Mile High (Up In The Air #2)

CHAPTER NINE

We were boarding his jet in record time. I’d never been on a private jet before, and his was impressive.

I studied the beautifully designed interior, keeping my features schooled into passivity as the flight attendant greeted us warmly.

He led me directly to a seat, buckling me in without a word, his mouth tight. We hadn’t spoken since his odd statement, and I didn’t know what to say.

He sat beside me in an oversized leather chair, buckling himself in. The seats made my airline’s first class seats look tiny in comparison.

“The decor is lovely. Your decorators, as always, have exquisite taste,” I told him. The plane’s interior was done up in a muted red color with deep brown accents. I wouldn’t have even known it was a plane, if I’d only seen the interior.

“Well, thank you. I decorate most of it myself,” he told me, flushing a little.

I was surprised. “That’s…impressive.”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I own hotels. It always made sense to me, that I should have a hand in all of it, so I’ve been making many of the decorating decisions since I was a teenager. It goes without saying that I choose my own decor on my private properties. I like things a particular way.”

I flushed a little at that. He was a control freak, was what he should have said. Strangely, that thought only ever turned me on. “Do you enjoy interior design? Or is it merely a necessary evil for you?”

He looked thoughtful. “I enjoy it. If I’m honest, I even enjoy shopping. Do you think less of me now?”

I gave him a tiny, teasing smile. “Hardly. I far prefer these revelations to ones about you being an exhibitionist.”

He had begun to smile, and just like that, it died. He grew broodingly silent again as the plane was prepped and we took off.

“Do you think you’ll be able to accept my past? Or is it all just too sordid for you?” he finally asked quietly. His head was tilted back as he rested in his chair.

I blinked. “I suppose, as long as it is actually in the past, I could cope with it, if you’re always honest with me.”

He nodded, looking relieved, but oddly sad. “I will be. I have been. I’ve gone out of my way to tell you even the things I don’t want to, because you asked it of me. You just need to give me some time to prove it to you. To gain your trust.”

I thought about that as he went silent again.

The flight attendant was attentive, asking us if we needed anything mere seconds after we reached ten thousand feet.

She was beautiful, I noticed. Her hair was long and black, hanging straight down her back and parted down the middle, her features stunning. She had a slim but shapely figure. Her uniform was a plain black skirt with a fitted, almost too tight white dress shirt tucked in. She wore four inch red stilettos that she worked like a pro. I couldn’t have walked in those shoes to save my life.

I remembered James’s offer to hire me as his personal flight attendant. Was that how she had gotten the job? Did I want to know? The masochistic side of me certainly did.

“Have you slept with Helene?” I asked James, my tone very nearly idle.

He studied me. He hesitated, and I had my answer.

I looked out the window.

“Once, when she first hired on,” he said slowly. “She offered rather blatantly, and I accepted. We’ve been nothing but professional in the years since. Are you upset?”


“Is she a submissive?” I asked.

I heard his breath puff out in a frustrated sigh.

“It’s almost as if you’re toying with me, hinting that you might be jealous. I shouldn’t hold my breath, huh? No, she is not. We weren’t compatible in that way. I didn’t even consider it. As I said, it was years ago. I was more promiscuous then. She was beautiful and amenable, and it was enough, at the time.”

Ick, ick, ick, I was thinking. Ouch, ouch, ouch, was what I was feeling. “It doesn’t seem very professional, sleeping with your employees like that,” I said stiffly.

He covered my hand with his own. “It wasn’t. I don’t do anything like that anymore, even before I met you.”

“Will we be running into women you’ve slept with everywhere we go?” I asked.

He squeezed my hand. “Not everywhere, but occasionally, yes. If it bothers you too much, I could let her go, or reassign her. I hate to make you uncomfortable.”

I looked to where the flight attendant worked in her tiny galley. She had been nothing but professional and efficient.

“Does she hit on you anymore?” I asked.

“No. I told her quite clearly after the first time that it would not be happening again. She took it with grace. She is a real professional. But I will accommodate you, however you like. I want you in my life, and I will make any concessions needed to see that happen. Do I need to let her go?”

“Of course not,” I said, not looking at him. If we were having sex, he never would have allowed my looking away from him in such a way. He never would have allowed the distance it gave me. But, for whatever reason, he seemed to be giving me the control outside of the bedroom. “She seems to be good at her job.”

“She’s quite good. And always available to fly at a moment’s notice.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked him, changing the subject. Talking about and looking at the other woman was depressing me, for obvious reasons.

“Wyoming,” he answered.

I blinked at him.

“It’s a fairly short flight, but there’s a bed in the back, if you want to get a little sleep. There’s also clothes and toiletries for you,” James went on.

“What’s in Wyoming?” I asked.

“I have a horse ranch there. It’s very secluded and peaceful. I thought it might be a nice reprieve for us, for a day or two.”

“You don’t need to work?” I asked him.

“I’m grooming a North American manager to take over some of my duties. I have micro-managed my businesses for too long, I’m recently realizing. I have a man who I believe is capable, so he should certainly be able to handle things for a few days. I need to be able to have a life outside of work. For once, I actually want that. So this will be a test for him. When I want to take a few days, or even a few weeks off, I want to leave things in capable hands.”

