Because I Could Not Resist (Because You Are Mine Part 2) (4 page)

“Get in the car or don’t,” he said, his voice less harsh than before. “I just want you to know what will happen if you do.”

“You’ll punish me?” she clarified shakily. “What . . . like
spank
me?” She couldn’t believe she’d just uttered those words. She couldn’t believe it when he nodded once.

“That’s right. Your transgression has earned you a paddling, too. I’d give you more if you weren’t a novice at this. And it will hurt. But I’ll only give you what you can take. And I would never,
ever
harm or mark you, Francesca. You’re far too precious. You have my word on that.”

Francesca glanced at the lights of the distant tattoo parlor and back at Ian’s face.

This was a madness she couldn’t resist.

He said nothing—just closed the door after her when she got into the passenger seat of his car.

Chapter 4

The elevator door slid silently open, and she followed him into the penthouse, experiencing equal parts trepidation and excitement.

“Follow me to my bedroom,” Ian said.

My bedroom.
The words seemed to echo around her skull. She’d never been in this wing of the enormous condominium, she realized distractedly. She trailed behind him, feeling like a schoolgirl that had been caught red-handed. The undeniable anticipation she felt seemed to hint at something she couldn’t quite fathom; somehow, she knew that if she crossed the threshold into Ian’s private quarters, her life would change forever. As if Ian understood this, he paused in front of an ornately carved wood doorway.

“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he said.

“No,” she admitted, wishing her cheeks didn’t flame. They both spoke in hushed tones. “Is that all right with you?”

“It wasn’t at first. I want you so much, I’ve had to come to terms with your innocence, however,” he said. She lowered her lashes. “Are you
certain
you want to do this, Francesca?”

“Just tell me one thing first.”

“Anything.”

“When you called earlier tonight . . . while I was in the car? You never said why you were calling.”

“And you’d like to know?”

She nodded.

“I was here alone in the penthouse. I couldn’t work or concentrate.”

“I thought you said you were going to be entertaining.”

“I did say that. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No one else would do.”

She inhaled raggedly. It did something to her, to hear him be so honest.

“That’s when I went into the studio and saw what you’d painted yesterday. It’s brilliant, Francesca. All of the sudden, I knew I had to see you.”

She dipped her head farther to hide how much pleasure she felt at his words. “All right. I’m sure.”

It was he who hesitated, but then he reached and twisted the knob. The door opened. He waved his hand and she entered the room cautiously. Ian touched a control panel and several lamps glowed with golden ambient light.

It was a beautiful room—sedate, tasteful, luxurious. A couch and several chairs were arranged in a seating area before a fireplace immediately before her. A stunning flower arrangement of red calla lilies and orchids in an enormous Ming vase had been placed on a table behind the couch. Over the fireplace was an impressionist painting of a field of poppies; if she didn’t miss her guess, it was an original Monet.
Incredible
. Her gaze caught on the huge four-poster carved bed to the right decorated, like the rest of the room, in a rich brown, ivory, and dark red color scheme.

“The lord of the manor’s private quarters,” she murmured, giving him a shaky smile.

He waved at another paneled door. She followed him into a bathroom that was larger than her bedroom. He reached into a drawer and withdrew a folded garment wrapped in clear plastic. He set it on the counter.

“Go ahead and shower and put on this robe. Only the robe. Leave all your other clothes. You’ll find everything you require in these two drawers. You smell like stale smoke and whiskey.”

“I’m sorry you disapprove.”

“I accept your apology.”

Her temper flared again at his quick reply. A small smile tilted his mouth when he saw the return of her defiance. He’d obviously expected it.

“You please me, Francesca. Beyond measure.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise at the compliment. Would she ever learn to read him?

“But you must learn to please me in the bedroom,” he said.

“I do want to,” she said quietly, surprising herself by her candor.

“Good. Then to start, I’d like you to shower and put on this robe. When you’ve finished, come out to the bedroom, and I’ll administer your punishment.”

He started to walk out of the bathroom but paused. “Oh, and wash your hair, please. It ought to be a crime for all that glory to smell like an ashtray,” he muttered under his breath before he exited, closing the door behind him with a brisk click.

She just stood there for a moment on the pristine marble tile floor. He thought her hair was glorious? She pleased him? How could he possibly be having thoughts like that about her? How could he kiss her until she thought she’d spontaneously combust and yet look at her at times like she was about as interesting as the paint on the wall?

She showered thoroughly, enjoying the experience more than she’d thought she would. The glass-enclosed stall steamed up quickly, the tendrils of warm mist seeming to caress and kiss her naked skin. It was nice to lather up with Ian’s hand-milled English soap, cover herself in his clean, spicy scent. Fortunately, she’d shaved before she went out to McGill’s, so she didn’t have to worry about hairy legs.

