In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(75)

The elevator began to move, descending smoothly.

“How far down does this thing go?” I asked him, after it seemed like we had gone impossibly far.

“Just four floors.” The elevator finally stopped, opening slowly.

James tugged me out. “Welcome to the 4th floor, Bianca.”

We entered a plain gray hallway first. The floor was smooth gray wood. It was clean and flawless, but starkly monotone.

It feels like a dungeon, I thought with a shiver.

We passed by two rooms before we entered the door at the end of the hall. I wanted to ask what the other rooms were, but I was suddenly terrified, my mind running wild with strange possibilities, feeling transported into another century. For all I know, he could have other women in them.

The thought stopped me, and James had to tug harder to get me to follow him this time.

“This is not the place to be obstinate, Bianca.”

“Yes, Mr. Cavendish,” I said, a tremor in my voice.

What was the worst that could happen? I asked myself, trying to talk myself out of my sudden, disproportionate terror.

He positioned me in front of him, giving me a full view of the huge, dark gray room that he’d led me to. He waited patiently, giving me time to process what I was seeing.

It was indeed a playground. It was a BDSM wet dream, from what I understood of what I saw. Chains, whips, shackles. Various torturous looking devices were set up in stations around the room.

My attention seemed to focus first on some sort of swing to my right. It was a series of leather straps and metal that fascinated me. I shifted towards it without thinking.

James followed my gaze and my movement. “So you like the swing? We can start with that. Since it’s your first time on the 4th floor, I’ll let you pick. I’m feeling generous today.”

“Are you going to punish me?” I asked, my voice breathless.

He just tsked at me, pulling me towards the swing. “If you disobey me in here, I will punish you. Until then, consider this just a lesson. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Cavendish.”

He positioned me just in front of the swing.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, grabbing my wrist and fastening it with a thick leather cuff. He pulled it tight with it’s belt loop fastenings. He tested it to be certain it was nice and snug. The material touching my wrist was soft as down, whereas the leather on the outside of the cuff looked stiff and unyielding. He fastened my other wrist with sure, economical movements. He placed my hands around a metal bar above my head.

“Lift yourself,” he ordered.

I did, and he settled thick supportive straps against my lower back and my ass. He knelt down to my ankles, and I watched him fasten similar leather restraints to the ones at my wrists there. He cinched restraints just above my knees, as well, though they were a softer, more pliable material. The area just above my elbows got the same treatment.

He straightened, then began to adjust all of the straps above me. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted, his hands moving from one to the next with no hesitation.

Finally, he stepped back, shrugging out of his suit jacket and loosening his tie impatiently.

“Let go of the bar,” he ordered.

I hesitated, feeling as though I would just spin to the floor if I did so.

“Now,” he barked.

I hesitated just a fraction longer, but let go. I felt weightless as I fell back. The straps caught me in a strangely light embrace, the strap against my back and butt more comfortable than I would have imagined.

My arms were suspended nearly even with my shoulders. My back was arched, displaying my chest and stomach decadently. My legs were splayed wide, my sex exposed.

I tried to close my legs, at least a little, but it was impossible. The ropes held them tight.

James approached me, placing my feet into soft stirrups that parted my legs impossibly wider.

I whimpered low in my throat.

He just pulled at my nipple clamps lightly before stepping away.

I saw him unbuttoning his dress shirt impatiently as he strode behind me. I tried to turn my head to watch him, but I was suspended too tightly for that. I thought this must be what a fly felt like when it was caught fast in a spider’s web.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Mr. Wonderful

I couldn’t tell where he went from my prone position, but it sounded like he’d gone to the other end of the room.

He was gone for several agonizing minutes before I felt him behind me, stepping close enough for his now bared chest to brush my back.

“Just a taste. For not trusting me when I told you to let go,” he whispered in my ear before adjusting the strap at my ass until my backside was fully exposed to him.

Something slapped against me hard enough to make my eyes sting with tears. He repeated the action twice before he readjusted the support strap until my butt was again covered, and my sex was exposed.

He circled around until I could see him again. He was shirtless and shoeless now, but his slacks remained on, his erection straining against his fly. The expensive cloth against his perfect, bare skin made his muscular physique even more starkly apparent, his muscles bulging as he folded his arms and stood, legs apart, just looking at me.

His eyes were hungry, but so stern.

He held a rectangular paddle in his hand casually. It reminded me of the kind they used to say were used at schools for punishment, though this one was black.