by Candy Quinn
I licked my lips. Just one more no.
“I’m not really allowed,” I said, and my no sounded more like a schoolgirl telling her boyfriend she’s not supposed to see him anymore. Like it was an inevitability, and I just needed a push.
He frowned a little, and I worried he was too good of a guy to push at all.
He shifted in his seat, looked out the window then back at me again.
“Well I certainly can’t drink by myself. That’d just be depressing,” he remarked so casually. “But I really wouldn’t want to get you in trouble… I mean, not if there’s some way they could find out,” he said, brow arched up at me, in silent query.
“For flights like this it’s just the pilot, the co-pilot and I...” I trailed off, looking back towards the divide.
Why was I being so silly? I could lose my job, just because this gorgeous honey seemed so sweet and aloof compared to my usual fare?
But I couldn’t deny that the things he was doing to my body with only his eyes and his lips were surreal.
All he had to do was sit there, looking so immaculate and gorgeous, such a fine specimen of what a man should be: strong, thoughtful, confident, modest but accomplished. He was the full package.
Yeah, in retrospect it’s no surprise all he had to do was just sit there.
“Well the two of them aren’t likely to come back here any time soon, are they?” he asked, brow raised in question. “And tell you what…” he looked around, a playfully dramatic expression as if we might get caught by some hall monitor at any moment before he leaned in and murmured quietly to me. “If you get in trouble, I’ll speak up for you. And make sure you get at least a few years pay in recompense.”
Now that... didn’t sound so bad.
Not like I hadn’t been offered money before, but not usually for something I truly wanted to do.
I moved towards the back room, and grabbed the finest bottle we had out of the selection of three. Unless there was a special request, we kept the old favourites on board and nothing else.
Another four hours ‘til we crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and already I was losing my mind with wanting to please him. I brought the bottle over to him, uncorking it in an expert manner before pouring up his little plastic champagne glass.
Then he did a surprising thing and took the bottle from me, to pour up a second glass then hand it to me with a bright smile on his face.
“Now, have a seat,” he said, patting the spot beside him so invitingly. “Tell me all about yourself. Because I don’t even know your name yet, miss, but I’m dying to find out,” he remarked, smiling at me in such a way I felt like I might melt into a puddle before him.
My tummy was flipping about with excitement. I hadn’t been so into a guy since high school, and I joined him on the spacious couch, accepting my ‘glass’ with a furtive glance towards the cockpit and back at him.
“It’s Sarah,” I said before taking a quick sip of the champagne. I needed it to soothe my nerves.
“Well Sarah, I’m James. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he remarked with a smile, drinking down some of his champagne as we sat together there on the comfortable sofa. Better than the one I had at home even. “Where are you from? Is it our destination? New York?” he asked, looking me over, not as some rich brat that I was used to on the plane, but as any interested guy did. As if he was just another studly man in a bar who caught sight of me and found what he saw… intriguing.
I shook my head, the champagne already warming my body, making my tongue looser.
“I’m actually from Maine, but I moved to New York a couple years ago for work,” I said with a smile. “It’s a big change. I figured you’d be out in L.A. with the other bigwigs, though.”
The second the words left me, my stomach flipped. Why’d I admit I knew who he was, like just another crazy fan? Stupid, Sarah!
He smiled at me though, like it was no big deal.
“I can’t stand L.A.,” he said so casually before sipping more of his champagne. “Too much sun, too easy of a life. Too fake of people,” he remarked with a half-smile. “Life should be a little trying, you know? Out there, it’s nothing but fake smiles on fake people, all hoping to get a slice of your fame or money. It’s tiresome, and unproductive. I’d be just as well off courting a room full of cardboard cut-outs,” he said with a playful smirk.
“If you ask me,” he added on quickly, leaning in close. “I like real people. Real women, with real lives. Real bodies. Not a persona sculpted to sell themselves.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. He talked almost like he wrote.
