In Flight (Up In The Air #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mr. Insatiable

He was back quickly with the desert. It was served in a heavy glass goblet, and he held the spoon up to my mouth for a bite.

“Mmmm,” I said, smiling at him, my mouth still full.

Unexpectedly, he bent down and kissed me. It was so different from the tone of the meal we’d just shared that I almost pushed him away, startled. Instead, I made myself hold still, kissing him back tentatively.

This was the part that was easy between us, I thought. None of the rest of it made any sense to me, but this part felt damned near too perfect.

He was lifting me onto a clear spot on the massive black table before I could blink. His towel was gone, my dress pushed up in a flash.

“Are you too sore?” His voice was a rough murmur against my lips.

“I can’t imagine being too sore for this,” I told him, reaching down his body to grab his thick arousal. I stroked him with relish, and he thrust into my hand. I ran my hands up his torso, then along his muscular arms, then back up to his shoulders.

“You’re body is perfect. I can’t believe you really are tan everywhere.”

He smiled, enjoying my appreciation of his body. “My mother was half-Italian and half-Cherokee, though she had no family left to speak of by the time she was eighteen. It was quite the scandal, to my father’s purely English family, when they married. My extended family all have the pasty white English skin you’d expect.”

I laughed. “Pasty? What about me? Am I pasty?”

He bent down, nuzzling at my neck. “Your skin is creamy perfection.”

I finally got a chance to touch him, stroking his back, his stomach, studying his incredible body with awe while I ran my hands across it.

He snagged one of my busy hands, pulling it up to his lips to kiss my wrist. He studied it intently, and I saw the imprint of rope marks there. The threads were a distinctive pattern, as though he’d marked me, temporarily, with his own special brand.

“I love seeing this on you,” he murmured thickly against my skin.

He spread my legs wide, pushing me down flat against the table. He poised that overpowering erection at my entrance.

I shuddered as he paused, my eyes closed.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his dominant voice surfacing again. It had faded to something softer and more charming since immediately after the first time we’d had sex. I’d missed it. I obeyed him.

“Watch me. I’ll punish you every time you look away from me when I’m inside of you.”

I nodded.

“Ask me for it,” he ordered, his hand moving to stroke his impressive cock.


“Please, Mr. Cavendish, f*ck me.” I loved saying his surname, sounding out the three syllables as though they were a prayer.

He groaned, and he did. The first heavy thrust had my sore insides quivering, but it wasn’t unpleasant. And as he pulled out, and plunged in again, a deep sound tore from his throat. I forgot about all soreness entirely, pleasure pulsing through my entire body and building at my core.

His gaze was ardent. “Does it hurt?” he asked without pausing in his punishing rhythm.

“It’s perfect,” I answered, my voice thick with passion.

He kissed me roughly. My eyes closed briefly, until he pulled back to watch me again. I didn’t think I’d get a punishment for it, since he’d closed his, but I didn’t really care at that moment.

“Come,” he ordered me, and just like that, that all-consuming passion swept over me, my core rippling with an intense orgasm, my inner muscles clenching him impossibly tight.

I made a conscious effort to keep my eyes on him the whole time, and the effort payed off. It was exquisitely gratifying to watch his face as the fervor swept him, his piercing stare intensifying on me. It gave me an extraordinary feeling, being on the receiving end of such a stare. It made me feel like I was more important than air to him for a brief, profound moment. I felt enthralled in that moment. It was intoxicating.

“Stay the night. I promise I won’t let you sleep in or be late to work,” he said, catching me in a weak moment. “Just tell me what time I need to set the alarm for.”

I closed my eyes, nodding slightly. “Okay.”

He kissed my cheek in the sweetest way. “Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t respond. He still hadn’t pulled out of my body, and he didn’t now, just wrapped me around him, and lifted me up. I gasped.

“You’re still so hard,” I murmured against his neck.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, shifting inside of me.

