by Whitney G.
She looked at me as she put on her clothes, giving me that strange look she often gave when we finished having sex.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I would’ve told you in the shower.”
“I meant at the gala. Did I grab your arm from behind the way you did to me here?”
“No.” She shook her head.
I sighed, hesitating. “I am sorry, actually.”
“For talking to me the way that you did?”
“For doing it publicly.”
“Jake—”
“Yes,” I said, taking her hands and helping her stand up. “I’m sorry for talking to you that way.”
“So, it won’t happen again?”
“Not unless you feel the need to talk to my brother again.”
“I won’t...” She bit her lip. “Were you adopted? Is Evan your stepbrother?”
“This conversation can’t happen,” I said. “Drop it.”
“Evan never mentioned a brother when I interviewed him at my newspaper years ago. I’m just asking.”
“Gillian, if you and me are going to work—” I tried to keep my voice calm. “If whatever the hell this is is going to work, I mean, I need you to drop this and never bring it up again. It has nothing to do with whatever the hell we’re doing.”
She smiled a sarcastic smile. “Are you saying you’re now open to more since you do enjoy talking to me? That you could see yourself falling in love with me?”
“This is hardly love.”
“Then it’s hardly lust.”
“Then we’ll just call it us.” I rolled my eyes and led her into the guest bedroom, picking up her clutch on the way and handing it to her. Hitting the lights, I walked her over to the bed and pulled back the sheets. “You can sleep here tonight. I’ll have you taken home in the morning.”
“Thank you.” She climbed into the bed, looking sexier than ever.
“How did you get here tonight?” I asked.
“My roommate dropped me off.”
“You’re lying.” I saw it in her eyes. “How did you really get here?”
“I took the bus.”
“Were there no cabs or Uber drivers available?”
“Yes, but some of us weren’t born rich, so we have to wait until pay day to have access to our money.”
“I wasn’t born rich,” I said, roughly fluffing the pillow behind her head. “Next time you’re that angry, just get a cab. I’ll pay for it.”
She looked stunned. “Is that open invitation to stay at your place whenever I need to?”
“I think you’ve stayed in my place more than enough.” I slipped my hands beneath her thighs and pulled her closer to me. “But fuck no, that’s not an invitation to stay here at all. Outside of tonight, I can guarantee you’ll never spend the night here again.”
“Too worried you’ll catch feelings for me?”
“Too worried you’ll think I’m catching feelings for you.” I trailed her lips with my finger. “I’m not, Gillian, but I do enjoy talking to you. Sometimes.”
She let out a soft breath and started talking again—launching into one of those long monologues, slowly turning me on with each and every word that fell from her puffy pink lips.
This time, when she finally finished, I just stared at her. Then I realized I needed to end this conversation right now before we had sex again, before I failed to get enough sleep for my flight tomorrow night.
I didn’t say anything else to her. I simply took one last look at her, hit the lights, and walked away. I walked into the kitchen, put away the shot glasses and bourbon, and retreated to my own room where her previous strawberry scent was just now beginning to fade away.
Laying back on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, wondering how the hell we’d once again gone from arguing to fucking to cordial conversation.
Every other woman I’d argued with in the past—no matter the discussion, instantly landed on my ‘never speak to again’ list. Our ties were immediately cut, our communication forever frozen to that one particular moment in time. Yet, multiple arguments later, and I wasn’t feeling the need to block Gillian’s number or replace her with someone else.
When I finally shut my eyes hours later, I drifted into the easiest sleep I’d had in months. But when I woke up, I realized that I wasn’t in my own bedroom anymore. I was laying next to Gillian and she was wrapped in my arms.
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
PRESENT DAY
I DON’T WANT TO GET my hopes up, and I don’t want to forget how quickly he’s capable of switching the hot and cold switch, but I really like him. A lot more than I probably should...And regardless of the nonchalant tone he sometimes takes with me, the way he now kisses me, and the way he takes his time fucking me, only reveal he likes me, too.
That said, I think this man is going to get me fired...
The discretion we shared before—the perfectly weighted “Meet me here” at this time, is now replaced with “The second I see you, we’re fucking.”
He takes my hand in public—leading me away with no regard for our hundreds of coworkers or whoever else may see. Each time, I attempt to play it off as some type of silly game, but I always lose because he only fucks me harder every time I do that. And the day he fucked me in an abandoned food court stock room in Minneapolis/St. Paul International, I started looking up new jobs.
It’s only a matter of time.
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
1 COMMENT POSTED:
KayTROLL: You’ll be getting yourself fired. Just like before. At least this time you won’t have anyone else to blame but yourself...
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
PRESENT DAY
THERE ARE NOW NIGHTLY phone calls, endless emails as we fly overseas, and text messages that never fail to make me wet. And yet, despite the fact that we are talking more than ever, that he only occasionally sends me those “This message is not about fucking” lines, he only lets our conversations skim the surface.
