In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(62)
Both of the flights we worked were agonizingly slow.
The only interesting thing about the day was that the Agents were back, following exactly the same routine that they had on the previous turn. Stephan reassured me that he would fill out another report on the strange behavior, just to cover bases, but we decided, after some debate, that the two men must be investigating the airline.
I didn’t call or text James during our short time on the ground. I wasn’t sure he wanted me to, so I decided to err on the side of caution. I had no missed calls or texts, so I figured that was the safest bet. Though my ear had picked up a strange line of conversation from one of the Agents as he was exiting the aircraft. “Yes, Sir, she is well. There were no problems. No one bothered her at all.”
I began to get an inkling of a paranoid idea, but I immediately brushed it off as batshit crazy.
Even eccentric, filthy rich people aren’t that insane, I told myself.
Agent #2, whose name on the manifest showed James Cook, gave me a warm smile when I handed him his fifth bottle of water.
“Here you go, Mr. Cook,” I said, smiling back. As strange as this pattern was, he was really a very pleasant passenger.
“Thank you, Ms. Karlsson,” he responded, and I froze. He would know my given name, but there was no reason in the world why he should know my surname. It wasn’t on my name tag.
I looked at him squarely. “How do you know my last name?” I asked him frankly.
He looked a little sheepish, as though it had been a slip. “It’s my job, Ma’am.”
I told Stephan of the exchange. He looked baffled. “Do you suppose we are being investigated?”
“I think it might be James…” I said quietly, revealing my paranoid theory.
Stephan grimaced. “I’d like to say that was impossible, but I can actually picture James doing something like this. Are you going to ask him?”
I sighed. “At some point. I’m not sure I want to deal with the answer. I’m not ready to break things off just yet.”
Stephan gripped my shoulder. “Breaking things off isn’t the only solution, Bianca.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, but I didn’t agree or disagree with him.
I texted James almost immediately when we landed in Vegas, turning on my phone while we taxied in.
Bianca: We’re back in Vegas. Taxiing in right now.
He responded almost instantly.
James: Good. I’ll be at your house when you get there.
And he was, not startling me this time when he stepped out of the dark SUV, since I recognized it now.
I waved goodnight to Stephan. James met me at my walkway, his hand going possessively to my nape. He was uncannily silent.
I let us in, kicking my shoes off at the door and putting my flight bag back in it’s spot on a small table by my bedroom door.
James was still a silent presence behind me. I felt a shiver of fear stroke down my spine. In this mood, would he really hurt me? What had I gotten myself into, becoming so intimate with such a stranger? Furthermore, becoming intimately violent. I had gone too far to go back. Hadn’t I?
I felt disgust with myself for even considering it. I would regret it if I never discovered what lay down this path, a path that had always secretly fascinated me. But the fear was strangely persistent with such a silent, cold man at my back.
My father had always done the most damage when he was done screaming and became the cold monster that haunted my nightmares. A picture of his expressionless face, covered in blood, flashed into my mind, making me shiver. His cold blue eyes flicking to me with an almost absent-minded warning. And how sick was I, that James, in his cold, dominant persona, was the most irresistible to me?
I made a note to get back in touch with my neglected therapist. But even with all of my dark musings and spine-chilling fears, I never even considered asking James to leave.
I wanted to face this, to feel brave when so often my bravery had fled me, and I had simply run in terror, leaving someone else to take the damage.
“Get on the bed. On your back.” James’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
We had been standing in the dark for long minutes in total silence. I did it, and just the act of submitting made me relax a fraction in relief. It was all in his hands now.
“Lift up your skirt,” he told me. “More. All the way to your waist. Good.”
He turned on the light and approached me, dragging my hips to the edge of the mattress and positioning my heels there in what seemed to be his examination routine.
He knelt, his still, stony face lowering between my legs.
I shivered.
He made a little tsking noise when he saw the moisture there. He touched me, holding up two wet fingers.
“Is this all for me?” he asked blandly.
I swallowed and just nodded.
“I’d like a proper answer.”
“Yes, Mr. Cavendish,” I tried, not really knowing what he wanted.
“Tell me if you feel any tenderness at all,” he ordered, sliding a finger inside of me slowly. All of the soreness was gone, leaving only an achy pleasure, and I squirmed.
He slapped the side of my ass, hard. “Don’t move.” He continued to stroke me, touching every inch, circling his finger.
“So f**king tight. Unbelievable,” he muttered. It was the closest to thawing that I’d witnessed from him since he’d gone cold at dinner the night before. A second finger joined the first, stroking along every part of my walls, looking for any rawness.