Mile High (Up in the Air #2)(50)

I recognized the room immediately. It was the faux hot springs room. One of the attendants followed us in. “May I help you with anything, Mr. Cavendish?” she asked, her voice nervous.

“Yes. Please make sure we’re not disturbed until we’ve finished in here.”

They were at my back as they spoke, and I looked resolutely at the low pools, a hot blush coloring my face. I knew what would be assumed, of course. I didn’t even know myself what James had planned.

“Of course, Sir. Please let me know if I can further assist you.”

I heard the door shut just as she finished speaking. The sound of the door clicking closed echoed in the huge room.

James was silent for a long moment, his hand heavy on my neck.

“You seem tense,” James told me in a sort of offhanded way, his voice almost disinterested. He removed his hand, and I heard clothes rustling behind me. I held me breath, trying intently to hear what he was doing.

“Take off your clothes, Bianca,” he ordered, still in that offhanded way.

I did, my hands shaking a little. I didn’t know why I was so nervous, I’d had sex with him more than once that very day, but I was nonetheless. I just never knew exactly what he had planned.

“Go sit on the edge of the pool. Put your legs in the water, just up to your knees,” he told me, still in that disinterested tone.

I sat at the edge of the water, leaning back on my hands, watching him.

He was completely naked as he took the steps into the shallow pool. The water came just to his hips, his arousal clearly visible above the water. I trembled, biting my lip as I watched him.

He dipped into the water, just up to a spot right below the tattoo over his heart, standing up straight again almost immediately. All of the wet spots on his body were slick and dripping. My mouth watered. He ran his hands over his slick torso, watching me as he touched his abs and stroked his chest. The plastic covered patch over his heart was the only thing he left untouched.

He glided towards me, hips moving directly between my knees when he drew close. “What does it do to you, when you see someone else put their hands on me?” he asked. “Even the most casual touch. Does it make you crazy? Do you feel like you might do something insane, or even violent? Does it make you sick, deep in your stomach? Does it make your chest hurt, and your insides clench? Does a red haze overtake your vision? Do you lose all ability to be civil, or even form a coherent thought?” He moved against me as he spoke, his mouth speaking directly into my ear, his tone so cold it made my whole body shiver with a delicious kind of fear. He was in a mood, and he had plans for me. I just knew it. And it was nothing I could predict.

“Answer me,” he said, biting my earlobe with enough force to make my back arch, pushing my br**sts into his slick chest.

“Yes.”

“Yes to what? Which of those things happens when you see someone else’s hands on me?”

“All of it. I can’t even trust myself, it makes me so crazed. I don’t recognize the person I become when I’m jealous. It’s nothing I’ve ever had to deal with before. I hate it.”

He was adjusting my body as I spoke, bringing my hips to the very edge of pool, which made my words even more breathless and desperate.

He poised himself at my entrance. “Good,” he said, his voice still cold, but with anger now. He entered me, having to work himself in slowly at that angle, my hips right on the edge of the pool.

“Why is that good?” I asked him on a little moan, my eyes going to his as he penetrated me. I had been well conditioned. My eyes couldn’t seem to look away from him now when he was inside of me.

“I want you to feel what I feel. I want you to know what that does to me, what it’s like to feel jealous and covetous. And now you do.”

One of his hands, which had been at my hip, moved up to my neck. He circled it, squeezing lightly.

“Grab my wrist with your hands,” he ordered.

I obeyed.

“If you look away from me, I’ll let up,” he told me. “But I want you to scratch me while I choke you. I want you to try to rip my hand away. I want you to struggle, but don’t look away unless it’s too much.

That will be your safe word, since you won’t be able to speak.”

I nodded, trembling and watching his beautiful eyes.

He used his other hand to push my legs wider apart as the hand at my neck began to squeeze. He thrust slowly in and out of me, but they were heavy thrusts, and so deep.

My hands began to tug at his hard hand at my neck, and I dug my nails into that thick wrist, hesitant at first, but as the pressure increased, I raked at him desperately, lightheaded with the sensation. My head fell back, and he perched me back like that, his hand squeezing and releasing in time to his heavy strokes.

My vision started to get a little hazy, and that’s when he would let up, beginning the drugging process all over again. I hadn’t realized my neck could be such a source of intoxicating pleasure, not in that way. My very pulse seemed to throb in time to his rhythm inside of me. I did what he told me and struggled against him, particularly his hand and wrist, but not one inch of my body wanted him to stop. The choking and the struggling was a marvel to me.

I saw with clarity that I loved to struggle against him, loved to fight him wildly, my efforts not even straining him, not even slowing his purpose. His sheer strength floored me. I relished it.