Mile High (Up In The Air #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The tattoo was etched directly over the clean slab of his right shoulder blade. And, like the man himself, it was exquisite.

I stood, brushing close to him to study it intently. Tears ran liberally down my cheeks, embarrassing but irrepressible.

It was a portrait of my face, my hair flowing out to shape into lilies that formed a perfect frame, as though it were a painting. He had taken one of my self-portraits and etched it permanently into his skin. It was the sweetest, craziest, most romantic thing I’d ever witnessed, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I loved the tattoo on sight, though, loved having my painting turned into something so wonderful. Even the lilies used to frame the portrait had been copied from my work, I recognized. I was suddenly glad that I had spent so much time on the paintings he’d used, trying to get all of the details just so.

James was shooting me expectant looks over his shoulder, his face as happy and carefree as I’d ever seen it. “Well, what do you think?”

“Oh, James,” I said, my voice catching. “It’s exquisite. It’s more colorful than any tattoo I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen one that looks like this. It’s more like a painting than a tattoo. Why does it look so different?”

“I didn’t use any black ink for outlining. I used lighter colors for that. And with James’s dark skin, I was able to use white ink for the skin color, which gave it a very painting kind of feel. He’s one of the best canvases I’ve had the pleasure of working on. I’ll have to thank you for helping me finally get my hands on him. Obviously, you inspired his sudden interest in ink.” I hadn’t seen her approaching until she spoke, but the tattoo artist, Frankie, was suddenly beside me, pointing out details of the tattoo on his back, standing nearly as close to him as I was. I stiffened.

I knew it was illogical, and unreasonable, but realizing that another woman had done the tattoo, one he was obviously fond of, made me a little crazy. That red haze I was beginning to recognize as jealousy was now a pernicious film over my vision.

“Can I cover it now, James? Have you finished the show and tell?” Frankie asked him, sounding sassy but playful, her smile very warm on him.

He grinned at her, still looking over his shoulder, letting me look my fill.

I still studied the incredible portrait. I wanted to run my fingers over it, but even with my limited knowledge on the subject, I knew it was too new for touching. My hand gripped the top of his shoulder instead, as I leaned in very close and studied it intently, trying to ignore the woman standing too close, and too familiarly, beside James and I.

I was smiling in the picture, a slight, sort of enigmatic smile, my eyes heavy-lidded and mysterious. She had even matched the blue of my eyes astonishingly well. She was very talented, I had to admit. I had never even known a tattoo could look like that. Most of my friends had one or two, but they were usually outlined in heavy black, or else entirely black. What Frankie had done looked so much softer than that. It was hard to even think of James’s marking as the same thing.

“It’s beautiful. You’re very talented. I didn’t even know that a tattoo could look like that,” I told Frankie, trying to be civil, but my voice was stiff and a little cold.

James seemed to notice my tone, his eyes flying back to my face, studying me intently, his happy smile wilting a little, his eyes becoming solemn.

I felt instantly contrite. Just the wrong tone of voice, and his ridiculously happy mood seemed to have been subdued.

I tried to give him a smile, but I could feel that it looked forced. “I’m finished looking at it, if she needs to tend to it,” I told him, stepping back from him.

Frankie stepped in instantly, rubbing a clear gel over the entire inked surface. I watched her hands on him, and felt the strangest urge to move between them.

I moved away, turning my back to them.

Frankie’s voice was still friendly as she addressed me. “You’re very talented. I just did my best to do your picture justice. It was a real treat for me to get to work on a picture like that, on a body like James’s. Talk about a work of art.” Her voice turned over the top flirtatious on the last sentence, and I knew she was talking about his body.

I counted to ten, hating myself for being so weak and so insanely jealous.

I heard Frankie giving James care instructions briefly.

“So, um, nice meeting you, Bianca. I’ll see ya around,” Frankie said, her voice still friendly, but a bit uncertain.

A brief glance at my group of friends showed most of them looking at me, wide-eyed, as though they weren’t sure what to make of my behavior. I couldn’t blame them. I felt ridiculous, but I still couldn’t look at James, worried that if Frankie was still near him, I would do something completely insane.

Stephan was the only one of the group who seemed oblivious to my strange reaction, his intent glare focused narrowly on James.

I just tensed up more when James hugged me from behind.

“We need a minute, guys. Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” James addressed the group, politely but briskly, his tone a courteous dismissal. He gripped the back of my neck, in that dominant spot, leading me into a room.

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 breasts 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.

His grip tightened as he began to pound relentlessly.

My vision went spotty, and I came so violently that I wasn’t sure how long the orgasm lasted, and I wasn’t certain if I had blacked out for a fuzzy moment.

When I focused again, James had his choking hand gripped in my hair to hold me in place as he rubbed out the last of his own orgasm inside of me. He was making these deliciously shivery little involuntary thrusts, his neck arched back. His eyes found mine again, his heavy-lidded and sated.

“Was it too much, Love?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse. “You were having such a fit, I couldn’t tell if you passed out.” As he spoke, he hugged me against him, tilting my head back to look at him from where I was pressed to his chest.

“It was…exquisite. It was f*cking perfect, James.”

He swallowed hard, studying me. “It would have been, if we could keep eye contact at the end doing that. But I probably don’t have to ask if choking is on your ‘yes’ list. I think I can figure it out. I need to be very careful with that. You’re so delicate, and I have the urge to be…overzealous when I get your neck in my hands.”

He pulled out of me suddenly, shuddering as he did so. I was right there with him.

“We need to get moving. We need to rush, actually.” He tugged me into the water, dragging me to the steps with a firm grip on the the ring of my choker.

He dried us both with businesslike efficiency, leaving the spa’s plush towels on the floor.

“Get dressed quickly,” he told me.