Yea, I’d read most of his books as well. I had a feeling once I got back home I’d be reading a lot more.
“You like the fast paced and cutthroat life of New York better?” I asked with a twitch of my lips.
He gave a slight shrug of those broad, heavyset shoulders and looked at me with a wry smile.
“I might have a nice penthouse apartment there, but I still walk the streets with everyone else. Take the subway and eat with the rest of them. It at least keeps me a little grounded,” he remarked with some self-deprecating humour. “And it’s easier to get people to work for you there who aren’t all just looking to lick your boots and tell you whatever they think you want to hear.”
I laughed, more genuinely and less uptight as I looked at him with a sparkle in my eyes. I was smitten with the man. He was unlike anything I figured he’d have been, and made me feel so much more comfortable with him even if my heart kept pounding like mad.
“What’s your favourite part?”
“Of New York?” he asked, looking away as he thought over my question, giving it serious consideration. He took his time before leaning back in towards me, resting his hand upon my knee and smiling ever so slightly.
“Looking out over the city from my apartment. Seeing the hustle and bustle in the day. The lights at night. I feel like I’m a part of something so much bigger than I am. Really feel it, you know? Not just a casual knowing it. But I can look out and see the evidence of human accomplishment, of how far we’ve come and what we can do when we come together,” he remarked with a handsome smile on his face, looking straight into my soul it seemed. That strong hand of his resting on my bare knee.
I laughed. Maybe that was rude, but if he liked New York, he must be used to that already.
“Yea, I feel the same looking out my basement studio and seeing the crack addicts fallen down on the sidewalk in the middle of winter.” It was dark, but true. With my student loans and a useless degree I couldn’t afford the luxury he so casually spoke of.
“That’s a shame,” he said to me so smoothly, his smile never vanishing, even if it did temper itself to a warmer, modest one. “A lovely, friendly woman such as yourself shouldn’t have to live like that,” he remarked, looking me over as his strong hand squeezed at my knee. “You should come for a trip with me out to my cabin. Now, don’t go getting ideas. I might live in a New York apartment, but when I say cabin… I meant cabin.”
He grinned at me, like he was in on some devious secret I wasn’t.
Like he wasn’t just talking about a McMansion in the woods, I guessed.
Though maybe with his rich way of thinking, what he really meant was that he had one of those huge log monstrosities, bigger than any house I’d ever lived in.
It was hard to say when I was talking to someone so outside of my pay grade.
“What do you mean by cabin, then?” I decided to ask. It was the safest course of action.
He sipped his champagne.
“Single room spot, out in the middle of the woods,” he began, his voice takin’ on a deeper, huskier tone. “No road to it. You gotta park your car, then take a canoe, then hike on up to it. Then there it is, in the middle of nowhere. A cabin I built myself. No electricity. No running water. But damn,” he shook his head, grinning joyfully at the thought, “it’s pleasant. And homey. It’s something built with love and care.”
He looked t
o me from the corner of his eyes, as he reflected on that special place to him.
And it sounded nice. Not like I pictured it at all. It sounded more like the place my pop had built when I was a girl. We only got to go a few times before he passed, and then it was too painful for us to go back, but I still thought back on it with fondness.
My eyes softened and went to my lap, the skirt covering the upper parts of my thigh, and he must’ve noticed because he brought his index finger to my chin, lifting my gaze to his.
“So how about it?” he asked, his deep voice so casual and calm. “Come spend a weekend with me there. Or a week. A month even,” he remarked, a grin slowly forming on his face as his eyes locked with mine. “I can arrange it all with your employers, no worries there,” he assured.
All through it, he leaned ever so close to me, our lips growing nearer and nearer as our eyes locked.
I was lost to his charms, to that calm, cool demeanor. To the way he held me captive, and made me feel like a real person. I was quickly growing addicted to that sensation, and I nodded my head gently.
“I’d like that,” I murmured gently.
