by L. C White
“Sorry,” I sigh, brushing deliciously close by him.
The interior, well what can I say, it’s very Voguish. There’s a padded cream sofa: the style, seventies retro with button tufts. There are two large armchairs of the same design. A large contemporary glossy black drinks cabinet, with an opaque glass door, containing an ice box, and many different cut crystal glasses. And the television, well that’s more of a cinema screen size. This is amazing, and a bit excessive.
I turn to Adrien as he closes the airlock on the door. My jaw is ajar and I can feel my lips drying out. I crank it shut, but it falls open again.
Is this all for my benefit, or is this like a regular thing for him? My heart is telling me to enjoy it, but my head is saying I need to tell him this is way too much.
“Elizabeth, you’re thinking too hard,” he frowns. “It would be wise for you to take a seat for take-off.”
I turn to my side and look down at the chair. It will do. I fall into it and it spins me out of control. I squeak out loud in a fluster. Now I’m facing the porthole window, and have made an inept fool of myself.
“Elizabeth… easy does it. You’ve not touched a drop yet.”
He hands me half a glass of white wine as I flap around, trying to alter the swivel chair. He blows out and bends, rotating me into the correct position. I think I’m annoying him with my inelegance. He secures the legs to the floor so it doesn’t revolve as I close my eyelids, feeling completely undignified.
He takes the buckle from the base of the seat, and seductively pulls it across my lap. His eyes are unusually dark today, and his pupils have lassoed mine. I swallow, panting silently. He straightens, and takes his whisky from the cabinet, before sitting an arms-length away. He fastens himself into the chair adjacent to mine.
“Is this your plane?” I ask.
He laughs. “Kind of. I share it with colleagues. I usually fly myself, but thought it would be rude to leave you back here all alone.”
Of course he flies too. Oh my god, I would have loved to have watched him doing his thing in the cockpit. I sip my wine, fantasising about him in uniform. It’s really nice wine. I take another sip and sigh. It’s making my insides feel all warm, and lessening my lusty thoughts of him.
“It’s a Cuvee Frederic Emile 2006, even I like that wine.” He notices my pleased expression.
“Did I need to pack a bikini or costume,” I ask, as the plane moves down the runway. “I’m afraid I’ve just packed a few simple things.”
“We’re not going far. A short car journey after we land in Edinburgh, and we’ll be at my second home,” he says, looking out of the window. “Killiecrankie, are you familiar with it?”
If he’s expecting me to know, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Towns, roads, directions, and I in general, are not a good mix. I once reported Beryl stolen to the police. I could have sworn I left her outside Holt Bakery. Fact is, I parked her outside Clarks shoe store, two streets away. So yes, I have heard of Edinburgh, it’s a big city up north. But Kill whatever, I have no knowledge of.
“No… it sounds like a village?”
“So you don’t know about the battle that took place there in the sixteenth century, never studied it in middle-grade?”
I hope he’s not noticing my incompetence on this subject, but jeez, it’s a bit boring. Please don’t look bored Liz.
“We don’t do middle grade here.” I will use this to change the subject. “So Washington, where did you study?”
He removes his safety belt and pours himself a shot of posh bourbon. “I studied at GWU, and hold ph.D’s in management, business, finance, and marketing.” He sighs and sits down, blasé. “But it never thrilled me you know. That’s why I travel a lot.”
It’s a normal reaction now for me to ogle him, and he’s probably very used to it. But he’s brushing that crystal against his bottom lip deep in thought, and oh wow, it is a sexy sight.
“What about you Elizabeth; what are your dreams and aspirations?”
I cradle my wine to my chest. “Well, just to graduate for a start.”
“Oh come on, bet there’s something more in there.” He points his glass to his temple. “Everyone has dreams.”
I rock my pupils side to side. I don’t to want discuss my fairy tale job. In the real world, every job sucks a little. But he’s waiting with baited eyes, and I know it will be nowhere near on the scale of what he’s done and achieved. Or remotely interesting.
“You’re ashamed?”
“No, of course not.”