Questions about his past or his family are still abruptly cut short, any mention of ‘us’ is quickly dissolved into other safe topics, and when he can’t find another distraction, he ends our discussion with sex.
And last night, after he took me against the door of my hotel room closet, he kissed me so long and deeply that I could’ve sworn I heard him say, “You’re not good for me...But I like you anyway...”
AT LEAST, I think that’s what he said...
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
1 COMMENT POSTED:
KAYTROLL: The only reason I haven’t unfollowed your blog yet is because I pity you and your life. And your train-wreck posts make me feel ten times better about myself.
GATE B20
JAKE
Orlando (MCO)—> Hawaii (HNL)—> New York (JFK)
THE TASTE OF GILLIAN’S pussy was still on my lips from a tryst hours ago in Orlando, providing enough of a distraction from another long week. It was also a mental diversion that kept me from paying too much attention to this morning’s current pilots’ meeting. Almost.
“So...” A man in a badly tailored blue suit stood in front of the small conference room, addressing me and twenty other pilots. “As you all know, we at Elite have the best benefits packages out of all commercial airlines, the best planes in the sky, and we also have the best track record for safety.”
“Did you really call us in here to read the company brochure aloud?” I asked. This meeting had gone on for half an hour too long already. “I have far better things to do in Hawaii.”
“Of course, you do, Captain Weston.” He rolled his eyes and hit the lights, forcing a screen to fall down over the wall. “I called this meeting to discuss our non-fraternization policy.”
All of a sudden, a grainy image appeared on the screen. A pilot in uniform tugging the hand of a flight attendant past an “Under Construction Zone.”
“Now
, the airports don’t typically install the high grade cameras in the construction zones because, well...What would be the point of that since they’re practically off limits, but a passenger caught this happening weeks ago and posted it on social media with the caption: Bet the pilot is about to fly his cock up her runway.”
There were a few laughs from the other pilots.
“There was also this clip.” He clicked the remote, and a far clearer picture began playing. A video of a pilot in uniform kissing a woman against a wall in a closed and empty food court at Seattle International.
“Now,” he said. “This is only a formality, as we’re simply speaking to all Elite pilots who have flown routes to these particular airports during the times that the videos were taken. Needless to say, although what goes on in your personal bedrooms is none of our business, the idea of two employees blatantly breaking our non-fraternization rule when we so adamantly market our rules to the public is a bit...” He tapped his chin. “It’s a bit shameful. No, another ‘s’ word...Shocking? Staggering? No... Scandalous.”
He finally settled on a term and hit the lights. “If you know who this is, I suggest you tell them that we’re on to them. And if it’s you, I suggest you tell us immediately so we can immediately terminate the flight attendant and have you sign off on the pilot’s breach of policy form. You’ll be subject to a disciplinary action, but you’ll keep your job as long as you cooperate. ”
He continued to talk as he handed out paperwork, but I kept my eyes on the screen behind him. The videos were playing on a loop, but since me and Gillian’s faces never looked up or to the side, there was no way of knowing it was us. It only appeared to be two employees who worked for the same airline, two employees who were kissing in a way that looked like they didn’t give a fuck if they got caught.
“Are you listening to me, Captain Weston?” His question snapped me out of my thoughts. “Captain Weston?”
“Yes?”
“I said you can leave the airport as soon as you sign the non-fraternization policy again.” He gestured around the now empty room. “You’re the only one still sitting here.”
I looked down at the paper, noticing the red lined change: I, Jake Weston, have never, and will never engage in a relationship with any employee of Elite Airways, in any department or extension of Elite Airways. I also am in compliance with the original non-fraternization policy below.
Picking up a pen, I signed my name and he took the paper from me. I stood up and headed for the door, but he called after me.
“Yes?” I looked over my shoulder.
“Um, you left something in your chair.” He pointed to a crumpled pair of black, lace panties.
“Thank you.” I picked them up and returned them to my pocket, not letting him ask whatever the hell he was tempted to ask. I stepped out of the room and into the terminal at Honolulu International, in no rush to spend my next four off days on the island.
Years ago, I would’ve relished the idea of spending countless hours near the beaches and fucking as many women as possible, but for some reason, that idea wasn’t as appealing right now.
I pulled out my phone and looked over Gillian’s line. She was currently in Orlando en route via a red eye flight to Seattle. From there she had a trip to Los Angeles with a three day stopover.
I calculated the math in my head: Los Angeles was only a five hour flight away from Hawaii, with a three hour time zone difference. Seattle was six hours away from Orlando, so she’d land there within the next couple of hours for a short flight to Los—
I immediately stopped my train of thought.
What the fuck am I doing?
I shook my head and headed down to the ground transportation dock, hailing the first available cab. I needed to get to the hotel ASAP before I could entertain that reckless thought any further.
