Grounded

Page 44

He was grinning. “I think we just found some new members of your fan club.”
I rolled my eyes, still laughing. Boys were weird.
We strolled the large circular park, pausing when we caught sight of an impromptu concert in the park. A crowd had gathered to watch a small orchestra play.
James pulled me into his arms, handling me with mastery and gallantry, surely a rare combination. He moved into a light-stepping waltz, smiling down into my eyes.
“What a charming city,” I told him, smiling back, enjoying the novelty of a morning dance in the park.
He nodded. “I’m finding a new love for this city. For everything. You’ve made the world a new and exciting place for me.”
I flushed in pleasure, believing every intoxicating word he said to me.
We leisurely walked from the Imperial Palace district and back to the Ginza district, shopping a little, but mostly just exploring the fascinating city. We walked through a mall, and used a tour guidebook to try to find one of the large city gardens in the Tokyo Bay that I’d marked.
We were trying to decipher the map for maybe five minutes, laughing at our confusion, when Clark approached. He’d been hovering with Blake, following at a discreet distance all day.
“The Hamarikyu Gardens, right?” he asked, peeking at our map.
I nodded.
He pointed down a street. “That way,” he said. He had apparently been here before. “We’ll pass the fish market, which is closed for the day, but it’s just a few blocks past that.”
We thanked him and began to wander that way. James had an arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close, uncaring of the heat and humidity.
“We’ll have to do the fish market tomorrow morning,” James said. “It’s worth it. Best sushi in the world.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the time of the day, or the day of the week, but the lovely gardens were nearly deserted, only the occasional painter capturing one of the park’s landmarks visible. The beauty of the well-maintained gardens stood in stark contrast to the skyscrapers of the adjacent Shiodome district. We circled the large park leisurely, stopping often to enjoy views of the scenic garden, and the waters of the bay beside it.
“Let me know if you see something that you just have to paint,” James told me, as we passed another artist. “I can have supplies brought right away, if you’re so inclined. This place seems to inspire artists.”
I smiled at him, loving that he tried so hard to understand me. I had just been thinking that I’d like to spend a morning painting here.
“You’re so sweet,” I told him.
He smiled, and it was as un-sweet as it could be. “I was just plotting where I would fuck you here. You have strange ideas about sweet.”
I laughed. I had a feeling that seeing the world with James would give me strange ideas about a lot of things. “How do you propose we do that?”
His eyes smoldered at me. “You let me worry about that. There’s a teahouse set on a tiny island in the center of the gardens. How would you like to attend a traditional Japanese tea ceremony?”
I was delighted by the idea. “I’d love nothing more. Except perhaps your other plans.”
He winked at me, giving me a roguish smile. “There’s no reason we can’t do both.”
The teahouse was quaint but I found it incredibly beautiful, the open windows with a view of the gardens like a frame for a perfect picture. We sat cross-legged on a tan bamboo mat while an ageless looking Japanese woman went through the painstaking and elegant ritual. I watched with rapt attention, fascinated with every detail, because every detail was so perfectly orchestrated. The simplest motions became art as the practiced woman moved fluidly through the ritual, the arms of her light pink kimono barely rippling as her arms moved.
James bowed low to her when she presented him with his tea, spouting off a fluent stream of Japanese that I couldn’t begin to follow, but he was obviously praising her.
I felt a completely unreasonable wave of jealousy. I tamped it down, knowing that it was insane. But his praise directed at anyone but myself made me feel covetous of it.
The woman flushed at his praise, making her pale beauty even more pronounced.
I bowed low to her as she presented the tea to me, stumbling over my Japanese thank you. The woman was the epitome of grace, which made me feel a little clumsy just looking at her.
The woman left us alone after the drawn-out ritual was over, giving us the teahouse to ourselves. I knew that deferential privacy was the James Cavendish effect.
I gave James a sidelong look, still sipping my tea. He was watching me, and the look on his face made me squirm. He wore a slight smile, but his eyes had gone full on Dom.
“It made you jealous, just having me watch her do the tea ceremony, didn’t it? You’re that possessive of my affections now.”
I wrinkled my nose, wishing that he couldn’t read me quite so well. It was embarrassing to me that he knew just how unreasonably jealous I could be. I nodded. There was no point in hiding it, since he’d seen it clearly.
“She’s beautiful, and you were fascinated by her,” I said, as though I couldn’t hold the words in. “Did you want her?” I asked, knowing it was a stupid question. I didn’t want to know if he did, and I didn’t want him to lie, so it was just masochistic to ask.
His eyes softened just a tad. “No, Love. The thought didn’t even cross my mind. It did occur to me, though, that I would love for you to learn to do that. The thought of you serving me with such restraint is intoxicating…”
“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.
He folded himself against my back, giving his name on my back, and then my neck, a hard kiss. “So fucking perfect,” he told me, still twitching inside of me. “Every inch of you was sent to me from heaven.”
I smiled at the thought. It still caught me off guard sometimes, how whimsical and romantic he could be, especially after what we’d just done. “Only you could make rutting on the floor like animals into something romantic,” I told him with a laugh.
He pulled out me with the most delicious little noise. “And why shouldn’t it be? What isn’t romantic about finding a few perfect moments of bliss with the woman I love?”
I couldn’t come up with one thing.
We walked through the rest of the gardens leisurely, holding hands and sharing lingering touches and tender looks. His gaze was particularly warm when he looked at my pink knees. He loved to leave his mark on me.