He chuckles. “You need to stop being so pessimistic about things. Life is too damn short for it.” He stands and takes one stride to crouch next to me.
I’ve never been attracted to knees before. But his, I imagine my hands making their way up over his fine thighs. I shake my head, embracing my glass tighter, all rattled and heated.
“Have you heard of the mile high club, Elizabeth?” he says it so simply.
I boil promptly as fire zips up my cheeks, because I have heard of it. I chew on my lip, and try to absorb his merciless demanding view on me.
“Hmm.” I blow out.
He walks to the far end of the plane, leaving the work in my hands. I have to get up from this seat and follow. Why has he done that? Does he want to see how far I will go to please him; myself? Oh crap. I’m now realising how much he’s changing me. I used to be the girl who shied away from anything X-rated. Now he’s put me slap-bang in the middle of this red-hot fantasy.
Think about this Liz, drink your wine first, bit of courage.
The desirous pulse grows within my hips. Do I strip off on the way, or wait? I opt for the latter. I watch him disappear through a door. Come on legs, please get me to him. I push myself up using the armrests, and apprehensively follow.
As soon as I get near the door his hand seizes, and drags me into a bathroom. The only light in here is around the mirror above the sink. It’s dark, but light enough so I can see his precision. He hovers from side to side, gaping with imploration, an aggressive sex driven urge. He runs his fingers slowly up my forearm and bicep, to cup my neck. I exhale with slender vision, as he fluctuates me back and forth. He has me drugged. I’m now wet and so damn ready.
He wrenches my body to his predatory eyes, and I am his prey. There’s a stream, a powerful sexual understanding between us. I can’t explain it, because I’ve never felt it before now.
He shifts me back, fixated on me and my heavy out-breaths. We respire heavy and in sync. He drives me up against the rectangular sink.
“If there is a god.” He traces his fingers up my cheek. “He would not let you near me.”
A yearning gasp emerges from my lips as he rolls his forehead on mine. He nibbles my bottom lip, and the passion takes hold. One hand is still on my face, and the fingers of the other delve through my hair, grasping my roots at the base of my neck. He’s kissing me the way he did in that garage, and he’s blowing my head off. Adrien Knight is my sexual angel.
He pulls down my shirt, fondles my breast, and then lifts me aggressively so I’m sitting on the sink, knees splayed. Still his cool lips rotate hotly on mine.
He stands tall and unzips one of my boots, then the other, his gilded eyes on me constantly. I fidget. Shit. It’s impossible to hold on any longer.
“Wait,” he says with an evil smile, yanking down my jeans.
But it’s no good. I can’t be delayed. Not now I’m ready to combust in my brand new panties. I squirm for him to hurry, clutching the sink with damp hands.
“You’re so alive,” he says, lifting my leg over his shoulder, while lacing kisses on my knee.
Jeez, his wet touch is moving down the inside of my thigh. Whoa, this is a torturous pleasure the likes I’ve never felt.
He angles down on me, delicately kissing and tonguing my sensitive seeping lips. Then things get even wilder. Grasping my butt cheeks with his head firmly planted between my legs, he laps, licks, and tongue fucks me hard, grunting in enjoyment. I moan
out loud and my hips tremor as his teeth tease my clit.
“Oh fuck me,” I cringe.
The tip of his tongue is now sliding up to my pubic bone, then back down, too damn slow. Hell. This is magnificent. But dammit I need more. I need him.
“Hmm, you taste better than my poison, Elizabeth,” he muffles.
I can’t frigging do it. I can’t be quiet. I cry out in euphoria, head high, sliding up and down the mirror. His hand moves up to cup my breast.
“Shush.”
“Adrien… please!”
“Wait.”
Screw that. I bolt upright and grab his waistband in fury. I rip his flies loose to free his rock hard sex, then latch my legs around his waist like a Venus-fly-trap. His torso moves back in surprise. He watches me gasping, hungry, and hot, and his lips form a mischievous ray.
“We are going to have to work hard while we’re on this trip,” he says. “That patience of yours needs tweaking.”
I don’t agree or disagree. I have one thing on my mind only.
