Mile High (Up In The Air #2)

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 nipples 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 nipples 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.”

I processed their words, the way they both implied that she was somehow working for me. It was a baffling development, but I didn’t comment.

“I’m making you vegetable omelets with feta, as you requested, Mr. Cavendish. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“We will be in the dining room, Marion. Just serve the omelets when they’re ready. That will be all.”

James held the door open for me, and I moved into his grand dining room. He pulled a chair out for me and I sat. He took the seat next to me at the head of the table. He stapled his elegant fingers together on top of the heavy table.

I watched those hands as I spoke. “What happened to the other housekeeper?”

“I had to let her go. She proved to be…unprofessional. She seemed to think that, because she had worked for me for eight years, she could interfere in my personal life. I found some of her actions and words unacceptable.”

I mulled that over for awhile, still watching his hands. Even those hands were like eye candy.

“She seemed like an unpleasant woman, though she and Jules appeared to be close,” I said absently.

“She was pleasant enough to her.”

I watched his hands squeeze together very tightly as I spoke. “Yes. And that was the problem. She let her into my home against my wishes, and then she made the fatal mistake of insulting you, Love. I fired her that night.”

I took a deep breath, savoring that light endearment. I was starved for his affection.


Marion served us quickly, withdrawing with a smile. We ate the delicious omelets in silence. James finished before me. I could feel him watching me as I took a drink of water. He stood the instant I swallowed my last bite. He led me by the collar through the multi-floored penthouse, heading to his bedroom without further ado.

I was more than happy to go. I had been living in a world of tortured anticipation since he had pinched on my nipple clamps, just waiting for him to get me alone like this.

He took me into his colossal bedroom closet.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, shrugging out of his shirt, his back to me. I obeyed without a word, taking off everything but my jewelry. He took off my watch and cuff, putting them on a little tray on the huge dresser in his closet. My eyes had moved to his feet as soon as I was undressed. He was barefoot now, wearing only his slacks. I thought about how even his tan feet were sexy.

He threaded a silver chain through the hoop at my collar. It attached to each of my nipple clamps, raising my nipples.

I winced, rubbing my thighs together restlessly.

He fastened a sheer black half-slip over my hips. I had worn it just once before, in his playground. It covered nothing, but the sight of it turned me on. It made my body look sinful, with just that touch of black. I bit my lip, arching my back a little.

To say I was turned on was a vast understatement. I was so far past that point. I raised my gaze just enough to see the hard ridge pressing against the front of his navy slacks. I moaned at the sight of it.

“Don’t try to tempt me, Bianca. You’ll be punished for that. Is that what you were trying to do?”

I shook my head, out of my mind with wanting him.

He led me by my collar to the elevator that went directly from his bedroom and into his private playground. I mewled at the cruel pressure that pulled at my nipples. He slapped my ass hard as we descended to his 4th floor. For making the noise, I thought.

He pulled a length of black cloth from his pocket, stepping behind me in the elevator. It was a blindfold, I realized, as he covered my eyes, tying it firmly in the back. The material was silky and luxuriously soft.

The elevator stopped, and he pulled me forward by the collar. Our footsteps seemed loud in the hallway, but the padded flooring once we got into the playroom made a softer, muffled sound. He led me only a few steps into the room before stopping.

“Get on your knees,” he told me.

I obeyed, raising my chin. I heard him move away.

I heard him opening drawers across the room. Some sort of machinery whirred softly, the sound of chains clinking together following immediately, and I had no idea what would make such a noise.

I sat back on my heels, my hands flat on my thighs. I began to rub them slowly over my own skin as I waited, anticipation and fear a palpable feeling along my skin. As my hands rubbed, I shifted my arms, moving them against my breasts, pushing the round globes closer together to rub against each other, craving contact, even if it was just the contact of my own skin on itself.

“Stop that,” James snapped from across the room. “If you pleasure yourself, then that’s all you’ll do.

All you’ll get is a dildo to relieve your ache, if you keep that up. Which would you prefer? My cock, or a dildo?”

I gasped, and stopped moving, though I wanted more than ever to move after hearing his words. “Your cock. Oh god, I want your cock, James.”

“It’s Mr. Cavendish, or Master, in here, Bianca.”

“Yes, Mr. Cavendish.”

There was a noise, like chains clinking together, and then he was pulling me to my feet by the collar. I gasped at the rough pull on my nipples. They seemed to be getting more sensitive, not less so, the longer those mean clamps stayed attached.

He pulled me across the padded floor. He pulled me maybe twenty feet before stopping abruptly.

Finally he touched my skin, pulling my wrists together in front of me. The action rubbed my breasts together, and my back arched. He placed something soft around my wrists, closing it with a loud metal clink on first one wrist and then the other. Padded handcuffs, I thought.

He moved very close to me as he reached above me, pulling down a metal chain that clicked loudly with each link. He dragged the length along my cheek, my collar, against the side of one breast, and finally to my joined hands. He attached the chain rather noisily to the handcuffs, stepping away. I heard the links clinking again as the cuffs were raised above my head agonizingly slowly. My arms pulled up high until I was stretched taut onto the balls of my feet.

“Grip the chain,” James told me.

I tried, but obviously did it wrong, because he adjusted my hands until I had a firm double grasp on the chain that held me up. He jerked suddenly on my neat little work braid, arching my head back. It pulled at the chain between my clamped nipples, as everything seemed to.

I whimpered loudly.

“I want you to be silent,” James told me, his voice a hoarse rasp. “Don’t make sexy little noises. Don’t beg me to stop. Be as quiet as you can, unless you need to safe word.”