Mile High (Up in the Air #2)(40)

“I never thought I’d have the urge to f**k someone to death,” he muttered.

I giggled.

He gave me a little smirk as he led me back to Princess. He helped me mount, and I turned quickly, wanting to see him execute his own perfect mount once again. He did so effortlessly, taking the lead as we headed back to the ranch.

“Did you need to get back to Vegas today or tomorrow?” James asked, glancing back at me.

I grimaced, thinking about it. “Tonight. I’d hate to push it and hit bad weather.”

He sighed with resignation. “Okay. We’ll have lunch and head out.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We were heading back to Vegas in way too short a time. So much had happened in our short reprieve.

James had weakened my resolve to keep my distance in that way he had, with his persistence and his willpower. He was not a man to be deterred. And for whatever reason, he seemed resolute in his desire to be with me. And wanting me for something more permanent than I’d ever thought he would even consider. Living together didn’t terrify me, as marriage did, but I couldn’t say that I was even approaching comfortable with it.

We were both quiet for the drive, and then the flight. I didn’t mind. I had a lot to think about, and James seemed lost in his own thoughts, not even getting his laptop out to get some work done on the flight.

“We’ll stay at your house tonight,” James said, as we touched down in Vegas. It was the first thing he’d said in an hour. I studied him. He seemed a little distant, a little sad.

“I’m having some work done on my place,” he explained. “I’ll finally give you a tour of the property sometime next week.”

I just nodded, but he hadn’t been asking me a question.

We went to bed early that night. James could see that I was exhausted from the riding and the traveling, and oh yeah, the phenomenal f**king.

He did his kinky little exam of my body. It had become a habit of his. I felt well enough, mostly tired, and a little sore, but he insisted on checking every inch of me. He softly kissed shadow bruises still on my ribs and back, the abrasions on my wrists and ankles, and even turned me around to check my butt, for soreness from the saddle. He studied my sex last, his eyes heavy-lidded as he touched me ever so gently, fingers sifting through my folds.

“You’ve got to be the kinkiest wannabe doctor on the planet,” I told him with a half smile.

His mouth turned up faintly at the corners. He took it as a challenge. The comment seemed to inspire him to be kinkier.

He’d brought a glass of ice water into the room, and he grabbed it from the beside table, taking a long drink. One of his hands still held my inner thigh, keeping my legs pushed wide apart and my body pinned to my spot right at the edge of the mattress.

He bent, burying his face between my legs. I gasped as he pushed an ice cube inside of me with his clever tongue. He lapped at me like a cat for a moment before straightening again. He took another long drink, repeating the process. My hands fisted in his silky hair, begging him silently for release, but he took his time. He stroked me, and licked me, and sat back, just to look at me, again and again. He pushed a finger into me, thrusting, but I wanted more.

“Please, James, I want you inside of me.”

He bit the bottom lip of that pretty mouth, but didn’t respond, just kept up the process.

I was shivering, chills wracking me from both desire and the delectable feeling of cold ice inside of me.

He had shoved five cubes in deep.

He took another ice cube and began to run it along my belly, circling my navel in almost lazy motions.

Next he ran the ice up along my ribs, then traced my sternum. My ni**les were already pebbled long before he’d payed them any personal attention. I shivered and shuddered as he finally circled a quivering nipple.

The ice wasn’t the only cold thing he’d brought into the bedroom with us, I realized after endless minutes of his teasing. His very demeanor was cold tonight, his eyes icy as he worked on me slowly, torturously.

“Am I being punished?” I asked him finally, when he held back from letting me come, pulling his busy fingers out of me just short of release.

He smiled, and even the smile was cold. “Not exactly. This is only a lesson, Bianca. I’m doing this to you for one simple reason. Because I can. This is what it means to be my submissive.”

I writhed at that, his calculated actions bringing out a shivering fear that, perversely, made me want him even more.

“Will you be f**king me tonight? Or is this all a tease? Because you can?”

In answer, he buried his face between my legs again, his tongue circling my clit, his fingers going back to work inside of me. I felt the ice cubes clink together, and I moaned, right on the edge of orgasm. He straightened, leaving me bereft.

He stood, stripping out of his boxer briefs in one smooth motion. He was hard. At this point, I would have been more shocked if he wasn’t. He stroked himself, looking down at me with that hard, stony expression. I bit my lip as I watched him stroke himself, once, twice. I was sobbing on his third stroke, drawing my legs up to my chest, wanting to touch myself, anything to ease the ache that the ice inside of me only antagonized. I pushed my legs down, lifting my hips into the air in a silent plea.

He stopped abruptly. “No,” he finally answered. “I’m punishing myself tonight, so I won’t be f**king you. Only you get to come tonight.”