Would he spank her while she was naked?

Of course he would
, she answered herself as she slid open the glass door to the shower and exited. He’d told her point blank he wanted her naked beneath the robe. She extricated the garment now from the plastic wrapping. Was it brand new? Did he keep a supply of robes on stock for the women that he “entertained”? The thought made her a little sick, so she shoved it out of her brain, focusing instead on finding a comb for her wet hair, deodorant, a new toothbrush, and a bottle of mouthwash. Everything was arranged so neatly in the cabinet that she took special care returning the items to their proper places.

She folded her clothes and set them on an upholstered stool. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention. Her image stared back at her, her eyes looking huge in her pale face, her long hair hanging damp. She looked a little scared.

So what if I
am
scared?
she thought to herself. He’d said he was going to spank her and that it would hurt. She’d agreed to his apparent warped sexual practices because she wanted Ian so much.

It came down to which was greater: her fear or her desire to please Ian.

She walked toward the door and opened it. He sat on the couch, a tablet in his lap. He set the device on the coffee table when she walked into the room.

“I lit a fire for you,” he said, his gaze running over her from head to foot. He was still dressed in the same clothing he’d been wearing when he’d barged into the tattoo parlor—dark gray tailored pants and a blue-and-white button-down shirt. His long legs were crossed negligently. He looked utterly at ease. The light from the fire flickered in his eyes. “It’s cool tonight. I didn’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling awkward and uncertain.

“Take off the robe, Francesca,” he said quietly.

Her heart skipped a beat. She fumbled with the sash and drew the robe off her shoulders.

“Set it down there,” he instructed, pointing to the chair next to her, his gaze never leaving her. She draped the garment over the back of the chair and stood there, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, studying the intricate pattern of the Oriental carpet beneath her like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Look at me,” he said.

She lifted her chin. There was something in his gaze she’d never seen before.

“You’re exquisite. Stunning. Why do you look down, as if you’re ashamed?”

She swallowed thickly. The embarrassing truth came unstuck from her throat. “I . . . I used to be overweight. U
ntil I was nineteen or so. I . . . guess I still have the confidence of my former self,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

A subtle of-course expression flickered over his bold features. “Ah . . . yes. But you seem so sure of yourself at times.”

“That’s not confidence. It’s defiance.”

“Yes,” he mused. “I understand now. Better than you might think. It’s your way of telling the world to go fuck itself for ever having the gall to look down its nose at you.” He smiled. “Bravo, Francesca. It’s time you learned how beautiful you are, though. You should always control the strengths you have available to you; never let them languish or, worse, allow others to be the ones to control them for you. Come stand before me, please.”

She went to him on shaking legs. Her eyes went wide in confusion when he picked up a jar sitting on the cushion next to him. It was so small, and Ian had filled her senses so completely, she hadn’t noticed it before. He unscrewed the cap and put a small dollop of the thick white substance on his forefinger. Glancing up, he noticed her bewilderment.

“It’s a clitoral stimulant. It increases the sensitivity of the nerves,” he said.

“Oh, I see,” she muttered, even though she didn’t.

His gaze dropped between her thighs. Her clit pinched with arousal, his stare stimulant enough. “I’m very selfish when it comes to you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I always give a submissive pleasure if she pleases me. I’m not usually concerned if she feels it while she’s being punished, however. She might have to endure it to get her reward. I find I’ve . . . changed my tune a bit with you, however.”

“Submissive?” she asked weakly, her brain sticking on that part of his reply.

“Yes. I’m a dominant when it comes to sex, although I don’t require elements of bondage or dominance to get me turned on. It’s a preference for me, not a necessity.” He sat forward on the couch so that his dark head was inches from her belly, his nose near her sex. She watched as he inhaled and then briefly closed his eyes.

“So sweet,” he said, sounding a little undone.

She had no time to prepare for what he did next. He boldly plunged his thick finger between her sex lips and rubbed the cream thoroughly on her clit, his touch sure . . . electric. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out as concentrated pleasure shuddered through her. “Tonight, I’ll punish you, and I won’t lie. I’m going to enjoy it. Very much. But I want you to feel pleasure as well. Your nature will determine most of that, but this cream will help to swing things in the right direction,” he said as he continued to massage the emollient onto her clit. He glanced up and saw her bewilderment. “I won’t have you trained to fear this. I don’t want you to loathe your punishments. In a word, I don’t want you to fear me, Francesca.”

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.”