Grounded (9 page)

I painted little circles all over his right pectoral muscle, loving the hard and supple play of muscle under his skin.
 

I leaned forward to kiss the red
Bianca
over his heart before I painted there.
 
As I bent forward, I felt his cock between my ass cheeks and I arched against the hard length, making solid contact.
 
I circled my hips, rubbing my wet sex against his stomach, my butt against his twitching erection.
 

“When are you going to take me here?” I asked him, grinding back against him.
 
“You said you would take every inch of me.”
 

He grabbed my hips, stilling me to do his own grinding.
 
The tip of him dragged along my lower back as his length moved against my butt.
 

“Do you want that?” he asked.
 
“I’ll hurt you more than I’m willing to if I just ram in with no prep.
 
I plan to make you come so many times that every muscle in your body is relaxed before we try that.”

I rubbed against him.
 
“Hmmm.
 
That sounds nice.”
 

He let out a choked laugh.
 
“It won’t be nice.
 
It will be a lot of things, but not that.”
   

I moved my brush along his torso.
 
He was so much more fun to paint than I was, with so many more angles, defined lines, and hard ridges.
 
I loved the spot just below his chest, where a deep line defined the spot between his muscle and his ribs.
 
And his abs.
 
God, his abs.
   

My hips made little involuntary circles against him as I moved the brush lower and lower, over the rock hard ridges of his abdomen.
 
I had to move my own body to work lower, and I groaned as I passed over his cock again on my way down.
 
I rose high to rub my wet sex there.
 
I groaned but kept moving to straddle his thighs.
 
I shivered with pleasure when I saw his wet tip.
 

I painted his hips, and that perfect edible V, stroking my brush just shy of his jutting cock.
 
When I began to paint slow circles on his thighs, brushing up against his scrotum, he snapped.
 

Hard hands gripped my hips, drawing me abruptly over his member.
 
He let go.
 
“Take me inside you,” he rasped.
 

I worked him into me slowly, enjoying the stretch as I pushed every perfect inch of him deep.
 
A powerful shiver wracked my body when I was finally seated to the hilt.
 

James took the palette and brush from me, and after dipping the brush, began to paint me with leisurely strokes.
 
The paint on my skin was already beginning to dry, and the wet paint he spread over me dragged deliciously over the first coat.
 

“Ride me,” he ordered.
 

My body began to move into a posting trot naturally.
 
The exaggerated movements were perfect with his long, thick cock.

“How do your wrists feel?” he asked, moving the brush along a taut nipple.
 

“Good,” I said, my voice low and thick.
 

He snagged one of the wrists in question, studying it and then bringing it to his lips.
 
“Good.”
 

He bucked against me suddenly, jostling me just enough to make me clench deliciously around him.
 

He groaned and gripped my hips, unseating me completely and sprawling me onto my back.
 

He stood above me, leaning down to hook a finger into the ring at my collar.
 
He pulled me up slowly, carefully, until I stood beside him.
 
He gripped my hair, pulling my head back.
 
We watched each other for long moments.
 
I honestly couldn’t tell which was driving him tonight, the Dom or my tender lover, there was such a mix of feelings in his eyes.
 

He broke eye contact to drag me to the window, one hand pulling my hair, the other my collar.
 
He pressed me hard against the window, crushing my breasts against the cold glass.
 
I gasped and shivered.
 

He pressed my palms to the glass, spread out wide from my body.

“Don’t move an inch,” he told me, moving away.
 

I saw him move to a spot on the wall beside the large window, then heard the whir and clank of something grinding metal.
 
That sound made me think of the contraption he had used on me on the fouth floor, when he’d held me suspended to flog, and then fuck.
 
I loved that sound.
 

I shifted a little, wanting so badly to look around, to see what had made that noise.
 
As it continued and got louder, I realized it was directly above me.
 
It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to look up.

I felt James move behind me again and then he was lifting my arms.
 
I felt firm padding against one wrist right before the solid click of a handcuff held it captive.
 
He pushed some sort of bar into my palm.
 
“Grip,” he ordered.
 
I gripped the bar tightly.
 
He repeated the process on my other wrist, moving back to that spot on the wall just at the edge of my vision.
 

I gave a little yelp as the chains began to clank again, drawing me up until I was right on the balls of my feet.
 
