“Look how truly beautiful you are, Brielle. I’ve regretted the ugly callous and very untrue things you overheard me say to Jean-Claude every single day since I told those lies. No one, for me, will ever compare to your beauty. You have to be able to hear the honesty in my voice. I know you’re afraid of this marriage, but I swear to you, I’ll make you happy. I know what you need and I can give you those things. I want to be the man to give you everything you ever need or want.”
She shivered. He had no idea and she hadn’t been courageous enough—or idiot enough—to admit to her real needs. The cravings that ran deep and would eventually begin to gnaw at her. His voice alone could trigger that hunger inside her and he didn’t even know it.
He placed her hands on the marble surface and then very gently put the flat of his palm between her shoulder blades and applied pressure until she bent over.
She’d dreamt of just such an encounter with him. How did he know? How could he? In nothing but stockings and heels, in a steamy room with Elie commanding her every move. Her entire body trembled.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. His hands slid from the nape of her neck all the way down her spine to her bottom. “Stay still for me while I get your clothes off.”
Once more, he cradled her cheeks and then began stroking and kneading the firm flesh. He took his time exploring, literally following the curve around the sides and down around the bottom and in between, separating each cheek, using his thumbs and fingers to slowly trace the lines of her body as if memorizing them. Then he crouched down, his hands running down the backs of her legs to her high heels. Very gently, he untied the bows and removed first the left one and then the right. When she stepped out of them, he held each foot in his hand for a moment and stroked the sole before setting it on the floor. She was definitely three inches shorter without the heels.
Elie nudged her legs apart and reached up to unsnap the silk stockings from the garters, slowly rolling them down her legs. There was nothing hurried about his movements. She found herself shaking so badly, she could barely hold herself up. His every action was purely sensual and yet, at the same time, almost casual. Everywhere he touched, it felt like a flame on her skin, a brand of ownership.
This time, as he removed the stocking from her right leg, he placed her foot on his thigh, up high so she felt the scorching heat emanating from his groin. His fingers kneaded the sole of her foot and moved over the top of her foot and ankle before placing it on the floor at least a shoulder width apart from her other leg. Then he lifted her left foot and repeated the same action.
Her entire body reacted to the way he undressed her. She could barely breathe, air moving raggedly through her lungs. Her breasts felt heavy and achy. Her nipples were hard pebbles, standing stiffly, pulsing and hot with need. Her sex felt as if he’d lit a match to her. She was slick, her thong soaked. She told herself she would not be embarrassed. He was deliberately seducing her and he was good at seduction. If she got nothing else from her marriage, at least she hoped to get outstanding sex.
“You’re moving,” Elie reprimanded softly. His hands paused at the tiny string that was her thong. “I believe I told you not to move.”
“I know,” she whispered. “It’s much more difficult than I thought it would be.”
He was silent, his fingers curled around the band of her panties. She closed her eyes and tried not to groan when she realized the meaning he might construe from her simple explanation. Why had she spoken at all? She needed to keep her mouth closed, not blurt out anything at all. She already had made a big enough fool of herself.
She didn’t realize tears were leaking out of her eyes until she felt the wetness on her arm where she rested her head. A shudder went through her body. She didn’t know how to feel. Just not like this. Needing him. Wanting him. Terrified he’d discover her secrets and she’d be humiliated and unable to ever live with herself.
“Shh, bébé, everything is going to be all right. I take care of what’s mine. And you’ve always been mine. Always, Brielle. You were meant for me. And I was always meant to be your man.”
Elie leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the back of her knee and then reached for the silver knobs on the faucet to turn them off. Instantly, the loss of sound seemed to magnify her labored breathing. Her breath seemed to saw raggedly in and out of her lungs while she couldn’t hear a sound coming from Elie. It was only his touch that allowed her to know he was there.
He would know she was crying. How could he not? She was such a mess while he was in complete control. She wanted to collapse onto the floor right on top of her useless wedding gown—the one she’d chosen with such care to give herself some much-needed confidence. Now what did she have? Nothing. She had nothing at all.