Grounded (3 page)

I was turning into James’s chest even as he moved.
 
I buried my face in his neck, gripping my arms around his ribs, holding on tight.
 

“Don’t,” I murmured into his neck.
 
It stopped his movements.
 
Scott had been trying to goad him, and I knew it had worked, but I
needed
James to control his temper
—
to control his fists.
 
James wrapped stiff arms around me, as though unable to ignore my affectionate gesture, even in a rage.
 

“If you ever speak to her like that again, you will regret it,” James said, his voice filled with an awful rage.
 

Scott snorted, and even from that noise I could tell that his temper was every bit as close to the surface as James’s.
 
“You’re worried what I’ll say to her?
 
You fucked my
wife
, James, God only knows how many times, and you’re worried that I’ll what…hurt your latest fuck’s feelings?”
 

James turned me gently, ushering me to the elevators directly behind us.
 
He stroked his hand over my hair, and I could feel that it was trembling.
 
“My love,” he said, his voice hoarse, but still managing to be tender.
 
“I need you to go upstairs.
 
Please, wait for me.
 
I’ll be joining you momentarily.”
 
He pressed the button as he spoke, still clutching me close.
 

I wanted to say something, wanted to plead with him not to do anything rash, not to get himself into trouble, or worse, hurt, but I couldn’t seem to make myself speak.
 

The elevator stopped, the doors opening, and I stepped inside without a word.
 
Blake and Johnny filed in behind me, and I was relieved that at least two of the bodyguards remained with James.
 

The elevator doors closed and we began to go up.
 
I had no idea what floor we were going to, or even how many floors there were.
 
I glanced at the panel to see, but my eyes just glossed over and I lost my train of thought.
 

The elevator finally stopped and I followed Blake out.
 
My mind distractedly noticed that my surroundings were rich and opulent, my heels clicking smartly on dark marble floors, but my mind was still stuck on what could be going on downstairs
—
what I’d been too much of a coward to stay and watch, or even stay and prevent.
 

A young, polished brunette greeted us from behind a massive desk.
 
“Ms. Karlsson, Ms. Blake, Johnny,” she murmured as we passed her.
 
I wondered how she could have known me by sight.
 
No doubt it was obvious by my armed escorts…

All of this was just a distracted, distant thought, as well, as Blake led me into a huge office that had windows lining more walls than not.
 

Blake did a thorough search of the office, checking every inch of the space and inside of the two doors that attached.
 
Johnny stayed close to my side as she did so.
 
I thought they were a little overzealous, but what did I know?
 

Blake finished her search, giving me a severe nod when she finished.
 
“All clear, Ms. Karlsson.
 
We’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
 

I heard the door click shut behind me.
 
I dropped my purse somewhere on the floor as I made my way to the windows.
 
I noted absently that the office decor didn’t have the James touch.
 
The mood of the office was all old-fashioned New York, with an antique desk and ancient hardwood flooring.
 
The chair behind the desk was antique brown leather, as well as the couch.
 
Even the rugs had an old money feel.
 
It was so uncharacteristic for James that I stood pondering it for a long time, letting the strange decor distract me.
 

When that grew tiresome, I moved to the window, looking sightlessly at the spectacular view of Manhattan.
 

I had no idea how long I stood there like a statue before I heard the door open and then close behind me.
 
The click of a lock being engaged was unnaturally loud in the quiet as death silence of the room.
 

“Turn around and look at me,” James said after a long moment, his voice low and rough.
 

It was insane, it was unreasonable, it was self-destructive…and masochistic, but I grew wet at the sound of that violence-roughened voice.
 

I turned around.
   

CHAPTER THREE

Mr. Sadistic

I studied him for a long time, my legs trembling as I took him in.
 
I leaned back against the window for support.
 

His suit jacket was missing, his tie askew.
 
The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up.
 
Rather messily, too, at least for him.
 
I saw one lone drop of blood on his collar.
 
I studied his face, then his arms.
 
His knuckles looked a little swollen, his fists clenched, but his face was untouched.
 

“He was a grown man who had insulted the most important person in my life.
 
The most
precious
thing in my world.
 
Twice.
 
Wipe that fucking scared look off your face.
 
I would
never
punch you, never attack you without restraint.
 
But I will punish you.”
 
As he spoke, he began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it free of his beige slacks.
 
His erection was outlined heavily against that pale fabric.
 

I licked numb lips.
 
“For what?”
 

“For that look.
 
For that lack of trust.
 
For leaving me for days, whatever the fucking reason.
 
And you were late.”
 