I had no leverage in this position, no control whatsoever.
 
My eyes closed as I felt James at my back again.
 
He pushed me hard against the glass.
 
“I’m going to fuck you against the glass, but you don’t get to come until you’re looking into my eyes.”
 

I whimpered, because I didn’t want to wait, because I was already on that fine edge, ready to come, and because I wouldn’t, not without his permission.
 

He gripped my hips, tilting them back so that my breasts pressed harder into the glass.
 
My cheekbone stung where it dug into the window, but I just didn’t care.
 

He drove into me, stopping only halfway inside of me, and I moaned a protest.
 
He worked the rest of the way in slowly, agonizingly, working my hips with his hands to control every inch of me that he penetrated.
 

He put his mouth to my ear when he hit the end of me, grinding hard.
 
“Now remember, you don’t get to come until I’ve turned you around.”
 

I had some evil thoughts about the sadistic bastard as he began to pound against me, his hips slapping against my ass with the heavy movements.
 
I could have come, wanted to come, within the first few thrusts, but he didn’t relent, dragging himself out then driving back in with fast thrusts.
 
I cried out against the glass as he moved behind me, against me, inside me.
   

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, thrusting relentlessly.
 
I thought my body would betray me and ignore his command, my release building so powerfully that I didn’t know how to stop it.
 

He wrenched out of me, turning me on the chain with surprising ease.
 
It must have been what the thing was designed for.
 

He gripped my hair in one hand, tilting my head back to look at his eyes straight on.
 
His other hand moved to my ass.
 
He pushed himself inside of me with the smoothest motion.
 
He thrust once, twice, three times, and I was going over the edge.
 

“Come,” he grunted, but I was already lost.
 
I knew my eyes showed my need for him, that vulnerable, raw thing that had become my feelings for him.
 
His eyes were so tender, so loving as they absorbed the look in mine.
 
It was a perfect and terrifying moment of absolute clarity.
 
I’d never go back from this.
 
I would be as lost as Lana if this ended, pining hopelessly for this man, if it all went up in flames.
 

The thought should have made me want to withdraw from him.
 
My sense of self-preservation had been perfectly healthy before I’d met James, and I wondered now if it had deserted me completely, but as I came back down from my own little slice of heaven, I found it hard to summon up the energy to care.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mr. Damaged

He unfastened me swiftly, cradling me against him.
 
He laid me on the couch, crawling on top of me.
 
He smiled down into my eyes, his dark golden hair framing his face.
 
He looked like an angel.
 

“We’re going to need a new divan in here.
 
This one is covered in paint,” he said softly, but not like he minded.
 

I shook my head, running a hand along his cheek and into his hair.
 
“No.
 
This room is going to see a lot more painting sessions.
 
I say we leave it.”
 

He smiled, a joyful smile, the most carefree expression I’d ever seen on his perfect face.
 
“I love the sound of that.
 
Have I told you today how happy you make me?
 
I can never go back from this, Bianca.
 
It would break me to let you go.
 
You know that, right?”
 
Had he read my mind?
 

I felt a tear slide down my cheek, then another.
 
What was it about being in love that had turned me into a baby?
 
I didn’t know, but I couldn’t seem to stop it, whatever it was, no more than I could stop the being in love part.
 
I had fought it every step of the way, but that hadn’t helped, not even a little.
 
I had it bad.
 
So bad.
 

“I wouldn’t know how to go back from this, James,” I said in a whisper.
 
It was perhaps the closest thing to making a long-term commitment that I’d ever given to him, paltry as it was.
 
But he knew what I’d given him, and he accepted it with such a loving promise in his eyes that I couldn’t be sorry for it.
 

“If you could pick one place in the world that you want to visit, any city, any country, any continent, where would it be?”
 

I studied him, my brows drawing together as I tried to follow his strange thought process.
 
I didn’t even have to think to have my answer, though.
 
“Japan.
 
Especially Tokyo.”
 

He looked a little puzzled.
 
“That was a quick but unexpected answer.
 
Why Japan?”
 

I gave my little shrug, though it wasn’t quite the same with him pinning me to the bed.
 
“It just fascinates me.
 
It always has.
 
And it
is
the home of manga and anime.”
 

He grinned.
 
“Of course.
 
