In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(73)

“It means anything we want it to. What it means to me is that I want you to belong to me, and that you will submit to me, and trust me to dominate you how I need to.”

I had no idea how to respond to that, but I didn’t have to for a moment as the elevator opened and I was pulled swiftly into James’s sumptuous apartment.

It was a frivolously open space, considering the usual New York cramped living spaces. I could see that it had at least three stories just from the entryway.

He had chosen a clean, modern decorating style, with floors lined in a stark gray hardwood and glass walls interspersed throughout. Heavy vases and expensive looking artwork added most of the color to the mostly gray, neutral space. The splashes of color were vivid, brought out exquisitely against the lack of color, as though the floors and walls were meant to be the perfect frames.

“It’s lovely,” I told him as he pulled me through the opulent space without pausing. As we passed through room after room, I marveled at the size of the place.

“Do you like it?” he asked, still pulling me along. He was glancing into doorways as though he was looking for something.

“Yes. You have impeccable taste.”

He flashed me a grin. “Yes, I do,” he said, giving me the warmest look, and I blushed. “I’m glad you like it.”

He approached a large open dining room. It had a spectacular view of central park. He drew me to the window.

“Stay here,” he told me, walking through a closed door to my left. I heard him speaking to someone in the next room. Staff of some sort, I noted, from the snippet of conversation I could hear.

I felt overwhelmed by his home, but still appreciative of it’s beauty. I ran a finger along the gleaming dark gray top of the heavy, colossally large table that dominated the room.

I admired the huge arrangement of flowers in the middle of the table. It was a mix of vibrantly colored orchids, displayed in a short, square, intricately carved crimson vase.

I was studying the extravagant view of central park when James reappeared a few minutes later, holding a thin square box and smiling.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Mr. Mercurial

He took my hand and began to lead me again. “I’ll give you the grand tour later,” he muttered, hurrying. He led me up both flights of stairs, then down a long hallway.

“I seem to only get to see very specific parts of your houses,” I responded archly.

He sent me a conciliatory smile. “I’ll make it up to you. Later.”

He pulled me into a room that I could see was the master bedroom just from the monumental size of the bed. The blinds were opened to the same amazing view of the park as the dinning room, just a few stories higher. The window lined nearly an entire wall of the room, floor to ceiling. The bed was a more modern take on the one he had in Vegas, with cleaner lines, but I was sure it had the same function by the cage-like top and thick, square posts. The hues in the room were a mix of bright, varying shades of green, accented with white, with starkly dark wood dominating all of the furniture and the floor. With an entire wall framing a spectacular view of the park, it had the feel of an indoor forest.

“It’s amazing,” I told him honestly.

He smiled, pleased with my reaction.

I noticed a small door with no handle near the open bathroom. It was conspicuous because there was a lit panel with a button beside it. I pointed at it. “Is that an elevator?”

His smile turned wicked. “Yes.”

“I didn’t realize the apartment had an elevator.”

“It has a few, actually. But that one goes somewhere special. I’ll be showing you soon. First, I want you to get on your knees and close your eyes.”

I sent him a startled look. He had switched gears without blinking, as usual. It was hard to keep up with his changing moods.

I knelt, obeying him because we were in his bedroom, and it was just so natural to let him rule me here.

I closed my eyes. After a few heartbeats I felt something cool being placed against the very upper edges of my collarbone.

James straightened the collar of my uniform, shifting it around.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “You can wear it to work.” He tucked what felt like a slightly rough circle of some kind against my chest.

“Okay, open your eyes,” he said finally.

I did, and he pulled me to my feet, leading me into a large, softly lit closet. The closet was twice the size of my bedroom, with expensive men’s clothing lining the walls. It smelled divine, like James himself.

He positioned me in front of a large floor-length mirror, and began to undress me without a word. He undid my tie first, politely hanging it on a hanger. He showed me a large, bare rack in the closet. “This will be for your things. If you run out of room, I’ll make more for you.”

I was a little stunned at his assumption that I would be keeping things here.

“I would very much like for you to use my personal shopper to buy a wardrobe for you here in New York, so you don’t have to move your things across the country. She should be getting in touch with you in a few days.”

“That’s silly. I don’t want you buying me clothes,” I told him, trying not to get angry. “It feels too much like being kept.”

He sighed. “It’s just clothing. I thought we had decided that you weren’t going to balk at gifts.”