Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(103)

"I could never do it like her. She's perfect."

He ran his tongue over his teeth just so. "I wouldn't want you to do it like her. I'd want you to do it like yourself. What do you say? Would you like a kimono and some tea ceremony lessons?"

I nodded with no hesitation. "I'd love that."

He smiled, reaching a hand up to cup the back of my head. He moved into me. "We'll devote a morning to it, then."

He kissed me, then pushed me to the floor, moving roughly on top of me. He ground his hard erection into me, still fully clothed, while he ravished my mouth. He showed none of his finesse as he gripped my hips and moved against me, biting hard on my lower lip. It was as though he wanted to be as savage as possible, a perfect contrast to our refined surroundings.

He pulled away, sitting up to watch me. His pretty mouth was a little mean as he smiled at me, running a hand through his hair.

"Stand up and take off your clothes. Every scrap," Mr. Cavendish told me.

I glanced around, a little shocked at the prospect, when I should be far beyond the point of shocking. Perhaps it was the perfect manners of everyone we'd run into, but it seemed a little wrong to do something so crass in the serene teahouse. Plus, there were open windows everywhere, and a good chance that we would be seen or heard.



       
         
       
        

"Can we?" I asked breathlessly.

That made him laugh, and as his Dom eyes played over my face I knew that he loved with a passion the scandalized look I now wore. "I'll do anything I please," he told me. "That was one of the first things you should have learned about me. Now take off your clothes, or I'll do something that really embarrasses you.

I obeyed, hurrying because I felt so awkward.

He tilted his head, leaning back on his hands. "Slowly. Draw it out. And touch your body for me as you show it to me."

I pulled my top over my head slowly, unclasping the front of my bra to let my breasts spill free.

"Fondle yourself. Show me how rough you like me to handle them."

I palmed the large globes firmly, pushing them together, avoiding my still-tender nipples, but kneading at the flesh around them. I did like them handled roughly, but his hands were so much better suited to it than mine.

"Take off your shorts and panties now, but don't touch yourself."

I toed off my shoes, sliding my shorts and panties off in one smooth motion.

"Come here. I want you to put your foot on my shoulder. I need to see how wet you are before I've even touched you."

I obeyed carefully, leaning forward a little to keep my balance. The teahouse was lit only with natural light, but I still didn't think I'd ever felt more naked as I stared out of the open windows, scanning to make sure that no one was watching us.

He hummed in approval. "So wet already. Let me see how you touch yourself. Rub your clit for me."

I obeyed, but a little sound of disappointment escaped my throat. I wanted him to touch me.

"Don't complain. Say yes Mr. Cavendish, or I'll make you get yourself off."

"Yes, Mr. Cavendish," I murmured, trying not to sound resentful. He had me spoiled, after all. His touch was a drug that I could never go back from.

I circled my clit with a light touch, circling my hips as I did so. He watched closely, his eyelids getting heavy. He leaned close, holding my foot on his shoulder to keep me steady. I shuddered as I felt his breath on me.

"Get on your hands and knees," he told me when I'd worked myself into a fever pitch.

I obeyed, and he just watched me for a while. I heard the rustle of his clothing, the movement of his zipper, and then the sound of him shifting slightly on the bamboo mat.

"Arch your back," he told me. "Spread your legs a little wider. I'm going to ride you so hard that you're going to have sore knees and a tender cunt when I'm done."

I moaned and arched. He gripped my hair roughly, pulling my head back as he rammed into me hard. He set a jarring, brutal pace, such a stark contrast to our genteel surroundings, and I loved it just as much as he knew I would. 

He had all of the smooth moves in the world but he used none of them, rutting into me with a harsh, single-minded purpose. I'd thought he'd taken me every way there was, but the way he took me then was so savagely violent, feeding both my need for pleasure and pain, that I came around him with a ragged sob, feeling punished and pleasured in equal parts.

My knees were sore by the time he found his own release, pulling hard on my hair as he reached the end of me with a rough grind of his hips. "Oh, Bianca," he moaned, and there was a world of praise in his voice, as though only I could undo him like that, and I closed my eyes with pure pleasure at the thought.