In Flight (18 page)

I towel dried my hair a bit, used the restroom, which I found in it’s own room within the bathroom, and padded barefoot from his room.
 

I searched for and found the kitchen, but I stopped in the daunting dining room and sat there.
 

The table was set in almost a romantic fashion, so I assumed this was where we were meant to eat.
 
I’d rather wait in a room by myself than tempt James into trying to have another ‘talk’ with me.
 

He joined me just a moment later, carrying two delicious looking salads.
 
He set them down on the settings, darting back into the kitchen.
 
He came back with two glasses of water with lemon.
 

I thought he might have actually forgotten that he was wearing nothing but a damp towel.
 
It was impossible for me to forget such a thing.
 
Looking that incredible should be illegal.
 
He really was tan everywhere.
 
It was a heady sight.
 

I waited politely for him to sit to my left before eating.
 
It was mixed greens with feta cheese and pecans.
 
I couldn’t put my finger on what the lightly flavored dressing was, but it was quite good.

“It’s delicious,” I told him after a few bites.

He smiled at me.
 
It was a careful smile.
 
He was still in his ‘afraid to offend me’ mood.
 

“I actually cooked the whole meal tonight.
 
I don’t get to do it often, but I wanted to for you.
 
I can’t pretend, though, that this is a common occurrence.
 
I have a great housekeeper here who usually does most of the cooking at this house.”

I nodded pleasantly, trying not to look uncomfortable with the casual reminder of his wealth.
 

“Do your parents live in Las Vegas, as well?” he asked me after he’d finished his salad.
 

I froze, but recovered quickly.
 
“They’re dead,” I said, my face and voice blank.

He looked startled.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t know.
 
What happened?”

“Where do your parents live?” I asked him pointedly, rather than answering.
 

He looked uncomfortable.
 
“They’re dead as well.
 
They died when I was thirteen, in a car crash.”

I gave him an apologetic grimace.
 
“Sorry.
 
I don’t like to talk about my parents, but I didn’t mean to be insensitive about yours.”

He reached across the table, putting his hand over mine.
 
“Don’t be sorry.
 
That wasn’t insensitive.
 
You didn’t know, either.”

I gave him a wry smile.
 
“I should have looked you up online.
 
I could have saved us at least one awkward moment.”

He gave me a wry smile back.
 
“That wouldn’t help me learn about you, though.”
 

We went back to eating for a minute, and the silence was awkward.

“When is
 
your birthday?” he asked suddenly.
 
I knew what he was doing.
 
He was so afraid to offend me, to scare me off, that he was trying to find neutral things to talk about.
 
He couldn’t have known that my birthday was another touchy subject.

“October.”
 
I answered.
 
“How about
 
you?”

“June 5th.
 
October what?”

I sighed.
 
“24th.”
 
I stifled the urge to say,
Why do you care?
 
You won’t even remember my name by then.
 
That would be rude
, I told myself.
 
And he seemed to be oddly sensitive.

He nodded, as though making a note of it.
 

Yeah, right
.
 

The oven timer went off, and he walked into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the fact that that clingy towel looked in danger of falling off with every step.
 

I made myself look away.
 

He brought in two impressive dishes a moment later.
 
He had already dished the food onto the plates, arranging the meal with a chef’s flourish.
 

It was an offering of asparagus, freshly baked salmon seasoned to perfection, and some type of grain I’d never seen before.
 

I tasted it, then pointed to it with my fork.
 
“I don’t even know what that is, but it’s delicious.
 
It’s all divine.
 
Is there anything you’re bad at?”

He smiled, the first self-deprecating smile I’d seen on him.
 
It was disarming and all too charming.
 

“Learning about you.
 
Getting you to spend the night with me.
 
And that grain is quinoa.”
 

I just continued to eat, ignoring the first things he mentioned.
 
I still felt that itching under my skin, that strong need to withdraw from the intimacy we’d shared.
 

“Oh, I got you a present,” he told me, smiling at me as we were finishing our meal.
 
“Do
 
you want desert before or after the gift?”

I waved him off.
 
“Oh, I couldn’t.
 
I’m so stuffed already.”

He looked genuinely disappointed.
 
“Just a bite?
 
It’s just a light custard with some fresh fruit.
 
We could share.”
 

I smiled, genuinely charmed by his boyish need to impress me with his cooking.
 
“Okay, we can share.”
   

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, fuck 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 fuck 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, “Fuck”, 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.