I hadn’t expected my casual question to elicit such an in-depth answer. He always surprised me, and unwillingly, I felt some of my walls weakening.

“I have to be back to work thursday night,” I told him.

He smiled at me, his mood lightened. “Yes, I know.”

I realized I was tired enough to sleep with a sudden yawn.

James saw, giving me a hooded look. “Ready to go to bed?” he asked.

“Are you tired?” I asked him, about to tell him he didn’t have to join me if he wasn’t.

His eyes seared me. “Love, I’ve been waiting for weeks to see you. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.” As he spoke, he unbuckled me, pulling me to my feet and leading me to the back of the plane, without further ado.

Just before we reached the closed door at the back, he let go of my hand, reaching up to the ring on my choker, hooking a finger inside. He didn’t even glance back at me, but I felt a change in him.

He opened the door, pulling me into a surprisingly large bedroom. He led me around the room, showing me where I could find the things I’d need. Half of the clothes in the closet were women’s clothes. Dare I ask? “Will those fit me?”

“I would hope so,” he answered in an icy tone. “I had my shopper buy them for you, and she had all of your measurements.”

The bathroom was tiny, but held the essential toiletries that I might need.

He was unbuttoning my blouse, his chest against my back, before we’d finished the short tour. He pulled it off my arms, unsnapping my front clasping bra with one swift motion. He had my skirt unzipped and falling to my feet in a flash.

Unexpectedly, he bit down between my neck and shoulder, right on the tendon, hard enough to make me jerk. He sucked on the wound he’d made, and I moaned.

“Leave the shoes on. Lie down on your back, and spread your legs,” he ordered.

I obeyed.

He pulled restraints from under the mattress, fastening my wrists, and then my ankles. I felt a sensual haze overtake me as I gazed at him. I was spellbound as I watched him undress.

He shrugged out of his shirt in one smooth motion. I held my breath as he undid the button and zipper of his pants, releasing his erection. He pushed them to the floor, stepping out of them and immediately stepping up to the bed.

He studied me for long minutes, his intense eyes drinking me in, as though memorizing the sight.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper, and I believed him.

He crawled onto the foot of the bed, burying his face between my legs before I saw his intent.

I gasped as he licked at me with long, perfect strokes. He sucked at my *oris and I whimpered. He had me on the brink of orgasm in seconds, but pulled back suddenly, going back to slowly licking me.

“James, please,” I begged him.

I got no response, just the slowest lick along my core.

“Mr. Cavendish, please,” I tried again.

He moved up my body, licking and sucking at my naval. He spent drawn-out minutes at my breasts, sucking hard on my nipples for endless minutes, kneading at my full breasts, until that alone had me close to the edge. He stopped short there, as well.

I sobbed.

He left no part of my exposed body untouched, rubbing, pinching, sucking, biting. It was the most exquisite torture.

His heavy arousal dragged along my body as he moved, and I tugged hard at my restraints, trying to get closer to that part of him. I pulled so hard at them that my hands and feet began to go numb, but James never let up.

I tried begging again. “I beg you, Mr. Cavendish.”

He ignored the words, never speaking, never letting up.

“Are you punishing me, Mr. Cavendish?” I finally cried.

“Of course I am,” he murmured against my skin, and there was steal in his voice. “I can’t whip you.

This is the alternative. Do you prefer the whipping?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. There was no comparison in my mind. One liberated me, and the other made me feel desperate and exposed. Tears seeped down my cheeks as he relentlessly worked on my body.

“Why?” I asked breathlessly.

He thrust two fingers into me suddenly, and my back bowed on a gasp.

His own breathing was harsh as he spoke, stroking me purposefully. “Just to give you a taste. I was desperate for you. To comfort you, to tend to you. Hell, just to look at you. But you withdrew from me completely, until I was pathetically grateful for just a text from you, and even that you withheld most of the time. So I needed to give you at least a small taste of the wanting.” He worked his fingers along just the perfect spot as he spoke.

I was tensing with my approaching orgasm when he pulled his fingers out.

I screamed in frustration.

He kissed me. It was a bruising kiss, and I tasted myself on his mouth. He plundered my mouth as he positioned himself above me. I began to whimper loudly as I felt his cock right at my entrance. He teased, rubbing in circles there. I tried to thrust up at him, but merely served to further strangle my ankles in the process.

“I-I’m sorry I did that,” I told him finally. “You scare me. The way I feel about you scares me, so I ran.”

He thrust inside of me as I spoke.

I screamed. He moaned.

He propped himself on his elbows, thrusting furiously, but holding my gaze with his own. He tugged on the loop of diamonds on my collar as he thrust, and I felt the pull there, the connection that it symbolized.

“Nothing in my life has ever felt as perfect as being inside of you,” he gasped out, cupping my face, his punishing pace never letting up. “Come, Love,” he ordered.

I did. “James,” I cried, and I watched his eyes as his own release took him.

The way he looked at me then made me want to cry with longing. If I was foolish enough to believe that look, I’d be lost forever.