In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(29)

“Are you touching yourself?” The purr had an edge to it now.

“No,” I said, because I just couldn’t admit it, even though I couldn’t stop. What came over me when I got into this man’s orbit?

“Do you remember what I said I’d do to you if you lied to me? I believe that’s three times now. Don’t make yourself come. Your cunt is mine, and so is your pleasure. You’re not allowed to come unless I say so.”

I just moaned.

This time his voice barked at me. “If you don’t get into your car this second, I’m coming there, and then I won’t let you come for hours.”

I was obeying, letting my dress drop and grabbing my purse, moving swiftly to my garage.

He didn’t say another word, just hung up on me. I pulled up the GPS on my phone and started to drive.

There was almost no traffic, so I made it there in an even fifteen minutes.

As I pulled up to the massive gates surrounding the palatial compound he called a house, they swung open immediately, then closed behind me.

I loved my car. It was a 2008 civic, a very reliable little car, and I’d gotten a great deal on it. But it sat out in the Vegas sun when I went on trips for several days a week, and the black paint job had become faded. I suddenly became conscious that a car like mine would stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.

I tried to shrug it off. This affair was going to be brief and memorable, and I didn’t need to waste a second of it worrying about our drastic lifestyle differences.

I parked as close as I could get to the elaborately carved front door in the massive circular drive. There were no other cars in the driveway. I figured they were parked in the huge attached garage that seemed larger than my entire house.

The front door opened before I took even one of the steps that led up to it. I froze when I saw James.

He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of black athletic shorts with white stripes down the sides. His torso was a work of art, his golden skin ripped up by tight muscles along every inch of it’s long, lean length. I couldn’t see a hint of hair on it, and I had a feeling it wasn’t from waxing.

His shorts hung dangerously low on his lean hips. His hips and his sexy pelvic muscles stuck out starkly, shaped into a defined V, and I wanted to lick every inch of him. His shorts were baggy, and the shadows weren’t in my favor, so I couldn’t make anything else out below that but knees, calves, and feet. Even those were spectacularly sexy, long, with starkly defined muscles running along his calves.

“Get in here,” he said by way of greeting, his voice gravelly and rough. I’d been standing and just ogling him for a good five minutes.

I obeyed, just brushing past him. He sucked in a harsh breath at our almost contact.

“I had dinner ready, but that’s going to have to wait. You’re a little minx, you know that?”

I didn’t know that, so I just shook my head, looking around at his intimidating entryway.

I sooo don’t belong here, was my first thought, as I eyed up all the marble floors and clean columns, and the double stairway leading to the second floor. It was beautifully decorated in desert colors, with heavy, expensive looking vases and artwork.

“I gave my entire staff the night off, so we’re quite alone,” he told me, as though that was my concern. The thought of his staff hadn’t even occurred to me.

I walked up to one of the stairways, running a finger along the heavy dark wood of the rail. The room had the feel of a modern twist on a southwestern decor theme. It was tasteful and lovely, but I just felt overwhelmed.

I didn’t like the idea of being with someone this rich. Someone who I had nothing in common with. I forgot for a second what I was even doing there.

James stepped up behind me, not touching, but unbearably close, and I remembered then. Oh yeah, that.

“Where’s your bedroom?” I asked bluntly. Perhaps it would be less intimidating than what I had seen so far. I highly doubted it.

A strong hand fell on my nape, squeezing, then massaging. I leaned into the contact. Even his simplest touch was pleasurable.

He grabbed my hair there, pulling the strands together into a ponytail. He used it like a handle. Or a leash. He pulled me, not ungently, up the stairs by it. My chin lifted up with his handling. It was firm and controlling, but with no pain. Yet.

We passed by eight doors in the long hallway to his bedroom. His room was on the very end, the door already opened.

He took me just inside of it, stopping to let me take it all in.

The room was softly lit and colossal. Double doors opened into a well lit bathroom on the opposite side of the room. The walls were a medium taupe, the colors themed to the desert, similar to the rest of what I’d seen of the house.

His bed was massive. I’d never seen a bed like that. It had to have been custom made. It had a massive four poster frame, made up of heavy dark wood that was intricately carved and nearly reached the high ceiling.

It was topped by a heavy, latticed top of the same wood. It was patterned and carved into a piece of art. It was beautiful and frightening. It was a bed made for beauty and pleasure. And bondage and pain.

I picked out the more alarming little details slowly, as I took in the entire massive bedroom. Restraints were hanging, attached to the latticed top. And more were fastened to the posters themselves, laid out neatly against the crisp white sheets.

“Are those ropes?” I asked in a breathless voice. There was some kind of cushioned ramp in the middle of the bed, in a sandy beige that matched the carpet. I wasn’t sure what it was for.