Grounded (Up in the Air, #3)(24)

He covered every inch of my back with strong kneading strokes, all the way down to my toes, before he flipped me onto my back. He began the same treatment at the front of my shoulders, taking his time, relaxing every part of me as he worked down. When he reached my sex, he plunged a finger into me. I was wet, of course, and he worked that flesh with sure strokes, using his other hand to part my legs wide, drawing my knees up into my chest. I gasped and tensed as he used his other hand to breach my other entrance again, working a lone finger in slowly, not stopping the smooth strokes at my sex with his other hand.

“You see why you need to be relaxed?” he asked me, leaning close as those wicked hands worked together to bring my overwhelmed body so much pleasure.

I did see; the other penetration more alarmingly intense than I would have guessed. It wasn’t even about pain, but more about the oddness of it, the strange fullness in a place where perhaps it shouldn’t be, whereas having him fill my sex only ever just felt right. Still, I didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want him to let up. The strangeness gave the act an almost forbidden quality that the perverse part of me relished, as it did all of the taboo things James was attracted to.

Both fingers moved inside of me, working together, and he had me gasping out another orgasm with consummate skill. Before I’d even come down from that blissful trip he was shoving another finger into each entrance, one cleft getting hard thrusts, the other a gentler, easier touch, just working inside and making delicious little circles.

“Relax and push out, yes, like that,” James said, jamming the fingers inside of my sex harder and rougher until I came again.

He pulled one set of fingers out, using that hand to shift me back onto my stomach and dragging my hips until my legs hung off the edge of the table. He moved his hips against me from behind, bringing a hand to the front of my neck and applying a light pressure.

“Don’t move,” he said. I heard him walk away, knew he left the room, heard a door down that daunting hallway open and close, then open again. Short minutes later he was at my back, moving close behind me, parting my legs to get close.

I felt something warm and hard and vibrating brush my clit and I knew it wasn’t a part of James.

“James,” I protested, as he worked my clit with that too intense pressure.

“Shhh,” he said, moving the vibrator from my clit, teasingly over my cleft. He dipped it in once, and then again, holding it inside of me while he worked another well-lubricated, softer object into my other entrance. I knew it wasn’t him because it was smaller, and though it was firm, it wasn’t hard enough.

“James,” I said again, my voice more urgent this time.

[page]He worked the toy into me slowly, the vibrator in my sex still embedded deeply. “Relax.

“It’s too—“

“Yes, you want my cock, I know. Relax for this and I’ll give you what you want.” He growled, and I tried to obey him, tried to relax around those two strange pressures.

I felt like I was just growing accustomed when he pulled it out and replaced it almost immediately with his cock. It was so slick, but also so much bigger than the other. But it was James, and I found that my body submitted much more quickly with that knowledge. He worked in slowly.

He dragged the vibrator out of one entrance even as he pushed himself into the other. I heard a ‘thunk’ as he dropped it to the floor, bringing his now free hand to the front of me, circling my clit.

He began to thrust when he was nearly in, small thrusts that went a little deeper with each movement, but never pulled all the way out. I whimpered. The feelings were strange, but still not precisely painful, more of a stretching that felt like it went too far.

“James,” I cried as his fingers worked and his thrusts got bigger and faster.

“Say it, Bianca,” he said into my back, then bit hard enough to leave marks. I thought that the bite was to distract from the fact that he was pounding into me now, and that it did hurt. But pain had never been a deterrent to my own pleasure, and I came, a hard release that left me limp.

“I’m yours, James,” I gasped. “Yours.”

He emptied himself inside of me, lingering long enough to kiss my back and soothe me before pulling slowly out of me.

He picked me up, cradling me. He carried me down the gray hallway. He slipped into one of those dark, mysterious rooms, and as he turned on the light, I saw that the room closest to the playground was just a large bathroom with an insanely large white tub.

“Since our other tub is blue at the moment, I guess we’ll be using this one,” he said, a smile in his voice.

I giggled, a little delirious from what felt like a hundred orgasms.

He carried me into the tub, arranged me until I was straddling him, my cheek pillowed against his delicious chest, and started the water.

He stroked my hair and I sighed in pleasure as the hot water slowly covered us. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so relaxed, so deliriously content to just lie down and enjoy the moment. I had been restless since I could remember, always having the instincts of a runaway, always anxious that the next moment would bring something bad, and it felt so good to just let that anxious part of me go, and savor something so wonderful.

I was lost in my own thoughts, practically purring against him, when I looked up.

His face was a carefully blank mask.

I stroked his cheek with a hand. “What’s wrong, James?” I asked.