He finished the last of his glass and flashed me a handsome grin as he laid his hand atop mine. That tough skin of his not rough, but hard, and clearly the result of manual labour. He rubbed his thumb over my slender fingers, all the while looking into my eyes.
“You know, I’ve flown a lot on these private planes the studios and publishers arrange for me,” he remarked, looking into my soul I felt, with his artist’s gaze. “And I’ve never encountered a flight attendant with such natural feminine beauty that shines forth so radiantly.”
He had the words of a poet, and suddenly I understood so perfectly why he was as wealthy as he was. Hearing him speak like that, I’d give up so much to hear more, to lose myself to it. To him.
And it was then the words truly dawned on me, what he was really saying... about me.
I’d never heard someone speak about my looks like that before. Sure, I tried to take care of myself, but I was curvy, with a big chest and a soft stomach. My skin was pale, my brown hair contrasting against it, but I’d always thought myself a bit plain, truthfully.
I was at a loss for words, and I stared at him, agape.
His hand rested atop mine as our gazes were locked, and it was impossible to measure the length of that time period for me. We could have been locked in a trance together for years, for all I know. He held me captivated, captive even. Not with chains and binds, but merely his words and his intense gaze, his handsome face and manly demeanor.
“I really wish to kiss you,” he said in his low, husky voice. “If I’m in the wrong for doing so, please just slap me and call me out for the lout I am,” he remarked before leaning in, head tilted as he gave me a kiss, plush on the lips.
I was too shocked to slap him, even if I had wanted to, which I didn’t.
I couldn’t believe how good he tasted, how good he felt, against me. I hadn’t been expecting it, to say the least, and I knew I was trembling. My hands shaking, my body weakened as I melted into his mouth, a little moan silenced on his lips.
He lingered there, kissing me for a while as his tongue ever so gently worked its way into my mouth. He went about it so expertly I didn’t even know it was happening until his tongue was caressing mine, and by then I was lost in the moment with him. The two of us making out deeply as we cruised along.
I know people love to talk about the ‘Mile High Club’, but in reality nothing even remotely romantic seemed to happen with myself or any of the flight attendants I knew. Bathrooms were too cramped, and the job had a habit of being too high pressure to ever allow for the relaxation required to get freaky. But with James?
I couldn’t remember ever feeling so at ease, so calm and yet excited at the same time. It was like a really good Christmas as a kid where you’re so excited but also just really caught up in the moment, enjoying the pleasures of the day.
I wanted to pull away and be responsible, but I didn’t know how I possibly could. Every time I tried, my body put a stop to it. I was putty in his hand.
His free arm went around me, so strong and assertive, he pulled me to the edge of my seat as we made out. He had such a powerful grasp, and I instantly felt an instinctive appreciation for it. His raw masculinity so overpowering.
He brought one hand up, sliding along my side, coming so close to my breast as he skirted the edge of it. The low smack of our lips filling the quiet air about us.
I didn’t have a great idea how much longer it’d be until we landed, honestly. And knowing that I didn’t know should’ve lead me to be more cautious.
Hell, everything about the situation should’ve made me want to be more cautious. But I was lost to excitement and pleasure like I couldn’t believe, and I pushed myself into him, begging him with my body.
Like a predator drawn to its prey, he came after me, accepted my enthusiasm with his own as he leaned over, pressed into our embrace tighter. That hard, muscular form of his against my soft, feminine body, my breasts mashed against his hard chest.
He leaned me back down upon the comfortable sofa-like seating for the VIPs, his body looming over mine as my skirt slid up, inch by inch.
It was, no doubt, the dumbest thing I’ve ever done and at the same time, even then, I knew I wouldn’t regret it. Even if everything went to hell, I was willing to throw it away, because I trusted him.
Funny, since my last breakup hadn’t really been... amiable and I’d taken a break from all men since, especially with all the stuff I see at my job.
But, and I know it’s a cliché... He was different.
