In Flight(19)

My bathroom door was slightly ajar, so when my hotel room door clicked open and then closed, I froze in alarm. I peaked out of the door, both surprised and relieved to see that it was James.

He joined me in the bathroom without asking. Even Stephan wasn’t so familiar with me, so it caught me off guard that he would join me so casually in the bathroom right after I’d showered.

He handed me a cup of coffee and two white tablets. He set two bottles of water on the counter.

“The pills are for the hangover,” he told me. “And the water will help. You’re dehydrated.”

I took the pills, downing most of the first bottle in the process. A long drink of the coffee and I felt nearly human again.

I saw that he had changed his clothes. He was back in a suit, looking fresh and well rested.

“You went back to your place?” I knew little about him, but I did know that he lived primarily in New York. My eyes were on his impeccable suit. It was a soft gray, his shirt and tie blue today. I’d never gotten a chance to get a good look at him without his clothes on. Dammit.

As I looked at him, my eyes moved up to his in the mirror. We were both facing it, and his lovely turquoise eyes were glued to my body with an intensity that made my eyes follow his.

My thin shift, combined with my slightly damp skin, had, not surprisingly, made my nightgown transparent. I might as well be naked, I thought, a little stunned.

And he was drinking in the sight of me hungrily, as though he’d never seen anything so appetizing in his life. It was an intoxicating feeling, to put that look in his eyes.

He stepped in directly behind me, his eyes steadily on my chest. My breasts felt heavy and I wanted him to touch them so badly.

I unconsciously arched my back a little, my shoulders going back, my chest forward, my nipples clearly visible as they rubbed against the thin fabric of my shift. They were pebbled to hardness, and tightened even more as I watched them.

“I don’t want to make you late for work,” he murmured. “But I need to do something.”

He pressed up against my back, his arousal hard and heavy against my tailbone. His hands covered my breasts, finally, and I moaned, arching back. He kneaded them firmly and my eyes fell closed.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and I obeyed automatically, meeting his intense eyes in the mirror.

“I like this nightgown,” he said almost absently, as he continued to touch me. “Spread your legs more,” he told me, and they just shifted apart, as though my body and his mouth had some sort of agreement that I wasn’t yet privy to.

One hand stayed kneading my breast, and plucking at my nipple just perfectly while the other ran along my ribs, down my abdomen, and straight between my legs.

They started to shut instinctively against the invasion.

“Open wider,” he ordered, and they just did. “I want to pleasure every inch of you, but for the moment, I’m just going to make you come. I just need to touch you. Lay your head back against my shoulder.”

He quickly found and rubbed my clitoris with his thumb while his index and middle finger played at my entrance almost teasingly.

He sucked in a breath as he felt me. “God, a fucking wet virgin. You are too much, Bianca.”

He pushed one finger into me slowly, and groaned. The fit was excruciatingly tight. I masturbated sometimes with my own fingers, but his were just so much bigger and rougher, and more talented. He knew how to touch me with far more skill than I knew how to touch myself. The thought was a little daunting, but my mind quickly wandered back to the sensations at hand.

He worked his finger all the way in and began to stroke, his finger seeking out just the right spot inside of me. His thumb never stopped circling my clit, and his other hand still kneaded my tender breast with consummate skill. He was a hell of a multi-tasker.

As he stroked, his arousal brushed against my back with increasing pressure. He slipped a second finger in and I felt impossibly full. I cried out, grinding against him.

He stopped suddenly. “Ask me for it,” he ordered, and I didn’t mistake his meaning.

“Please.” I didn’t hesitate.

“Say, please, Mr. Cavendish, make me come.”

“Please, Mr. Cavendish, make me come.”

He pinched my nipple hard as he stroked that perfect spot harder. I came in seconds, before I even really knew it was happening.

I hadn’t realized that an orgasm could be like that, erupting so swiftly. Or so powerfully. I felt like I may have lost myself for a moment.

We were both panting heavily as I came back to myself. He caught my gaze in the mirror as he shifted his fingers out of me. I watched, absolutely mesmerized, as he raised them to his mouth and licked them clean.