Part 16 (2/2)
Once I was fully seated he let out a long sigh. ”I have all manner of elaborate plans to torture you,” he said. ”Yet this-this basic, simple thing-is what I want most at this moment.”
”Just because the chef is going to prepare an elaborate dessert doesn't mean he can't taste the berry right from the basket,” I said.
”True. Perch on your feet. Spread your knees. Display yourself.”
I did, looking down at where his c.o.c.k disappeared into my body. He spread my lips further with his hands, admiring the way our bodies joined, pumping slowly in and out of me.
He bent his knees and sat up, curling his arms under my own and around my rib cage. ”Sabine questions whether I have the strength to lift you.”
”I don't think this was what she meant,” I teased.
”No. And she doesn't know that since she last saw me I've been working with gla.s.s nonstop. Gla.s.s is incredibly heavy. You're nothing in comparison.” He took a deep breath and s.h.i.+fted one foot under us, and the next thing I knew he was lifting me up, still impaled on his c.o.c.k. ”You may have noticed, by the way, that Sabine accepted you as a professional dancer in my employ.”
”I guess she did.”
”Let's talk about it later. Right now, it's time for this.” He pressed me against a wall, pumping in and out of me until I was starting to lose myself in the ripples of pleasure flowing through me from my core.
But then he set me onto my feet and slid free with a wicked grin. ”And now, it's time for a tour of the house.”
”Like I'm going to see anything but your c.o.c.k wherever we go!” I said.
”Suit yourself.” He took me by the hand, picked up my shoulder bag, and led me into a kitchen big enough for a staff of ten to cook in. A dining room stood beyond that, and on the floor above it, a more formal dining room. The building had its own small elevator as well as staircases, and we climbed those on foot, leaving our clothes behind on the foyer floor. I never would have guessed he would be so comfortable in the nude, given how he'd seemed to prefer staying dressed as long as possible when we'd first met.
Maybe he felt safer in his own home. And maybe now he felt safe with me. I certainly was pleased to drink in the sight of him, an embarra.s.sment of riches compared to the glimpses of him I was used to.
Parlor, library, master suite, exercise room, on and on we went until we were at the sixth floor, where the upper terrace overlooked the street. ”Eight fireplaces, and more bathrooms than there are bedrooms,” he said as we went from room to room. ”Ten, to be exact.” Then he led me back down to a room on the fourth floor he hadn't shown me when we'd pa.s.sed by it on the way up. This one was at the back of the house, and the door had an electronic lock that took his fingerprint to open, like something from a spy movie.
I was expecting this to be his dungeon, although I suppose ”playroom” would be a more appropriate word for a room whose windows opened onto a terrace that looked toward Central Park. Unlike the historical-seeming decor in the rest of the house, this s.p.a.ce was sleek and clean-like James himself. Indirect lights came up softly as we entered.
If there was a cache of s.e.x toys here, they were hidden inside Scandinavian design cabinets. There was no St. Andrew's Cross or spanking bench like they had at the club in London. One or two low pieces of furniture were covered with draped cloth. A tall vase contained some minimalist stalks of gra.s.s or branches of some kind. The only things that looked out of place were two small paintbrushes on a shelf, as if they had been set there to dry, the brush end hanging over the edge.
”My gla.s.swork studio is upstate, of course,” he said. ”But this is where I sketch, model with clay, and sometimes paint.”
I giggled a little. ”When I saw the elaborate lock I thought you were showing me your dungeon.”
A catlike smile bent his lips. ”I am.”
”Your studio is where you have your most private, your most intimate moments at home?”
”That's one way to put it.” He closed the door behind us and noted, ”It only locks in one direction.”
”Fire safety?”
”Yes, but also...” He let go my hand and seemed to falter in his explanation. ”I would never want it to seem...”
”Like you were holding me captive?”
”Yes. If you're not here of your own free will, then...” He shook his head, as if he couldn't voice the alternative.
I slid my hand into his again. ”Have you brought many women here?”
He shook his head again and pulled me close. ”Very few. Very, very few.”
”This is your inner sanctum.”
”Yes.” He caressed my cheek, studying my eyes. ”If you were expecting a wall full of whips and chains and implements of torture, I'm sorry to shatter your fantasy.”
I smiled. ”My fantasy is to be here with you.”
”Excellent.” He kissed me then, a long kiss that made me forget we were in the middle of talking, made me forget we were going to do anything other than sink to the floor and f.u.c.k until we couldn't move.
But he hadn't forgotten. ”I saw Damon George flog your c.l.i.t in London,” he murmured.
I didn't answer but my stomach turned to b.u.t.terflies instantly.
”Flog it until it was swollen and sore and then rub his c.o.c.k up and down it.” His voice was low with a dark edge that had to be jealousy. ”You don't know how hard it was not to push him aside and shove my c.o.c.k into you right there. Forget manners, forget rules, forget everything but the blinding need to claim you, Karina.”
”But you didn't.”
”I didn't, and I'm glad I didn't, because I wouldn't have forgiven myself for giving in to my anger, nor for invading you without your consent.”
”I bet most people don't have the self-restraint you do. Now I see why Vanette made me wear that chast.i.ty belt.”
”Ahh, you know I had forgotten it? I think in my rage I didn't even notice it.” He allowed himself a small laugh. ”All the better that I didn't make a fool of myself then. I've imagined a hundred ways to claim you since, though.”
”On a roof?”
”For one.”
”What will it be this time?”
”That's what I'm deciding right now.” He kissed me on the forehead. ”Remember when I said you don't really like pain, but you like being challenged?”
”Yes.”
”Was I right?”
”Um, I think so.” I tried not to visibly squirm. ”And sometimes, you know, it's okay if things hurt a little.”
”Like when someone flogs your c.l.i.t with moose hide?”
I couldn't help it. I did clench and bounce once. ”For example.”
He couldn't hold back his smile. ”All right. I'm going to give you a task. If you succeed at the task, afterward I'll give you only pleasure. But if you fail, then a c.l.i.t-flogging is in your future.”
”Hmm, why do I have a feeling that a c.l.i.t-flogging is in my future regardless?”
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