He draws in his lip as though he’s savouring my juice on his mouth, before arching to kiss my neck. I feel a sharp pinch below my earlobe. He once said no biting, but I’m glad he’s biting me. He can bite me all he likes. His nose and mouth nestle through my hair to my ear.
“You taste so good,” he utters.
I use my legs and yank his body to my sex. His erection enters me with force as I scratch deep into his neck. The receptiveness of my hips comes fast into play, as I lift my body to maximize this utopic feeling. He thrusts slow, from his solid core to tip, while licking my neck. My heart tempo is out of control, and I can hear my own blood circulating around my body. Voom-voom-voom.
He plunges with power, penetrating the raging wave of my climax. He grunts, moving my weak neck so were head to head, sweat on sweat. He stares with lust as he plummets into me again and again. I grip the corners of the sink, and gyrate with him faster to achieve total elation. Because fuck me, I’m in a state of ecstasy; a constant spiralling orgasm.
“Oh Adrien,” I wail.
He clutches and controls my butt, swinging me around to the wall. My thighs hold onto his fiercely lashing waist, and my arms embrace his head. He moans on my skin as he buffs me up and down the wall.
“God… you’re fucking special.” He pushes his clammy head on mine.
Holy crap. I’m exploding from deep inside. I cry out with closed eyes. Whoa, I’m still going. He pounds between my legs as I weep onto his erection. Shit. He’s amazing at this.
Injecting me with one final strike, he slows to a stop. He growls out in satisfaction on my shoulder. I keep my legs tightly enveloped around him as I continue to come.
“Mr Knight.” Someone taps on the door.
Oh shit. Who the hell is that? Have we just performed audible porn for the crew? I glare at Adrien and he laughs at my flapping reaction. I don’t think this is funny.
“Chrissy, thank you... be out in a minute.” He pulls out of me with a kiss.
“This is not good at all,” I hiss, looking for my jeans.
“Well, was fucking superb for me.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Yes… this bit is not good. Oh, you know what I mean.”
I spot my jeans in the shower and quickly swoop them up. I thread them up my legs and hula into them. Adrien fastens his zipper as he stops before me.
“Hey.” He pulls on my waistband. “Welcome to the club,” he grins.
Chapter 11: Heated Arrival
Our rental car, a black Jeep Cherokee, was waiting for us outside the VIP terminal. Even our bags had been loaded into the boot. We left the M90 over an hour ago, and are on route to Killiecrankie via the A9.
The roads are traffic free as I sit enjoying the night time scene through the fine snow. The landscape is foreign to me. Hilly, forever green pines, and farmland. There’s not a tower block in sight, and the only lights I see emit from the odd farmhouse, or quaint cottage.
I’m curled up on the tan leather: feet up, cosy, with no boots on. I wiggle my toes in my fluffy winter socks. There’s not a shred of sexiness about them. They’re purple, thick, and keep my feet delightfully warm. I feel as content as I would on a sofa before a blazing fire.
I stare as Adrien pays close attention to the road ahead. I adore the way he concentrates. Eyes focused, jaw chomping down every now and then. And the way he panics a little when he sees a road sign that doesn’t correspond with the satnav. I could happily watch him for hours. His eyes flash to me briefly then he turns back to the road.
“You’ve not asked yet,” he says. “How long before we get there.” He glances again. “You’re too quiet… what you thinking?”
I hum and stretch out my spine before relaxing back into the seat. I’m not going to boost his ego and tell him he’s been candy on my eyes for the last hour. How I’m losing grip of all my faculties. And at this present time, my world would be complete if we could be like this forever. Hell no, even I’m fully aware I need to rein in my hormones.
“Nothing much,” I reply in a long breath.
“Are you having dirty thoughts, Elizabeth?” he beams, cocky. “I don’t mind if you’re reminiscing on our inflight fuck… I am.”
I roll my pupils. He’s just twisted my pleasant, decent, clean way of thinking, back to, I want to jump your bones Mr Sex god.
“Actually, I was thinking about how I’m going to find the time to complete my dissertation before the holidays end.” I snigger silently; he deserves that.
