In Flight (24 page)

I made a huge portion for James, and a more reasonable plate for myself.
 
I knew from my long experience with Stephan that a man James’s size, no matter how fit, would put away a lot of food.
 
I was pleased to find a small block of extra sharp cheddar to top it with.
 
Simple fare, but good.
 

I brought the plates and some bottles of cold water into the spare room.
 

James was digging through the mess with as much concentration as ever.
 

I saw that he had found four more pictures to add to his collection.
 
The one on top was an oil picture of a lilly.
 
I thought it an odd choice for him, but I just set his plate on the bed above where he crouched, digging.
 

I tried not to stare at him as I sat down on another cleared spot on the bed to eat, my plate balanced on my lap.
 
He still only wore his boxer-briefs.
 
It was beyond distracting.

“I made ham and eggs,” I finally said, when he just kept digging.
 
“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s getting cold.”

He turned, sitting cross-legged on the floor and grabbing his plate.
 
He grinned at me almost boyishly.
 

“It’s like Christmas for me in here.
 
It’s not often that I find something I want that I don’t have.”

I can well believe that
, I thought.
 
Though what I couldn’t imagine was why he would want my paintings.
 
I still just wanted to think that he was trying to flatter me to get into my pants.
 
Which was obviously unnecessary at this point.
 
That, I supposed, was why it confused me so much.

He cleared his plate in short order.
 
I still wasn’t half done with my own when he took his last bite.
 

“That was fantastic.
 
Thank you,” he said, then got back to work.

I finished eating, then looked at the pictures he’d selected so far.
 
Three of my self-portraits, and the lilly.
 
As I was studying them, he found my chest of watercolors.
 
He flung it open as though he had every right in the world.
 
For some reason, I didn’t even attempt stop him.

He added two more pictures to his selection almost immediately.
 
More self-portraits, I saw.
 

I started to get antsy as he searched the chest.
 
I was recalling a rather embarrassing self-portrait that I’d buried at the bottom.
 
To hide it.
 

“I need to go run errands soon.
 
I have absolutely no food for lunch, sooo…”

“Mmmk,” he mumbled, but just kept digging.
 
He singled out two more of my larger watercolor paintings, setting them on his pile.
 
They were landscapes of the Vegas mountains, much like the ones I had in my living room.
 
I actually liked them better than the ones that had ended up above my mantle, but they’d been too big for the mosaic.

I knew when he found the painting I was worrying about.
 
He pulled out a smaller painting, and stilled, sucking in a sharp breath.
 
He looked at it for so long that I walked to him, checking to see if my suspicions were correct.
 
They were, of course.

It was on a not quite printer-sized piece of watercolor paper.
 
My only fully nude self-portrait.
 
Looking at it, I wasn’t quite as embarrassed as I’d thought I would be.
 
At least it was a better picture than I had remembered.
 

I had sat on a chair in my bedroom, in front of my full length mirror.
 
I was sitting up very straight, and had even painted the paintbrush in my hand and the easel and board I was working on.
 
My breasts were fully revealed, though my legs were closed modestly.
 
Modestly for a nude.
 
Just the barest hint of what lay between was revealed.
 
My gaze was steady, though wide.
 
My free hand lay on my thigh, clenched.
 
My bare feet were arched, my toes pink.
 
My hair had hung loose, though it didn’t cover a thing.
 

“Exquisite,” James said, tracing a fingertip along the page.
 
“I don’t know where to hang it.
 
I should burn it, so no one else can ever see it, but I just couldn’t do that.
 
It’s too perfect.”
 

His hand shot to my leg where I stood to his back and side.
 
I jumped, startled.
 

“You’re too perfect.
 
I need to travel with this one personally.
 
Do you have a folder I could carry it in?”
 

I reached into the chest.
 
His hand remained on my thigh, gripping it firmly even when I took a step forward.
 
I pulled out a navy folder.
 
I had them everywhere.
 
They were handy for storing watercolors.
 

“Here.
 
But if you take that painting, it’s only fair that I get to paint a nude of you.”
 

“As you wish, Buttercup,” he told me, turning to plant a hard kiss on my stomach before hiding the nude in the folder.
 

“Go shower.
 
I’m going to arrange for these paintings to be transported and framed.”
 
He held up the folder.
 
“Except for this one.
 
This one I carry.”
 
He strode out of the room.
 

Unaccountably, I was a little bit shaky, but I headed to the shower without another word.
 

I was in the shower for a good ten minutes before James slipped in behind me.
 
I had already washed, but he soaped me up again without asking, touching me everywhere.
 
His rock-hard erection pressed against my back.
 
I rubbed against it, and he pushed my hips away gently.
 

“Not until I check to see how raw you are,” he said roughly.
 
But he continued to touch me, rubbing my breasts gently for long minutes.
 
My head fell back, and my mind went feverish.
 

“These must be sore, too, but I can’t seem to keep my hands off.
 
My self-control is apparently shot where you’re concerned.
 
I’ve never had this problem before.”
 
His voice was a rasp in my ear, as though he were telling me a dirty secret.
 
It got me unbelievably hot.
 
He shut the water off.
 

