Up In The Air: In Flight Part 14

"I like to feel safe in my home," I said lightly.

We walked in, and I headed straight to my bedroom, where I kept my flight bag when I was at home.

"I like your house," James called out from the living room that doubled as my entryway. I re-joined him after stashing my bag.

I smiled, though it didn't quite reach my eyes as I accepted his compliment. It probably seemed like a closet to him.

"It's small, but it's mine."

He glanced back at the collection of watercolors I had arranged above my fireplace mantle.

"These are exquisite," he said, studying the paintings intently.

"Thank you," I said, flushing.

I hadn't displayed my own paintings all over my house ever intending for someone like him to see them. The ones he studied were a collection of desert landscapes, focusing on colors. There were enough of them, and they were small enough, that I'd arranged them into a sun mosaic of sorts. The bulk of the paintings were of some of the mountains that surrounded the Vegas valley. I had exaggerated the colors, making them deeper and richer, almost a kaleidoscope. In others, I had painted close-ups of individual plants with the same rich colors.

"You did these?" he asked, sounding astonished.

I nodded, walking to the table by the couch to straighten some books that were messily strewn there. I hadn't cleaned for company, though living by myself, I tended to keep things neat.

"I'm impressed. Do you have more?"

I shrugged. "It's just a hobby. You'll see my house is full of them. I know they're amateurish, and simple, but it's a cheap way to decorate my house. And painting is a good stress reliever for me."

"I don't think they're amateurish. I think they're enchanting." His voice was quiet, and I wanted to believe him, but I told myself he was just b.u.t.tering me up with lavish praise that he probably didn't mean.

"Hmm thanks," I said, uncomfortable. I didn't want to like him any more than I already did.

"Can I see more?" he asked, smiling at me warmly.

"I'm beat," I told him, hesitant to show him anything more. I was starting to wonder why I had accepted his spending the night here so readily. This was already starting to feel too strangely intimate for my liking.

He frowned. "Of course. I'm sorry. I can see them in the morning. Let's get you to bed."

I was already heading to my bedroom, undoing my tie as I went. I went to the closet, stripping off my work clothes and hanging them as I went.

I could feel James watching me from behind. He had seen everything already, but I still felt strangely embarra.s.sed.

I ignored the feeling, stripping until I stood in my stockings. I undid my garter belt, slipping the stockings down carefully. I hated to snag them. They could be expensive if I didn't treat them carefully.

James was still fully dressed, arms crossed, when I finished. He was just watching me.

I felt horribly awkward. Should I put something on for bed? Or was that silly? I unsnapped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. I wore nothing but a black lace thong then, and I couldn't read James's steady gaze.

I brushed past him, not used to his pa.s.sivity. It gave me the strange urge to goad him into action.

I removed my new watch and small stud earrings, placing them in a safe drawer in the vanity set up just outside of my bathroom. I washed my face, then moisturized.

He still just watched me intently.

I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. I lay on my back, and he came to stand over me, still just staring. It was positively agitating.

I cupped my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pinching the nipples. I watched his face for a reaction. He hissed in a breath. He pulled off his dark V-neck shirt in one smooth motion.

"What did you want to do to these?" I asked him, becoming almost rough with my b.r.e.a.s.t.s as I fondled myself.

"f.u.c.k," he cursed, undoing his pants. "Keep doing that."

I did, and he had himself naked in record time. He climbed on top of me, straddling my rib cage, his erection huge and hard between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His hands went over mine roughly, and he pushed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s around his c.o.c.k, thrusting between once, twice. I gasped. I hadn't known that people even did this, but I was wildly turned on by it.

There isn't an inch of my body that he doesn't want to f.u.c.k. It was a heady thought.

He drew back, crawling down my body, and I protested.

"Quiet," he told me, throwing my legs over his shoulders, and burying his face between my thighs. He started licking softly. He lifted his head after only a few strokes of his tongue, propping his face on my pelvis. "Does that hurt?"

"No," I gasped.

He got back to work, licking every fold until I was gripping his hair and on the verge.

He spoke into my core. "Come," he told me, stroking my c.l.i.t with a talented finger. It was a gentle touch, but it was enough. I came, crying out hoa.r.s.ely. He had my body tuned to his touch like an instrument. It was intoxicating, and alarming.

He rubbed his erection along my s.e.x very carefully. He crawled back up my body, placing his now wet member back on my chest. He handled my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his eyes inscrutable.

"I'm going to f.u.c.k every part of your body. No part of you will be left untouched by me."

"All tonight?" I gasped.

He laughed, giving me a wicked grin. Capricious man.

"No. There's no rush. I plan to take my time, violating every inch of you." With that ominous p.r.o.nouncement, he began to thrust steadily.

My eyes ran over his beautiful body while he moved, his muscles working extraordinarily. His abs flexed with each movement, his arms bulging as he held my b.r.e.a.s.t.s in position for his c.o.c.k.

