Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(28)

He began to thrust when he was nearly in, small thrusts that went a little deeper with each movement, but never pulled all the way out. I whimpered. The feelings were strange, but still not precisely painful, more of a stretching that felt like it went too far.

"James," I cried as his fingers worked and his thrusts got bigger and faster.

"Say it, Bianca," he said into my back, then bit hard enough to leave marks. I thought that the bite was to distract from the fact that he was pounding into me now, and that it did hurt. But pain had never been a deterrent to my own pleasure, and I came, a hard release that left me limp.

"I'm yours, James," I gasped. "Yours."

He emptied himself inside of me, lingering long enough to kiss my back and soothe me before pulling slowly out of me.

He picked me up, cradling me. He carried me down the gray hallway. He slipped into one of those dark, mysterious rooms, and as he turned on the light, I saw that the room closest to the playground was just a large bathroom with an insanely large white tub.



       
         
       
        

"Since our other tub is blue at the moment, I guess we'll be using this one," he said, a smile in his voice.

I giggled, a little delirious from what felt like a hundred orgasms.

He carried me into the tub, arranged me until I was straddling him, my cheek pillowed against his delicious chest, and started the water.

He stroked my hair and I sighed in pleasure as the hot water slowly covered us. I didn't think I'd ever felt so relaxed, so deliriously content to just lie down and enjoy the moment. I had been restless since I could remember, always having the instincts of a runaway, always anxious that the next moment would bring something bad, and it felt so good to just let that anxious part of me go, and savor something so wonderful.

I was lost in my own thoughts, practically purring against him, when I looked up.

His face was a carefully blank mask.

I stroked his cheek with a hand. "What's wrong, James?" I asked.

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. He didn't answer for a long time, but I knew he wasn't ignoring me. I knew as well as anyone that the really rough stuff always took time to form into words.

"That thing we just did-that act, takes my head into a dark place," he said finally, his words so quiet that I had to strain to hear him.

Of the two of us, he was by far better at showing his feelings, but I could tell that it was a struggle for him to share that with me.

I rubbed my hand soothingly over the spot where my name was etched so beautifully. "Will you tell me about it?"

He swallowed hard. "We won't be doing that often, if ever. I don't want to disappoint you. I needed to do it once, needed to claim you like that, but it doesn't take me to a good place. It's like the roses for you, I think, taking me too deeply into the thing that made me like this."

I understood so well just what he meant. We were so alike in the really important ways. I cupped his face in my hands. "I won't be disappointed. I liked what you did, I enjoyed it, but I certainly don't need that. You fulfill so many needs that I didn't even understand about myself, and that was not one of them. Thank you for showing me, for initiating me into so many things that I find wonderful. Don't ever think that you could disappoint me by telling me your preferences-by telling me no."

He was silent again, and I couldn't tell if my words had reassured him, or if I had even reached him at all. His eyes were faraway and a little glazed over as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Spencer did that to me," he said finally, his voice raw but his eyes still blankly looking up. "It made me feel so helpless, so … worthless. I don't know how to explain it. I know you weren't unwilling, but I just remember how I felt after he would do that, and some part of me feels like I've done something awful to you, something terrible, something like what he did to me." 

"I knew it would make me feel that way, if not during, then at least after, and I still did it, still managed to enjoy it. I feel … loathing, for my weakness, for my need, wondering if it made you feel even an inkling of what I did. It makes me wonder if everything I do to you is a sort of rape-if I'm taking advantage of that beautiful submission that you give to me."

I started to speak, to try to reassure him, but he cut me off. "I know you'll tell me that's not true, and some part of me even knows it, but I still feel it. Like I said, that act just puts me in a dark place."

I cupped his face softly. "I understand. The roses were like that for me. They reminded me more of my father than anything you've done, and they terrified me. I felt more pain and more fear on the violent end of those than anything else we've done, but the pleasure was just as great … more so. It made me think of those dark things even as it made me come. I couldn't control my pleasure any more than I could control my fear. That terrifies me."