He toweled me off, quickly drying himself and wrapping the towel around his hips.
 

“Get on your back on the bed,” he ordered me.
 

I moved to the bed, and felt his large presence behind me with every step.
 
I sprawled on my back on the bed, my wet hair fanned out above my head.
 

He pulled my legs apart as he dragged my hips to the very edge of the bed.
 
He was more masterful than rough as he handled me.
 
He knelt between my legs, using a light touch to study me.
 
I should have been embarrassed, but I was beyond it.
 

“I don’t care if it hurts,” I told him.
 
And I didn’t, not right then, though I had been extremely sore at work the day before.

“Quiet,” he told me, his voice harsh.
 
“My control is hanging on by a thread, but you’re just too chafed.
 
I rode you too hard that first night, and that morning.
 
Fuck, I can’t believe I did all of that to a virgin.
 
I feel like a bastard, looking at all of that injured pink flesh.”
 
His fingers were still gently touching my petals as he examined my sex.
 
“But I still want to fuck you so badly I can’t see straight.”

I wriggled against his fingers.
 
“Just fuck me, then.
 
Please.”
 

He slapped the side of my butt, hard.
 

“Don’t.”
 
He looked at me with troubled, beautiful eyes.
 
“I’m going to need to be more careful with you.
 
I didn’t realize you could take so much without protesting, so I just kept going.
 
Fuck.
 
I shouldn’t have taken you after that first time, but I’ll remember that night for as long as I live.
 
It was so perfect.”
 

His words were bringing me to a fevered pitch.
 
I stroked my breasts as he ranted.
 
He gave me a hard look.
 
Hard, but hot.
 

 
“Well, we’ll have to do something about this.”
 
A wandering finger found my backside.
 
I stiffened instinctively.
 
He chuckled, withdrawing.
 
“Not that.”
 

Without another word, he buried his face between my legs with a purpose.
 
He had me gasping out his name with an orgasm in less than a minute.
 
He crawled up my body to kiss me wetly.
 
I ran my hands everywhere I could touch.
 

“I love your body.
 
I never get to touch you enough.
 
I want to,” I murmured into his mouth as he pulled back.

He fell back into a sprawl almost instantly, accommodating my whim.
 
He folded his tan muscular arms behind his head, smiling.
 
He was definitely all tender lover this morning, only glimpses of the dominant in him showing.
 

“Have at it, Love.”
 

I didn’t hesitate, using both of my hands to stroke his chiseled abs.
 
Those starkly ridged abs made Brad Pitt in his prime look sub-par.
 

I kissed his abs as my hands moved higher, licking.
 
He sucked in a breath.
 
I moved up to his chest.
 
His small nipples drove me wild, a shade of brown darker than his perfect skin.
 
I stroked and licked up to his neck.
 
Everything about him was just so long.
 
His arms, his legs, his torso.
 

My gaze traveled south, to his quivering arousal.
 
It was long too, and so hard and thick.
 
I wanted to taste it the most, but knew my exploration would be over if I so much as touched it.
 

I went back to his neck, moving down to the defined line between his pecks.
 
I nuzzled there, lingering.
 

I loved this spot, felt almost comforted when I buried my face there.
 
I let myself linger there for long minutes.
 
Reluctantly, I moved away.
 

I sucked at a nipple, biting down lightly.
 
When he didn’t protest, I bit harder, then sucked hard.
 

He moaned.
 
My hands kneaded at his arms as I went back and forth between his nipples.
 
He was so hard, but his skin was unbelievably smooth.
 
I was getting so turned on that I kissed a path directly to his cock.
 
I’d lost the control to stay away.
 

I cupped his scrotum, putting wet lips on his tip as I shifted for a better angle.
 
He grabbed my thighs, moving me until I straddled his face.
 
I was shocked when his tongue started licking me from that angle.
 
His hand moved to the back of my head, pushing my surprised mouth back to his erection.
   

He spoke against me, his voice a low, vibrating rumble.
 
I shuddered at the feel of it, and at his words.
 
“Don’t orgasm until I say.
 
I want us to come at the same time like this.”
 

I didn’t answer, couldn’t, as I sucked him into my mouth hungrily.
 
The more he licked and nuzzled at me, the more furiously I sucked at him.
 
I stroked his shaft hard with both hands, as he’d shown me, taking as much of him into my mouth as I could.
 

I came up for air once, breathing on his deep red tip when he sucked on my clitoris.
 
His cock surged up at me furiously, and I took him back into my mouth.
 

“Come, Bianca.”
 
He breathed the words into my core.
 

I did come then, sucking him hard, my lips pulled over my teeth.
 
He poured into my mouth at the same moment, and I swallowed as shudders wracked through me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Mr. Bossy

He turned me onto my stomach.
 
His fingers brushed lightly over my thighs and ass as he studied me.
 

“This healed well.
 
Your skin loves a good spanking.”
 
A hand wandered between my legs, stroking, whisper soft.
 
“You’d be in good shape if I hadn’t been so rough.
 
The ways I fucked you, on your first time…I can’t stop thinking about it, but I still can’t believe I didn’t have more self-control.”

I closed my eyes, just enjoying his touch.
 
“I loved it.
 
I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”