GATE B21
GILLIAN
Orlando (MCO)—> Seattle (SEA)—> Los Angeles (LAX)
I WINCED AS I MADE another pot of coffee for the first class cabin. The muscles in my arms were weak and heavy—worn out from holding onto a closet doorframe while Jake bent low on his knees and pleasured my pussy with his mouth.
I was still waiting for a time when the sex wouldn’t be so spectacular, an instance where it would only be ‘good,’ or maybe even average, but it was getting more intense every time.
Making sure the coffee was hot enough, I turned it on low, ready to start breakfast service. I opened the compartment where we kept the placemats, but Miss Connors stepped in front of me and slammed it shut.
“How are you on this lovely day today, Miss Taylor?” She asked, smiling.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m amazing.” Her smile didn’t waver. “I didn’t see you on the crew shuttle this morning, so I was quite surprised that you beat me to the airport for a change. Imagine my surprise when I arrived this morning and saw you already waiting patiently at the gate.”
“Yes, well...” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “On time is late, and early is on time. I caught the shuttle right before yours.”
“Oh, really?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “You know, that’s quite interesting because there was no shuttle before mine. Even if there was, I would’ve seen you catch it because I was in the lobby having coffee and a book at five this morning. If you came down, there’s no way I would’ve missed you.”
I said nothing.
“Furthermore,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “I actually went to your room at seven to make sure you were coming, so imagine how shocked I was when a housekeeping associate told me you never actually checked into your room the other day.”
I felt my face turning red, but I still didn’t say anything.
“So, I started thinking to myself. Well, Miss Taylor is definitely incompetent at times, and although I did see her argue with someone familiar at the gala weeks ago, there’s no way this young woman would risk her career over a pilot’s cock.” She shook her head. “There’s no way the front desk agent had the same girl in mind when he told me you turned in your room key shortly after checking in and was picked up by some ‘pilot guy.’ There’s no way, is there, Miss Taylor?”
I swallowed, unable to meet her gaze anymore.
“End it.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “End it today. I don’t care what type of stupid system of lust the two of you have going on, but if it continues past today, I’ll have you fired.”
“Miss Connors, I’m—”
She held up her hand. “I expected more from you. You can do much better than a goddamn pilot,” She rolled her eyes and walked away without another word, leaving me completely embarrassed.
SECONDS AFTER CHECKING into my Los Angeles hotel, I got the hell away from Miss Connors and locked myself in my room. I plugged my laptop into the wall and sat at the desk, forcing myself to temporarily forget about her threats.
I googled “Flight Attendants Fired for Breaking Employee Fraternization Policy,” and several pages of results popped up. I clicked on each of the links, my heart sinking with each and every article. Of the twenty I read, eighteen of the incidents were from Elite Airways, but they were several years old. The more current articles were all quotes from executives, all of them saying a variation of, “That’s why our safety record is so high. Our flight employees are pure professionals. No other airline in the world has a policy like ours, but the proof is in the policy.”
Shit...
I closed all the browser windows and leaned back in my chair. I was going to have to find a way to end this; losing my job over sex wasn’t worth it, no matter how amazing it was.
Sighing, I got up and took a long shower—thinking through the past few months, tallying up all of our meet-ups. No matter how badly I wanted to believe that this could turn into something more, the only thing that improved between us was the sex. Our conversations were still on his terms, still unbalanced and tilted in favor of my reveals and his conceals.
And the longer I continued to deny the fact that deep down, I did want more, the longer I would drag this out and potentially get hurt.
I stepped out of the shower and immediately scrolled down to Jake’s name in my phone. I typed my email and hastily hit send, not giving myself a chance to change my mind.
GILLIAN: We need to end this. Now. I’m sorry...
HE DIDN’T RESPOND.
And entire hour passed before I stopped staring at the screen and realized he wasn’t going to. Figuring silence was his easy way of accepting things, I opened my laptop once more and opened up a few new tabs.
Since I’d managed to go several weeks without giving in to my curiosity about Jake’s family, and we were now practically over, I had to know what he meant by Evan being his brother. Why he said it in a way that looked as if he hated to admit the fact.
I typed in “Evan Pearson” in one tab and “Elite Airways CEO Nathaniel Pearson” in another.
I clicked on the best picture of Nathaniel and enlarged it, raising my eyebrow as I noticed the similarities between him and his son, Evan. Then I pulled up a picture of Jake.
At first glance, there wasn’t much to compare—Nathaniel’s features were far softer and his hair in his younger years was a dark brown that complemented his full mustache. But his eyes—those bright blue and stunning irises were damn near identical to Jake’s.
So he couldn’t have been adopted...
I stared at the two of them for at least five minutes, wondering how the hell something like this had gone undiscovered for so long, how some opportunistic reporter hadn’t already spun the story to the tabloids at least. I was certain ‘family-oriented CEO fathered a secret son’ would’ve fetched a high price.