He strode to me, shirtless and impossibly beautiful, his stark muscles working along his perfect golden skin with every step.
 
I watched my name, etched in crimson on his chest, as he moved closer to me.
 

His heavy hand fell to my nape.
 
He pushed me slowly to the desk with just that contact.
 
He pressed me, firmly but gradually, until the front of my torso was flush against the top of his desk, my hipbones digging into the edge.
 
His hands moved up under my dress with no hesitation, gripping my lacy thong and pulling it down my legs with one smooth motion.
 
He touched one ankle.
 
“Lift,” he ordered curtly.
 

I lifted my foot.
 
He repeated the process on the other leg.
 

His fingers moved against my back, unclasping my bra through the silk of my dress, as only someone experienced with that process could be. He worked it off me swiftly, leaving my dress intact.
 

He flipped the silky skirt of my dress up over my hips, leaving my ass and sex bare for his perusal.
 
He stood silently at my back for a long time.
 
I squirmed.
 

 
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
 

I obeyed.
 

I heard him stride away.
 
A door to my left opened, then closed.
 
I could hear my own breath panting out of me.
 
I was in a state.
 

I heard him approach me again long minutes later.
 
He wasn’t trying to be quiet.
   

“Grip the edge of the desk,” he ordered.
 

I gripped.
 

“Anything to say?” he asked me coldly.
 

I didn’t know where to begin, didn’t know what he wanted, but I had to try.
 
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavendish.”
 

“What are you sorry for?”
 

“For all of it.
 
For leaving you for days, whatever the reason.
 
For being late.
 
Please…”
 

He struck, harsh bristles striking against my backside.
 
I wriggled.
 
It smarted, but didn’t precisely hurt.
 
It was like being whipped with very thick hair.
 
That was perhaps why he didn’t hold back, striking again and again without pause.
 
I shifted against the desk, moaning.
 

He pressed a hard hand to the small of my back, holding me immobile while he worked me over.
 
He spread the whips over my butt and thighs liberally.
 
This went on for endless moments while I writhed.
 

Abruptly, he stopped.
 
I could hear his harsh breath.
 

“Do you like the horse-hair flogger?” he asked.
 

I made a little humming noise in my throat.
 
“I do, Mr. Cavendish.”
 

“That was what would be considered a warm-up, Bianca.
 
Do you know what that means?”
 

I shook my head.
 
“No, Mr. Cavendish.”
 

He moved into me, pressing his heavy, trouser-clad erection flush into my sex and leaning down heavily against my back.
 
He breathed his next words into my ear.
 
“Open your eyes.”
 

I did, getting only a sideways view of the desk that I was sprawled against, since James was on my back.
 
He laid a heavy black and blue object there.
 
I couldn’t understand what I was seeing at first.
 

It looked almost like a bouquet of flowers, yet not…
 

Heavy, dyed leather was shaped beautifully into blue roses on the ends of thick black leather tails.
 

I licked my lips, suddenly more nervous and scared.
 
There were a dozen of the ominous looking buds.
 

James brought the stiff leather handle of the torture device up to my cheek, and I watched those heavy flowers drag across the desk as the flogger moved.
 
He traced my cheek.
 

“The horse-hair flogger was a warm-up,” he repeated, “and what that means is that I have plans for you, Bianca, and the pain hasn’t even begun.”
 

I took unsteady breaths, then stiffened as I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper.
 

“Do the roses scare you?” he asked softly, his voice almost taunting.
 
He was gripping my thighs, pulling my legs apart from behind as he shifted me on the desk.

“Yes,” I said breathlessly.
 

“I’ll tell you what,” he began, thrusting hard inside of me even as he spoke.
 
I whimpered, shocked at the unexpected penetration.
 
“If you can manage not to come while I take the edge off, I’ll spare you the roses.
 
For today.”
 
As he spoke, he was pulling out of me, dragging that perfect cock along every wonderful nerve inside of me.
 

He pulled completely out before plunging in again, a slow, heavy stroke that made my toes curl.
 

“To make it fair, I’ll make it quick,” he said, a cold smile in his voice.
 
He pulled out and ground into me again, then began to pound in earnest.
 

It was painfully hard, his thick length beating into me, working me over from the inside out.
 
Even his cock was dominant and sadistic today.
 

One of his hands gripped my inner thigh so hard that I knew I would bruise, the other hand on my back, pinning me firmly to the desk.
 

He fucked me as he rarely fucked me, to bring
himself
to a quick release.

When he came inside of me, a loud, raw noise escaped his throat, the sound muffled, as though he couldn’t help it.
 
That noise brought me over the edge.
 
