Grounded (Up in the Air, #3)(21)

“Sore how? From the roses?” I asked, painting an idle pattern down my shin, then back up my calf.

“I know you’re sore from the roses. I saw the marks on you. I’m talking about inside. Are you too sore for rough f*cking?”

“Hmmm. Only one way to find out,” I told him.

I moved over him, straddling his thighs, skimming over his quivering erection, finally settling myself against his taut stomach. I traced the brush over one perfect cheek. He tilted his face up to give me better access. I’d thought I’d done the color of his eyes justice, but as I saw the paint set against that tarnished color, I saw that I hadn’t even come close. His had little gold flecks around the iris, and his eyes were paler, a paleness that pierced, as though being lighter somehow gave them more substance.

“You have the most beautiful eyes in the world, James.”

He hummed in pleasure. He soaked up every little compliment I gave him like a sponge, which always surprised me, since I couldn’t imagine that he didn’t hear things like that every day.

I painted a thin line down his nose, then along his perfect jawline. I dragged the brush down his neck to his collarbone. I lingered there, enjoying just looking at him. I could never get enough of the sight of his skin, and no matter how much I got, I still felt deprived.

I painted little circles all over his right pectoral muscle, loving the hard and supple play of muscle under his skin.

[page]I leaned forward to kiss the red Bianca over his heart before I painted there. As I bent forward, I felt his cock between my ass cheeks and I arched against the hard length, making solid contact. I circled my hips, rubbing my wet sex against his stomach, my butt against his twitching erection.

“When are you going to take me here?” I asked him, grinding back against him. “You said you would take every inch of me.”

He grabbed my hips, stilling me to do his own grinding. The tip of him dragged along my lower back as his length moved against my butt.

“Do you want that?” he asked. “I’ll hurt you more than I’m willing to if I just ram in with no prep. I plan to make you come so many times that every muscle in your body is relaxed before we try that.”

I rubbed against him. “Hmmm. That sounds nice.”

He let out a choked laugh. “It won’t be nice. It will be a lot of things, but not that.”

I moved my brush along his torso. He was so much more fun to paint than I was, with so many more angles, defined lines, and hard ridges. I loved the spot just below his chest, where a deep line defined the spot between his muscle and his ribs. And his abs. God, his abs.

My hips made little involuntary circles against him as I moved the brush lower and lower, over the rock hard ridges of his abdomen. I had to move my own body to work lower, and I groaned as I passed over his cock again on my way down. I rose high to rub my wet sex there. I groaned but kept moving to straddle his thighs. I shivered with pleasure when I saw his wet tip.

I painted his hips, and that perfect edible V, stroking my brush just shy of his jutting cock. When I began to paint slow circles on his thighs, brushing up against his scrotum, he snapped.

Hard hands gripped my hips, drawing me abruptly over his member. He let go. “Take me inside you,” he rasped.

I worked him into me slowly, enjoying the stretch as I pushed every perfect inch of him deep. A powerful shiver wracked my body when I was finally seated to the hilt.

James took the palette and brush from me, and after dipping the brush, began to paint me with leisurely strokes. The paint on my skin was already beginning to dry, and the wet paint he spread over me dragged deliciously over the first coat.

“Ride me,” he ordered.

My body began to move into a posting trot naturally. The exaggerated movements were perfect with his long, thick cock.

“How do your wrists feel?” he asked, moving the brush along a taut nipple.

“Good,” I said, my voice low and thick.

He snagged one of the wrists in question, studying it and then bringing it to his lips. “Good.”

He bucked against me suddenly, jostling me just enough to make me clench deliciously around him.

He groaned and gripped my hips, unseating me completely and sprawling me onto my back.

He stood above me, leaning down to hook a finger into the ring at my collar. He pulled me up slowly, carefully, until I stood beside him. He gripped my hair, pulling my head back. We watched each other for long moments. I honestly couldn’t tell which was driving him tonight, the Dom or my tender lover, there was such a mix of feelings in his eyes.

He broke eye contact to drag me to the window, one hand pulling my hair, the other my collar. He pressed me hard against the window, crushing my breasts against the cold glass. I gasped and shivered.

He pressed my palms to the glass, spread out wide from my body.

“Don’t move an inch,” he told me, moving away.

I saw him move to a spot on the wall beside the large window, then heard the whir and clank of something grinding metal. That sound made me think of the contraption he had used on me on the fouth floor, when he’d held me suspended to flog, and then f*ck. I loved that sound.

I shifted a little, wanting so badly to look around, to see what had made that noise. As it continued and got louder, I realized it was directly above me. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to look up.

I felt James move behind me again and then he was lifting my arms. I felt firm padding against one wrist right before the solid click of a handcuff held it captive. He pushed some sort of bar into my palm. “Grip,” he ordered. I gripped the bar tightly. He repeated the process on my other wrist, moving back to that spot on the wall just at the edge of my vision.