“You couldn’t…not again?” I questioned, surprised.

He answered by lifting me a few inches off of him, and thrusting fully into me again. I gasped, and he chuckled softly.

“I’ve never wanted anyone this much in my life, Bianca. I could f*ck you until I’m unconscious. I’d certainly be happy to try.”

I didn’t respond, couldn’t. I could do nothing but whimper while he bounced me on his length and carried me up the stairs and back toward his bedroom.

“Let me know if you reach your limit. You should be sore and tender after your first time. I should be considerate and let your body recover.” His voice was rough as he walked us down the hallway, the bounces becoming more pronounced thrusts the closer we got to his bedroom.

“Please, don’t,” I told him in a half-sob. He had me so close to the pinnacle again.

“You want me to finish you like this, standing up and impaled on my cock?” he asked. He stopped walking and began to thrust more intensely.

“Y-yes please. Oh, yes,” I said, clinging to his shoulders.

One of his arms was braced diagonally across my back, gripping the top of my shoulder securely, the other hand gripping my butt hard, the sting of the contact adding to the pleasure. His knees were bent slightly, his legs braced apart as he began to thrust more powerfully.

“Come, Bianca,” he told me roughly as the fervor took me. His voice was the trigger, and my body obeyed him by exploding into orgasm. I held onto his shoulders like a lifeline while I rode out the exquisite waves of pleasure.

He seemed surprised by his own release, his eyes wide. He shouted a low, “F*ck”, as he emptied inside of me.

He lay me softly on the bed, pulling out of me this time. He moved about the room.

I closed my eyes. I knew that, despite my overlong nap, I was going to drift away any second.

I came to for a moment when he placed a warm, wet cloth between my legs, cleaning me gently.

“Thank you,” I murmured to him.

“Mmm. My pleasure,” he told me.

He left and came back again. He rubbed some type of salve into my wrists and ankles, turning me effortlessly onto my stomach to knead it into my butt and thighs. He stroked some between my thighs tenderly from behind.

“Any other sore spots?” he asked me.

“No,” I answered.

“What time do you need to wake up?” he asked.

I did some tired math. I didn’t even know what time it was, didn’t want to know. “4:30,” I answered. Sleep took me.

I awoke in a sensual haze, in the most enjoyable way I could have imagined.

I was on my back on the softest bed. I was gloriously naked, spreadeagled, and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen was lapping at my sex like it was a particularly delectable dessert. I gripped his silky golden hair.

“Oh James,” I moaned, and he looked up, smiling.

He rose, kneeling between my thighs. He brought one of my legs up to his shoulder, lining it up at his neck until it made a diagonal line across his torso. The other leg he straddled, lining his insatiable cock up at my readied entrance.

“Let me know if this is too much for you, k?” His voice was soft, and his words held a note of concern.

Was the dominant master present this morning? I wondered. It seemed like his other persona, the tender lover, was driving at that moment.

I nodded, and he pushed into me. The new position had him stroking new nerves that I hadn’t even known existed. Yes, I was sore and tender, but I wasn’t going to stop him. The soreness was a small deterrent to such pleasure.

He leaned his chest forward, pushing my legs farther apart and closer to my chest. Using a twisting motion inside of me, he thrust. He’s screwing me sideways, I thought in a daze.

One of his skillful fingers began to rub my swollen *oris, and I was lost.

He carried me into the shower after that. He washed us both.

I felt limp and couldn’t imagine facing a fourteen hour work day after such an experience. I voiced the thought out loud.

He’d been spooning me from behind, washing the conditioner out of my hair. At my words, he froze.

“So don’t. Take a day off. I’ll reschedule my day, as well. We could spend the day in bed. I would make sure it was memorable for you.”

I sent him a baffled look, laughing. Rich people, I thought, a little resentfully.

“I’m off tomorrow,” I explained. “If I took today off, I wouldn’t get paid. And dropping a shift so last minute could get me in trouble.”