Okay, Japan, especially Tokyo.
 
Got it.”
 

I jabbed a finger into his chest.
 
“Why?
 
What are you planning?”
 

“Nothing yet, but in a few weeks, maybe a month, I want us to get away for a week or two.”
 

That sounded divine, but…
 
“James, I can’t take any more time off work.
 
I used it all up with my…injuries.”
 

He gave me an imploring look.
 

I caved in a heartbeat.
 

“You just need to find someone to pick up your shifts, right?” he asked.
 
“You can drop as many as you want, if you find someone else to work them.
 
Stephan explained it to me.
 
Leave it to me.
 
I’ll handle everything.
 
Just say you’ll go.”

I should have said no.
 
I should have told him that yes, I could drop the shifts, but it was really hard to find people to pick them up at straight time, when they could be working overtime for similar shifts, not to mention that if I dropped those shifts, I wouldn’t be making any money for those days.
 
I meant to tell him all of that, but instead I looked into his eyes and
just caved
.
 
“Yes.
 
I can’t think of anything I’d love more.”
 

He squeezed me so tightly that I yelped.
 
“Thank you.”
 

He picked me up again, cradling me as he left the studio and carried me to our bedroom.
 
It was on the same floor and close, thank God, because we were both buck naked and covered in blue paint.
 

He took us directly to the bath, stepping into the deep tub with me as it filled with water.
 

He washed me slowly but thoroughly, scrubbing the paint where it was caked onto my skin.
 
The bath quickly turned blue.
 
We laughed as it just got darker and darker.
 

James had to work on us both for a while.
 

“Want me to help?” I asked, so relaxed that I wasn’t sure I could work up the energy to be that helpful.

“No, Love.
 
I want you to relax.
 
When we’re done in here, I’m going to take you to the fourth floor and give you a very thorough massage.”

“Mmm,” I said, closing my eyes.
 
I felt his fingers move between my legs, and I opened them wider.
 
He began to stroke me, humming against my throat as his clever fingers got to work.
 
He pleasured me with his hands while he sucked on just the perfect spot on my neck.
 
It was an almost leisurely orgasm, at least compared to what he usually gave me.
 

When he continued to thrust his fingers into me even after I’d come, I wiggled.
 
“I want you inside me, James.”
 

He bit my neck, hard.
 
“You’ll know when I’m ready to give you my cock because
you’ll
have it inside of you
,” he said, thrusting the cock in question hard against my butt.
 
“In the meantime, open your legs wider.”
 

He worked at me with two fingers thrusting inside, dragging his other hand down my body to rub my clit just so.
 

“Come,” he said into my neck, and I fell again.
 

We ended up showering after the bath.
 
I had been a little overzealous with the paint apparently, because the bathtub ended up looking like it had been attacked by a paint-gun.

James dried me but left us both nude, pulling me to the elevator by the collar.
 

I had a thought, fingering his mother’s earrings still in my ears, wet hair trailing around them.
 
“Oh, James.
 
I forgot I was wearing your mother’s earrings.
 
I didn’t mean to get them wet.”
 

He shot me a very doting smile over his shoulder.
 
“They aren’t my mother’s.
 
They’re yours now, and a little water won’t hurt them.”
   

He went directly to the elevator, pushing the button.
 
He grinned down at me.
 
“Just pleasure tonight, Love.
 
You need some time to heal from the roses.
 
The fourth floor isn’t only about the pain.”
 

“I know,” I said softly.
 

It had always been about more than pain, every bit of it.
 

He pulled me into the car as it opened, pushing me hard into the wall, pinning me there.
 
“Have you ever been fucked in an elevator?” he asked with a smile.
 

I laughed.
 
“You know I haven’t.”

I had thought that he was joking, but of course he wasn’t, and he slid a leg between my thighs, pushing them open, and lifting me up.
 
He had me wrapping my legs around his hips and was sliding into me in a flash.
 
He pinned my arms above my head with his hands and began to thrust.
 
I gripped him tightly with my thighs, whimpering as he pulled out of me, dragging along those perfect nerves and drove in again, driving me relentlessly towards another orgasm.
 
He pounded at me, those mesmerizing eyes of his watching me with desperation, and an ardor that made it seem impossible that he’d already taken me less than an hour ago.
 

