Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(9)

"Y-yes please.  Oh, yes."

She was on the edge, and I was right there with her when I clipped, "Come, Bianca."

She fell apart, and I fell with her.

I stayed up all night.

I'd worn her out, and she slept like a baby.  I'd worn myself out, and somehow it wasn't enough.  I wanted, needed more.

I left the bathroom light on, door open, and left the room illuminated enough to watch her, touch her, and stare at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

This, this was what my agnostic mind pictured the spiritual mind feeling when it attended confession.  A leaking out of all that was bad and a flowing back in, a joyful inhalation, of the most substantial life-sustaining nourishment.

So much of this ritual had become a habit; one that I knew was designed in part to avoid intimacy.  If our bodies were temples, the things I did to my subs were meant as sacrilege.

This was not that.

This was beyond the ritual, beyond the habit.  I had wallowed in her, basking, reveling, and in my revelry, I had slaked beyond my physical thirst and delved into another need entirely.

This was different.

This was intimacy.  This was sacred.

I couldn't get enough.  I couldn't stop, even when I knew it should be enough, that I was overusing her unused body.

Somehow, I knew, just knew, deep in my gut, where certainties held the most sway, that I would never have enough of her.

I was lost.  I was found.

I, James Cavendish, unrepentant dominant, sexual deviant, and prolific slut for more years than I cared to count, was in love.

I'd taken her virgin body, but just as surely, she'd taken my virgin heart.

CHAPTER FIVE

MY DESPAIR

PRESENT

To believe in that perfect love, and your whole life know that it isn't for you, that what you've been shaped into makes it fundamentally impossible, then one day you blink, and there it is, someone so perfectly formed to complement your own complicated needs.

It was heady, a rush like nothing else.

And like all highs, the low was more than its match, a despair so harsh, the teeth it sunk in me so jagged and sharp it had my breath dragging in and out like it was a physical affliction that ailed me.

I bent over her sleeping form, waiting for her to wake up.

Even I couldn't have said at first if I was merely holding vigil or outright praying, but it was a fact that that is exactly what it turned into.

It brought to mind something Tristan had said to me once, just after his rehab days, as he'd been coming to terms with the things he'd lost, and I hadn't been able to hide my surprise about his newfound need for spirituality.

'I get that it's not for everybody, but it's helping me,' he'd explained.  'God doesn't need us, James.  You don't have to believe in him to keep him relevant.  That's not the issue.  We need him.  Listen, I'm not saying I have all of the answers, but I have enough to take it a day at a time.

I have lost so much, and I have only myself to blame for it.  I could destroy myself with the guilt of that.  Trust me, I have that inside of me.  But by some miracle, I did not do that, instead, I opened my heart and my arms and begged for help, and that's when I realized:  God doesn't need us, but when we need him, no matter what we've done, how far we've fallen, or how long it takes us to find him, he's still there for us.'

At thirty, bent over with the weight of my heavy burdens, more exhausted and weary than I'd ever been, taking up residence on an uncomfortable chair in a Vegas hospital, for the first time in my life, feeling wretched and despairing, I opened my heart and arms and found some small bit of peace as I waited through the hardest hours of my life.

CHAPTER SIX

MY MADNESS

PAST

I felt so stripped of every normal, rational part of me with her that it was almost unpleasant at first.

Like air on a fresh wound.

I had so little control of myself where she was concerned.  It was madness like I'd never known.  Trembling urgency.  Crippling desperation.  Undiluted frenzy.  Savage abandon.

It was an alien feeling, and I wondered sometimes why I didn't fight it.  Why I didn't withdraw from it, why I never even considered staying away.

I couldn't quite believe how much I'd lost it, couldn't understand this total upheaval of who I was, this assault on my peace of mind, and most of all, couldn't comprehend how I could love it, crave it, need it so.

"Hello," I answered my phone.

"Who's your best friend in the world?" Frankie's voice called out gleefully to me, on the other end of the line.

I smiled.  "You are, of course.  What's got you sounding so tickled, my dear?"

"If you liked me before, you're going to love me after you meet this new sub I found for you.  She's perfect, James.  Right up your alley, and you know I know your type."

I stiffened, blinking slowly.

It wasn't so unusual.  Frankie had introduced me to girls before.  She was more involved in the scene that accompanied our lifestyle than I was.  But the timing was off.

In fact, after what had happened last night, it was horrible.

She kept talking, not noticing right away the significance of my utter silence.  "Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes.  Twenty-six and trained by the best.  Body to die for.  She's smart and sweet, too.  It'll be a nice change for you."