His arms tightened. He rubbed his chin on the top of my head affectionately.

“You could quit. Come work for me. I’d be a generous employer. You could be a flight attendant on my jet. We’d get all the time we wanted together, then. Or, if you want a change of careers, I could find you something else. If you don’t care for the hotel industry, I have other companies you could work for. Or hell, just take some time off. Relax. I’d be more than happy to support-”

“Don’t ever mention anything like to me again, please, or this is over, starting now,” I interrupted him, my tone icy, my face composed. I was shaking a little.

The nerve of him, I thought. I had worked like a fiend since I was a young teenager, and he had just belittled every minute of it. It was an effort not to storm out of the shower with half-rinsed hair, and just leave.

His hands began to stroke my arms in a soothing gesture. “I meant no offense. It’s just hard for me to see you struggle. Can you understand that?”

Struggle? I thought, a little wildly. Could he know the meaning of the word, if he thought that my life was a struggle? But then I remembered what he’d said about his parents, about how they’d both died when he was only thirteen. He hadn’t led the perfect life that I had pictured. It was a hardship and a struggle getting over the death of a parent. We had at least something in common. It warmed me towards him some, and helped me to give him another chance.

I shook my head slightly. “Well, don’t worry about me. And don’t mention anything like that to me again. I mean it. It’s a deal-breaker for me.”

His face was stiff but he nodded.

I took a few measured breaths to calm down, then moved away from him, rinsing off and stepping out of the shower.

“I need to go. I don’t even know what time it is, but I need to get ready for work.” I wrapped one of his big soft towels around me.

“It’s 4:40. I woke you up a little early. Sorry.”

He sure didn’t sound sorry, I thought, moving into his room to look for my dress. It was a crumpled heap on the floor. I picked it up tentatively, my nose wrinkling. I could see the stains on it from a foot away, and I wasn’t about to smell it.

I glanced back at the bathroom.

James lounged in the doorway, leaning against the open door frame nonchalantly, his arms crossed. His face was expressionless, his eyes indifferent. He looked suddenly as forbidding as his opulent home. Perhaps I’d overstayed my welcome.

“Do you have a T-shirt or something I could borrow? It doesn’t matter what. I just need to drive straight from your driveway to my garage. And I’m not wearing this.” I dropped the offending dress back on the floor.

He nodded, moving to his closet. He came out with a folded T-shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs.

“Will these work?” he asked, his voice toneless.

I nodded, grabbing them and heading into the bathroom. I changed and used the bathroom in less than a minute, coming back out.

“Do you know where I left my purse?” I asked him.

“In the entryway. By the stairs. You left your sandals there, as well,” he told me without hesitation. I didn’t even remember leaving them there.

I nodded thanks, striding out of his bedroom in a hurry. I had my shoes on and purse in hand before I turned back to him. I’d felt him following my every step.

“Um, bye,” I told him, feeling very awkward and out of my depth. I had certainly never had one of these goodbye scenes before. I was sure he couldn’t say the same. At least it wouldn’t be much of a walk of shame, since I was going straight from his front door to my garage.

He stepped closer to me, but without touching. He still wore just his towel. I kept my eyes firmly on his face. He handed me something, and I looked down at a small silver box. I blinked. He wrapped my hands around it.

“It’s a gift. It was just something that I hoped you would like. You can open it later.”

He grabbed my hair suddenly, giving me a hard kiss on the mouth. He pulled back almost immediately.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

I just nodded and hurried to my car. I didn’t have time to open his gift, or to worry about it. As it was, I’d have to rush to make it to work on time.

As I steered out of his drive, I wondered where he and I stood. Everything had moved so fast, with so many ups and downs, both of us moody with each other. He had said he would call me, but I knew from a lot of my girlfriends that men said that most of the time, whether they meant it or not. The thought that I would never hear from him again was a knot of sick tension in my stomach.