Mile High (Up in the Air #2)(55)

He was a generous man. I had never doubted it. But I had never given him credit for being so generous with his emotions and feelings. They were things I never would have realized I needed so desperately until he’d lavished me with them, and then suddenly taken them away. How long would I feel the loss?

How long would he put me through purgatory? It had only been hours so far that he had left me wanting, but I didn’t know that I could bear much more of it.

I wanted to bask in the sun again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“We’re going directly to my house,” James told me as he walked with my crew through the airport.

He wasn’t touching me, but pulled my bag. He would barely look at me, though his tone and posture seemed relaxed.

I had gone past the point of only wanting him to make me come, to ease the ache that traveled from my tortured ni**les and directly to my sex. Now I wanted his affection, his attention. I wanted him to hold me. It made me almost angry, that he would make me so needy with so little effort on his part. But even anger didn’t change the wanting.

It took me a moment to process his words. We were trailing behind my crew. Melissa cast me sharp glances, as though we were slowing them down. I ignored her. It seemed the best way to deal with her in general.

“I could get into trouble for that,” I told him, my voice pitched low. “We’re supposed to ride with the crew to the hotel, and check in there.”

“I spoke to Stephan. He looked it up in the manual. The exact wording is, ‘at the discretion of your lead’. Stephan is your lead. He gave you the thumbs up. You’re coming with me.”

I didn’t argue, didn’t respond. I wanted to get to his house. I didn’t know what he had planned, but I was sure that the sooner we got there, the sooner this torture would end.

I waved goodbye to most of the crew at the curb, only giving Stephan a quick hug and kiss.

“Call me if you need anything, Buttercup,” he said into my ear, then let me go.

I scooted in close against James, nearly touching hips when we got into his town car.

I spoke into his ear, since the privacy screen was down and I didn’t recognize the driver. “This is more than delayed gratification. You’re depriving me of every part of you. You’ll barely look at me.”

“Not in the car,” he said, looking out the window and dismissing me.

I felt stung.

“What is the punishment for touching you?” I asked him after several minutes of complete silence. I was past the point of only wanting to please him. If it was a punishment I could stand, I was willing to risk his displeasure. He had brought me to that point.

“A simple one. If you touch me, I won’t touch you,” he said, his tone idle.

It was like a slap in the face. I averted my face, tears stinging my eyes. It felt like a rejection, something I’d never experienced even a hint of from James.

It was a long and silent drive into Manhattan. The clamps on my ni**les were a constant ache. I had resorted to trying to hold perfectly still, since every movement further agitated the sensual torture.

I wanted to say mean things to him, hurtful things that might goad him into touching me, but I refrained. I didn’t want to cause him to stay this withdrawn from me. I knew that the more I cooperated, the sooner I would get my James back.

Finally, the unfamiliar driver dropped us off in the underground garage I’d been in once before, on my first visit to James’s Manhattan penthouse.

He took my suitcase out of the trunk, inclining his head at us. “Sir, Ms. Karlsson. I’ll be here at 9:00 p.m to pick you up for the charity event.”

James just nodded, dismissing the man. He pulled my suitcase to the elevator, still barely acknowledging my presence.

I lowered my chin, my posture rigid, standing very still in my work heels. My gaze seemed glued to his navy dress shoes. They were sexy. I thought sullenly that even his feet held a sort of elegance.

The elevator car arrived, the door sliding open silently. James stepped inside.

I hesitated, still just watching his feet, wanting some sign from him that he even remembered my presence.

He sighed, the softest sound, and reached a hand to me. I watched, transfixed, as his hand went to the collar of my work shirt. He used one finger to fish out the hoop at my throat. He managed not to touch even an inch of my skin, pulling me forward by just that diamond-studded circle. He led me into the car, keeping his finger crooked into my collar as he slid in his card, pushed the button, and we began to ascend.

“My perfect little submissive,” he murmured, and that was all. I sopped up even that little bit of his jaded attention.

He led me into his opulent home by that one finger on my collar. I was as lost in the maze of rooms as I had been the first time, as he led me to the kitchen. He only let go of the collar when we encountered an unfamiliar woman prepping food next to the oversized stovetop. She was plump and middle-aged, with light brown hair and kind brown eyes that I noticed the moment she turned to greet us.

She smiled. It was a good smile, warm and sweet. “Mr. Cavendish, Ms. Karlsson, good morning. How was your flight?”

“Very good, thank you. Bianca, this is Marion. She’s our new housekeeper and cook.”

I blinked my eyes a few times, wondering if I was seeing things when she bobbed us a little curtsy. “I’m looking forward to working for you, Ms. Karlsson. It’s nice to finally meet you. Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”