His broad shouldered body got atop me, and I was left with little choice but to part my legs and let him lodge himself between my knees. My skirt rode up so high it was barely more than a belt, and his hand dared to move in, squeezing my breast gently over my top as he worked us both into a higher and higher frenzy.
A low, guttural growl escaped him and I felt the beast inside him, kept in such precarious check as his desires for me bubbled slowly over.
My entire body felt hot, too hot, and I ground against him wantonly. I couldn’t hold back with him, like I was under his spell. My arms wrapped around his neck, holding myself against him as I laid back on the couch, my mouth still meeting his in more of a frenzy.
Our passions were rising at a frightening rate, and I could feel the swell of his growing manhood against me as he pressed down upon my softer body. He explored and squeezed my body, relishing the feel of my thick, plump tits, the swell of my hips. He seemed to adore and lust for every part of me, slowly grinding his hips against me between my parted thighs.
Some part of me knew where this would lead, what would happen. I’d stopped taking the pill when I was dumped to give myself an excuse, a reason, not to get into this scenario with a man. But I was being careless, reckless, and I even loved it.
Wanted it.
Prayed he wouldn’t suggest stopping.
Luckily my prayers were answered, because instead of stopping or slowing down, James only grew more ravenous with time. His hard, strong hands groping at my flesh, squeezing my breasts, my sides, luxuriating in every part of me. He was easily the most insatiable man I’d ever been with, without all the gross, grubby hands and overzealous pushiness of so many other men.
It was just desire, primal and yet filled without any of that sense of entitlement. I moaned into his mouth, my lips sore and tender from kissing, and I wondered how long we’d been making out, but it had to be for a while to make them feel so numb.
I sucked in a breath as he pulled away for a moment before we were upon one another once more.
His hands roamed up and down my sides, until I felt that my skirt was up to my waist and my panties were sliding down my thighs. He reached in, his thumb rubbing at the lacy fabric of my panties atop my cunny, teasing my loins as he skirted the edge of my nipple above with his other hand.
A dull, low groan escap
ed his throat as he sought to please and coax me into higher desire along with him.
But already, I was more excited than I’d ever been, my nipple hardening beneath his fingertip, my pussy glowing with heat so near to his hand. I wanted his touch, raw and without all of the hindrances of clothing.
I pulled away for a moment, opening my eyes as I gazed at his face, looking for a sense of questioning or concern.
Instead all I saw was raw desire, and as if he could read my mind he began to undo the buttons of my blouse, freeing my ample chest from its confines as he worked those nimble fingers on down. He was ravenous, like a beast without its feeding in weeks. He tore open my shirt and deftly undid my bra, as his other hand dipped on down to hook into my panties and tug them aside. He traced along the bare lips of my cunny, felt their warm, wet folds and gave a growling husky groan of desire.
My pink nipples stiffened to the cool cabin air, my hot pussy so wet that it sent a shiver up my spine.
He was gorgeous. Far more gorgeous than any man I’d ever been with, and he had a soul — and a bank account — to match. He was everything I’d been looking for and didn’t know.
I kept wondering if it was a dream, if it was something I’d be cruelly woken from without a chance to see it through, and so I rushed him on, begging him to touch me as my hands roamed over his shoulders and to the front of his shirt, undressing him as he did me.
I was surprised to find that he looked as good under his clothes as he did over them, his broad shoulders and chest revealed to be brawny and muscular, with a dark peppering of hair. He was every bit the manly man he appeared to be, and he shed his top at my urging so that we were both exposed.
His pants came next, showing the bulge in his boxer-briefs. It looked too big to be true, but my eager, anxious fingers probed along it, felt the thick, veiny shaft beneath and just had to free it. The big, bulging shaft sprang out freely, bulging with veins and a purple crown that glistened with precum. He was hefty and long, the biggest man I’d ever seen in that department.
My mouth hung open, and part of me wanted to taste it. To taste him.