I didn't know where to put my hands, so I ran them everywhere, drinking in his hard flesh with my fingertips.

"Look at me," he told me when my eyes had wandered for too long.

"I love your body," I told him.

He came on my chest, not even trying to contain the warm seed that coated my b.r.e.a.s.t.s in spurts. As he finished, he moved down lower to straddle my hips. He studied my wet b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then began to rub, coating my chest and ribs.

"Mmm," he murmured, still rubbing. "Mine."

It didn't take long for the unfamiliar liquid to start to turn sticky.

"Don't move. Time to clean you up." He left and returned quickly with warm, wet washcloths, cleaning me thoroughly.

He must have found the small towels under my bathroom sink, I noted in a disconnected kind of way. He was making himself right at home, digging through my things without asking. I didn't have the energy to care, and besides, his efficiency was too convenient not to appreciate in the moment.

I closed my eyes, ready to pa.s.s out.

He lay down beside me, pulling my back to his chest and throwing his arm over me.

"Mine," he whispered in my ear. I floated into a pleasurably deep sleep.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Mr. Relentless It was fully light out when I awoke. I stretched, feeling sore but good. I was alone in bed, but I could smell coffee.

I threw on the first thing I saw in my closet. It was the thin cotton shift of a nightgown I'd worn in the hotel the first night I'd spent with James.

I made my way slowly into the kitchen. It was empty, so I pa.s.sed through into the small adjoining dining room. I leaned in the doorway to soak in the sight that greeted me there.

James wore only a pair of snug dark gray boxer-briefs.

Even his underwear looks expensive, I thought.

He held a coffee mug in one hand, his other arm running restlessly through his sandy hair. He was studying the paintings I'd arranged on the walls. I studied his flawless back. It was tan, of course. And it bulged with well-defined muscles. But it was also elegant, somehow, like the rest of him. His a.s.s looked carved from stone. Unaccountably, I wanted to bite it, but I stifled the strange urge.

I licked a finger as I approached him, then rubbed it hard on the skin of his shoulder.

I knew a lot of girls that did spray tans. If his coloring was sprayed on, a little vigorous rubbing would reveal his secret. The lovely golden shade didn't rub off.

James shot me a baffled look over his shoulder. "You having fun back there?" he asked.

I lowered my hand, smiling sheepishly at him. "Sorry. Don't mind me."

He took my strange actions in stride, turning back to study the wall again.

He turned to look at me. His eyes were intense.

"Do you sell these?" He waved a hand at the wall of art.

I shook my head. "No. It's just a hobby."

He just raised a brow at me, raising his cup of coffee. "I made coffee."

I nodded. "Thank you."

I moved into the kitchen to make myself a cup.

He crowded behind me, kissing the side of my neck.

"How are you feeling?" he murmured against my skin.

"Good," I answered, taking a long draw of the dark liquid.

"It was torture, pulling myself out of bed with you lying there. I wanted you to wake up with me inside of you. But that will have to wait. You're still too raw."

I rubbed my back against his chest.

"How do you know?" I asked him.

He stilled. "I suppose I don't."

He sighed, a heavy sound, then stepped away. "Are you going to give me the tour? I want to see your house."

I shrugged, the thought making me self-conscious. I loved my house, and it was relatively new, and in good shape, but compared to what he was used to, it had to seem pretty shabby. Still, I showed him around.

The dinning room and kitchen connected, and the living room doubled as an entryway, so it was a very quick tour. I had my paintings hanging everywhere, and he stopped for long pauses to study all of them.

"I'm not sure I like how many pictures you have of another man hanging all over your house," he told me with a raised brow.

I blushed, but only because I had remembered the picture I had begun of James on an easel in my backyard. I had forgotten to bring it inside, and I worried briefly that the weather had ruined it in the day I'd been away. I didn't want him to see it even more than I didn't want it to be ruined, though.

I'd check on it later, I decided quickly.

As for his comment about the handful of pictures I had of Stephan hanging around, I just ignored it. I wouldn't deign to respond to comments about Stephan and I. Either he was teasing, or he was jealous. Neither would matter. If he had an issue with Stephan, I would be showing him the door.

"Are you two somehow related?" James prompted, fishing in a way that made me tense up.

"Not by blood. He's my family, though. My only family." I was strung tight as I watched his face for a reaction. This was a deal or no-deal moment for us.

He just nodded, looking thoughtful, but making me relax instantly.

"I like him. It seems like he protects you," he finally said.

I felt so relieved that it scared me. I hadn't wanted to show him the door in the worst way. That thought made me panicky.

"You have no idea," I told him.

His eyes sharpened, and he tensed up. "What do you mean? I would like to have an idea, please."

I just shook my head, mentally kicking myself for saying something so untactful. The idea of having no idea would drive a man like him crazy, so I came up with a palatable answer.

"Just that we've been together since we were fourteen, and he's always been protective of me, since the day we met."

"Together? What does that mean, exactly?"

I shrugged. "You know, inseparable. Best friends."