Read When I'm With You Part III for Free Online Page A

position left her thoroughly exposed. She stilled when Lucien placed his hands on her shoulders. “Slide back some,” he said, his voice sounding thick . . . gruff.
    She moved back on the desk and her breasts spilled over the edge. Lucien made a rough sound.
    â€œPerfect,” he said. He gently struck her inner thigh with the hard edge of her
grand-mère’s
brush. “Spread your legs more.”
    She did so, suppressing a moan. He opened his large hand over her lower ass and lifted. Cool air kissed her damp, heated sex.
    â€œLucien,” she cried out shakily, not sure if the single word was a plea for him to stop exposing her pussy or for him to touch what he’d exposed. She experienced his stare on her like a burning touch.
    â€œGod,” she heard him mutter.
“Tu es belle.”
    You’re beautiful.
Her heart felt like it’d explode from her chest. It jump-started when he released her ass and swung the brush.
    â€œOw,” popped out of her throat. Her bottom smarted where he’d struck, but it’d been more surprise than pain that had instigated her response. He immediately replaced the brush with his hand, rubbing and soothing the stinging flesh.
    â€œTwo more like that.”
    â€œOkay,” she managed shakily.
    â€œHold steady.”
    She couldn’t stop herself. She turned her chin, still keeping her head on her folded arms, and watched him through a few curls as he swung, taut, powerful muscles flexing beneath his dress shirt. The brush made a cracking sound as it smacked her ass. She felt the burst of sensation and winced, gritting her teeth. Lucien’s gaze was fixed on her breast. She saw his nostrils flare as the blow shook through the suspended flesh.
    A groan burned in her throat. His stare leapt to her face. A spark of arousal seemed to leap between them.
    â€œTu es belle,”
she whispered between soft pants.
    His expression turned fierce.
    â€œDamn you, Elise.” He placed one hand on the back of her head and turned her, so that all she could see was her folded forearms and the cheap wood veneer of the desktop. Her thighs quaked. He’d sounded so . . .
something
just now. Was he angry?
    Suddenly, his hand was spread on her far hip and his body was on the other side. He pressed and rubbed the side of her ass against his cock, his actions frankly lascivious. Her eyes sprang wide.
    No . . . not angry. Aroused to the breaking point.
    She whimpered as he ground their flesh together, mounting the almost unbearable tension in their straining bodies. Her ass was trapped, sandwiched between his hard body and his strong hold. It was the tautest, most electrical moment she’d ever experienced or imagined in her life.
    The hairbrush landed with a crack. A cry popped out of her throat. Oh, how her ass burned.
    Something hit the desk. She lifted her head and saw the instrument of torture itself—the hairbrush—resting on the desk. Then his hand was rubbing her bottom, soothing her, even as his cock throbbed next to her hip. The moment was so full, so incendiary, she felt as if she couldn’t take a complete breath.
    â€œYour punishment is done. Stand up.”
    She tried to do as he’d said, but her flesh felt heavy and torpid with arousal. He moved back slightly to help her. She made a sound of protest in her throat at the loss of his primal heat resonating against her. But then he was helping her to rise, and his arms enclosed her.
    â€œLucien,” she mouthed through numb-feeling lips, turning her face upward.
    â€œI am here,” he said, his warm breath brushing against her mouth. He pressed her closer against him, overwhelming her with the sensation of his solid, powerful body. “You were very brave, accepting your punishment as you did.”
    â€œI’ll never let you do that to me again.”
    â€œYes, you will.”
    â€œYou’re right,” she whispered. Who was