“Fucking come,” he gritted, his words hard, his tone hard, but his eyes so unbelievably soft on mine.
 

I obeyed, losing all control at his command.
 
“James,” I cried.

He kissed me, not letting me down, not pulling out of me.
 
He let my wrists free to wrap his arms around my back.
 

He began to walk, but didn’t let up kissing me, didn’t pull himself out of me.
 
He padded down that ominous gray hallway and into our playground.
 

He was bending forward at his waist, and abruptly let me fall back.
 

I gasped.
 
I didn’t fall far, my back making contact with a firmly cushioned table.
 
He thrust into me twice roughly before letting himself come with a low groan.
 
“Mine,” he said.
   

I only then realized that I was lying on a massage table as he dragged his thick length out of me, turned me over onto my stomach, and shifted me until my face was over the table’s opening.
   

Within swift moments, he was pouring warm liquid into the center of my back, rubbing the oil firmly into my skin.
 
He massaged up to my neck, rubbing on that sensitive area for long minutes, working over to my shoulders, taking his time, rubbing until each of my muscles had been loosened thoroughly by his strong hands.
 

He worked down one arm, paying special attention all the way down to each of my fingertips.
 
He worked back up and over, paying equal attention to my other half.
 

“Your hands are magic,” I said to him, my eyes shut in pleasure.
 

He didn’t respond, working on my back, kneading and rubbing that tissue into relaxed submission.
 
He spent extra time on my lower back, working with teasing slowness into my ass.
 
He made a delicious little noise in his throat as he kneaded my butt.
 
I felt a kiss there a scant moment before I felt a finger at that entrance.
 
I gasped and tensed as he pushed a well-lubricated finger into me.
   

“Shhh, Bianca, relax.
 
Relax.”
 
He pulled that sneaky finger out of me, leaving me for too long before coming back.
 
He began the massage where he’d left off, kneading at my butt and upper thighs.
 

He covered every inch of my back with strong kneading strokes, all the way down to my toes, before he flipped me onto my back.
 
He began the same treatment at the front of my shoulders, taking his time, relaxing every part of me as he worked down.
 
When he reached my sex, he plunged a finger into me.
 
I was wet, of course, and he worked that flesh with sure strokes, using his other hand to part my legs wide, drawing my knees up into my chest.
 
I gasped and tensed as he used his other hand to breach my other entrance again, working a lone finger in slowly, not stopping the smooth strokes at my sex with his other hand.
 

“You see why you need to be relaxed?” he asked me, leaning close as those wicked hands worked together to bring my overwhelmed body so much pleasure.
 

I did see; the other penetration more alarmingly intense than I would have guessed.
 
It wasn’t even about pain, but more about the oddness of it, the strange fullness in a place where perhaps it shouldn’t be, whereas having him fill my sex only ever just felt
right
.
 
Still, I didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want him to let up.
 
The strangeness gave the act an almost forbidden quality that the perverse part of me relished, as it did all of the taboo things James was attracted to.
 

Both fingers moved inside of me, working together, and he had me gasping out another orgasm with consummate skill.
 
Before I’d even come down from that blissful trip he was shoving another finger into each entrance, one cleft getting hard thrusts, the other a gentler, easier touch, just working inside and making delicious little circles.
 

“Relax and push out, yes, like that,” James said, jamming the fingers inside of my sex harder and rougher until I came again.
 

He pulled one set of fingers out, using that hand to shift me back onto my stomach and dragging my hips until my legs hung off the edge of the table.
 
He moved his hips against me from behind, bringing a hand to the front of my neck and applying a light pressure.
 

“Don’t move,” he said.
 
I heard him walk away, knew he left the room, heard a door down that daunting hallway open and close, then open again.
 
Short minutes later he was at my back, moving close behind me, parting my legs to get close.
   

I felt something warm and hard and vibrating brush my clit and I knew it wasn’t a part of James.
 

“James,” I protested, as he worked my clit with that too intense pressure.
 

“Shhh,” he said, moving the vibrator from my clit, teasingly over my cleft.
 
He dipped it in once, and then again, holding it inside of me while he worked another well-lubricated, softer object into my other entrance.
 
I knew it wasn’t him because it was smaller, and though it was firm, it wasn’t hard enough.