His brow sinks at me, unsure whether I’m being serious. I remain conservative, as he looks back to the road.
We journey down a dark country lane. It’s narrow, and the ride is bumpy. Adrien’s head angles up as we turn left to arrive at a set of huge double wrote iron gates, with an intercom on the wall. He leans over, opens the glove box, and takes out a key fob.
“Here we are.” He swipes the fob over a screen, and the large gates begin to slowly part.
The headlights beam down a path between an avenue of bare twisty oak trees, and the crunch of the fresh gravel under the wheels is loud. Now, I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, watching to the very end as a grandiose building come into sight. My eyes are wide. My God owns a freaking stunning stately home. I puff out as the lights of the car voyage up, illuminating the brickwork. Jeez, it looks like a scene from a Jane Austin novel. I gawp, noticing a fairy tale like tower. I can’t believe there’s a tower.
“This is yours?” I utter, trying to shut my gaping mouth as he sniggers at my infantile reaction.
“It’s a new build,” he says rather coolly. “It took a year of phone calls from New York. Six different architects, a ton of emails, plans, and pictures. Not easy building a house when you’re thousands of miles away.”
“It looks old.”
He stops the car in front of a gothic bay window and shuts off the engine.
“I wanted it to look as though it had been here for centuries. To fit in with the surroundings.” He clips open his belt.
I open the car door keenly, forgetting I don’t have my boots on. I quickly pull them out and up over my calves. Adrien walks to the boot and takes out my case. He carries it under a gothic stone archway, with a solid panel medieval style door. I hurry to his side, anticipating the reveal. I can’t wait to see what’s inside.
He opens the heavy door and flicks on the lights. The first thing that hits me is the entire back of the building is all glass. It’s modern, like the windows of the Shard. The whole space is open-plan with a black solid Parquet wooden floors throughout. There’s a kitchen with bright white cupboards and black granite worktops. It’s very similar to the one in his penthouse, but this one is much bigger with spotlights reflecting on the black brick 3D style tiles. There’s six white moulded stools under a long rectangular kitchen island, which houses an inbuilt sink. And the stainless steel fridge, well, it’s a monster.
I hover in front of him, taking in the grandeur. Before me, there’s a meta
l and glass staircase with a balcony, which overlooks the entrance. To my right there’s a lounge area, with a solid off-white ornate fire surround. There’s a sumptuous charcoal corner couch that could easily seat seven. And on the floor, between fire and couch, lays a fibrous cream rug.
I wander further, admiring the stylish deco. I turn to Adrien, he’s watching me drool over his second pad. He has taste. Superb taste. Jeez. What have I got myself into?
“This place must have cost you a fortune.”
He places my bag before the staircase and approaches. He’s moving with this swagger in his hips; slow and sexual. Dirty dark thoughts of that jet plane are drowning my concentration as he moves by me. I have to take a subtle step to the side to avoid. I want to know these things about him, and now is not the time to let my randy side rule over me.
“I’ll make good money on it.” He bends to turn on the marble fire. “I have good contacts, and everything used to build this place, was purchased trade price.” He goes through to the kitchen.
“Do you stay here alone?”
I watch as he fixes himself a whisky and pours a small glass of wine. Then he takes one of those silly tiny tonic bottles out from the fridge.
“I have a housekeeper slash caretaker, looking after the place.” He walks across, and gestures me to sit on the sofa. “I’ve given her the week off. Christmas brings the good out in me. Besides, this is my first time staying here.”
“Really,” I frown.
“Yep… I plan on selling within the year.”
“Why?”
He laughs. “It’s what I do, Elizabeth.”
“Oh.” That’s me coming across as dumb. He’s in the real-estate Liz, duh.
I sit beside him and sink right back. This has to be the snuggest thing I’ve ever sat on. He hands me the wine, then waves the tonic at me.
“I don’t need that stuff. I don’t lack in anything. I’m fine,” I say adamantly. “I had my annual health check last month. Bloods, pee, the lot tested…. I’m in good health.”
“It’s just a boost to keep you energised,” he says. “I can’t force it down your throat.”
