and wash up as well,” he said, his tone softer than she would have expected, given his palpable tension level and obvious continued arousal.
Elise welcomed the opportunity for temporary escape from Lucien’s disturbing, compelling presence. She didn’t want him to know how stupid she felt, how inadequate. She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. The cheeks of the woman in the mirror shone red. Her eyes shone. It was another novel experience, seeing her reflection after she’d been so undone by desire.
How could she possibly feel so humiliated at what Lucien had just done to her, and yet be so turned on by it at once? And why, despite her anxiety about what Lucien would do next, did she also experience a strange calmness after what he’d done . . . a newfound steadiness.
You can do this, Elise. You can handle Lucien Sauvage. You’ve talked dozens of powerful men into doing precisely what you want.
None so formidable as Lucien.
She clamped her eyelids shut, silencing the annoying self-conversation in her head.
What had occurred in Lucien’s office was so alien to her, so powerful, the only way she could think to handle it was to ignore it. She would plow forward with her plan. Lucien had admitted to wanting her, after all. She wasn’t entirely weaponless.
She washed and exited the bathroom, her chin up. He remained standing, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for her to return. He’d turned down the stereo in her absence. His eyes gleamed from beneath a lowered brow as he studied her.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” she said almost flippantly, glad to hear her voice sounded even. Let him think she’d been spanked dozens of times, just like he believed she’d fucked half the men in Paris. She would not tip her hand and reveal her vulnerability. She would not let him know that he’d just rocked her world, or that she had no idea precisely how he’d done it.
“Are you finished keeping me in line?”
“For the time being.”
“Good. Can we talk about my job now?”
Her clear, melodious voice replayed in his mind again and again. He shook his head once as if to dislodge it.
“You haven’t got a job,” he said.
“Let me work here until you get another chef. You need the help, Lucien. You can’t close the restaurant for days on end. Think of all the money you’d lose. If that doesn’t matter to you, think of your disappointed customers.”
His jaw ached when he unclenched it. It was a wonder to him Elise couldn’t see his body shaking. He vibrated with barely contained lust. He didn’t want to have a rational conversation with Elise Martin; he wanted to bend her over his desk and fuck her until every logical thought in his brain was incinerated by a glorious, explosive climax at her farthest reaches. Perhaps he shouldn’t have punished her. The recollection of her courage in accepting it—the memory of her plump, pink ass—would undoubtedly drive him over the edge into madness.
No, he’d been right to punish her. He knew that on some gut level. He’d sensed a serenity to her, a strength, that was compelling to behold. She did require some kind of limit to her world. Lucien had understood that since he was twenty-one years old.