I came with a whimper even as he jerked inside of me, rubbing out the last of his own savage release.
 

He didn’t linger, pulling out of me as I was still clenching around him.
 
I felt warm liquid still spurting from his stiff length as he leaned against my ass.
 

He tugged me back until my feet were touching the ground.
 
I had forgotten that I was even wearing heels until they touched the ground again unsteadily.
 

He tugged my dress higher, then pulled me up by the shoulders.
 
“Arms up,” he murmured when I was standing again.
 

I did.
 

He pulled my dress over my head.
 
I turned my head to watch him as he draped it carefully over his office chair.
 

He studied me for a moment.
 
“Step out of your shoes.”
 

I wobbled out of them as steadily as I could manage.
 

James reached for me, hooking a finger into the hoop at my neck, his other hand gripping a handful of my hair.
 
He tugged me across the room.
 

He brought me to one of the doors that led somewhere other than the reception area.
 
I hadn’t checked to see where it led, but James quickly showed me.
 

He pulled me into a small bedroom with a big window.
 
I gasped when I saw the bed.
 

It took up nearly the entire space, large enough to fit into one of the colossal bedrooms in his homes.
 
It had a latticed top, with a daunting collection of restraints already arrayed.
 

“Your work fuck-pad?” I asked him, not hiding the accusation in my voice.
 
He’d been a slut, I got that, but I was sick of seeing the evidence of it literally everywhere we went.
 

“It’s new.
 
Before it was just a bed that I only slept in alone.
 
If you want any more answers, you’ll be getting them later.
 
Get on the bed.”
 

I scrambled onto the bed, moving to the center.
 
I started to kneel.

“Stand up,” he barked.
 

I obeyed.
 

He gripped my wrist in his hand, raising it high but pulled out from my body.
 
He tugged one of the black restraints from the latticed top of the bed.
 
I was surprised to realize that it was made of rubber.
 
It was like a soft tube, comfortable and stretchy.
 
He wrapped it around my wrist several times until it pulled very tight.
 
He tied it, then twisted my hand around until I was gripping it.
 
He repeated the motion on my other hand, my arms held wide apart when he’d finished.
 
I thought it was ominous that he’d chosen to use something so comfortable to restrain me.
 
It told me something about those roses, though…

He positioned my feet, making me comfortable.
 
I was trembling as he moved away from the bed.
 

He’d tied me so that I faced the window squarely, with a lovely view of Manhattan, but all of his movements were behind me, keeping me in the dark as to his actions.
 

I felt him move onto the bed several minutes later.
 
He stayed at my back.
 

He made me wait for so long that I began to relax slightly when he struck.
 

My back bowed with the blow to my thighs.
 
It was by far the harshest punishment he’d ever dealt me.
 
I knew it with only one blow.
 
It felt like I was being pummeled by a dozen hard little fists.
 
James paused for long moments after the first blow, and I trembled.
 

The next blow struck my ass and made my body rock back and forth with my rubber restraints.
 

I whimpered, my head falling forward.
 

He struck again, and not even pausing, struck yet again.
 
Tears ran down my face, and I couldn’t quite stifle a scream as he struck yet again.
 

It was the first time he’d ever tried something on me that was so profoundly painful that I wasn’t sure if I could take it.
 
I was the closest I’d ever come to safe-wording when he stopped.
 

I was sobbing when he gripped the front of my thighs from behind, pulling my legs up and back so that I was completely suspended.
 

He kept me like that as he moved between my legs from behind.
 
He pounded into me brutally, as though this too was a punishment.
 
He drove into me again and again with angry thrusts, our only two points of contact his hands on my thighs, and his cock inside of me.
 
He had me on the edge in moments, and I came around him with a little sob, my inner walls clenching him again and again, milking him until he bottomed out in me, coming with a surprised little shout.
 

I didn’t think I’d ever had a more powerful orgasm, and I sobbed with the pleasure and the pain of it as he finally pulled out of me, and lowered my feet back to the bed.
 
He untied me quickly, pulling me down onto the bed with him.
 
He pushed my face into his naked chest, murmuring soothing words as I cried all over the
Bianca
on his chest.
 
He stroked his hands over my back, and kissed my hair, and none of it made me feel better.
 

He had worked me over harder than ever before, fucking me twice without a second of intimate eye contact, without a second of intimacy in general.
 
And I had come so hard that I couldn’t stop sobbing for the loss of control.
 
For the first time since we had gotten together, I began to worry that the things we brought out in each other wasn’t something I could live with.
 
Or rather, the things he brought out in
me
.