Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's)

by Amanda Weaver

  “Well, you’ve always made such a disgusting show of it. It’s hard to miss,” she muttered shakily, taking another sip of her drink. She was into number two now. So was he. Sydney was finally loosening the reins a little. And she was very studiously not looking at him. A suspicion began to niggle around the edges of his rum-addled brain. She did seem awfully hung up on who he fucked. Contrary to her assertions, he wasn’t obvious about who he slept with and it didn’t happen all that frequently. If she hated him so much, why would she be so aware of who he was hooking up with? Unless…

  “You wouldn’t see it if you weren’t watching,” he murmured. Her long, slender throat worked as she swallowed. He reached up and very lightly dragged the knuckle of his finger down her arm. Her blouse was thin and he could feel the warmth of her skin under the fabric. “Do you watch me, Syd?”

  She rolled her eyes and took a long pull on her drink. “God, your ego really is astounding.”

  He smirked. Maybe. But he was pretty certain there was no way Sydney was unaffected by this little interlude. She could snark and roll her eyes all she wanted to, but when he’d touched her, goose bumps broke out across her chest. “Mmm-hmm, so you’ve said,” he said, picking up a lock of her hair and wrapping the ends around the tip of his finger.

  She swatted his hand away. “Cut it out. I told you, it’s greedy to insist that every woman adore you, Jesse. You’re just going to have to accept that one woman isn’t going to fall for you.”

  “One woman?”

  She threw back the last of her drink and finally looked at him. There was a slight flush across the tops of her cheekbones, probably from the alcohol, but maybe because of him, too. “Me,” she said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

  “See, I’m starting to think maybe you don’t hate me as much as you say you do.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  He leaned into her personal space a bit more. “Because of the way your eyes glaze over when I do this. And the way you stopped breathing when I touched your arm. I saw the goose bumps, Syd.”

  He stared straight into her eyes, a silent challenge. “Y-you’re deluded,” she said, but there was no snap to her words. She said them on a breathy exhale.

  He shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so.” He reached for her wrist, turning it slightly and brushing the pad of his thumb over her pulse. “Feel that?”

  Her eyes darted to his hand and then back to his face. She looked like a cornered animal, but something was brewing behind her eyes, something that set his entire body on alert. He closed his hand around her wrist. “Sydney…”

  She snatched her hand back. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “What?”

  “Get up. I need to get out.”

  “Syd…”

  “Now!”

  Jesse sighed and motioned to the nice old lady in the aisle seat, who was watching Breaking Bad on her iPad. She shuffled to her feet and Jesse slid out of his seat and into the aisle. Sydney was on her feet instantly, pushing past him.

  “Sydney, don’t…” He reached for her, but she didn’t look at him as she hurried down the aisle toward the back of the plane.

  The lady on the aisle motioned to his seat, but he shook his head. “I’ll stand.”

  “Seems like maybe you should check on her,” the woman said with a shrug as she sat down again. He pondered that, staring at the glowing red “Occupied” sign over the bathroom door where she’d vanished. Then he started down the aisle.

  He was only checking on her, he told himself. She drank a lot, really fast. Maybe she was sick. Outside the bathroom, he stopped and listened. A little running water and then silence. She didn’t come out. Tentatively, he tapped on the door.

  “Syd, it’s me. Are you okay?”

  Still no response.

  “Sydney?”

  Then he heard the lock disengage. She slid the folding door open and met his eyes, making no move to exit the tiny room.

  “Syd—” he began, but then she reached out and fisted her hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward into the bathroom with her. “What—?” His question was cut off when she grabbed the back of his head, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. He reeled for a moment, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening as the door slid closed behind him, but then her mouth moved under his and instinct—hot, feral instinct—kicked in. He kissed her back, and it was so good.

  Years. He’d been imagining kissing Sydney for years. He’d fantasized about it, jacked off to it… Well, when he jacked off, he’d been imagining more than kissing, but whatever. The point was, Sydney Bishop had been playing a starring role in his sexual fantasies since he was nineteen, and in all of those years, he’d never gotten it quite right in his imagination. The reality of her was better than any fantasy. She tasted sweet and spicy, the rum and Coke still on her tongue. And her tongue… Jesus.

  “Sydney, what…” he murmured when they momentarily came up for air. She fisted her hand in his hair and pulled his head down again.

  “Shut up, Jesse.”

  “Okay.” What the fuck ever. He wanted this—her—too much to question it. Fumbling behind himself, he slid the lock closed on the door. It was so small inside that there was no option other than to be plastered against each other, so he pulled her close until they were pressed tight from thigh to lips. Then, for good measure, he reached for her hip, sliding his hand around to her ass, and pulling her even closer. His other hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her neck, and yes, her hair felt every bit as good as he’d imagined it would.

  Some small part of his head recognized that this was probably a mistake. They were both a little drunk, stressed out and sniping at each other, and this would likely end badly. But his body was answering to a different head at the moment, and that head didn’t give a shit about consequences. He was making out with the girl he’d fantasized about for five years and consequences could wait until later.

  Sydney was all over him, hands fisting in his hair, fingers tracing down over his face and jaw, gripping his shirt, and then smoothing flat down his chest. Everything she touched felt like it burst into flames. He could taste pent-up desperation in every kiss, every molten sweep of her tongue against his, every nip of her teeth on his lip.

  “Fucking hot asshole,” she muttered as she caught a breath. So he was right. She was attracted to him. He was going to overlook the asshole part for a moment.

  Since she was touching him every place she could reach, he decided that was an invitation to do the same, and he slid his hand up her side, cupping her perfect breast in his palm. His thumb scraped across her nipple, hidden underneath her bra and blouse, and she moaned, arching into him. Fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest sound he’d ever heard. It reminded him of her laugh, deep and throaty, that sound he’d imagined she’d make in bed. And he realized he was finally, improbably, hearing that sound. Because he was making out with Sydney Bishop. In an airplane bathroom. Reality threatened to rear its ugly head again, but then he felt her hands in between them, working at the buttons of her blouse. He pulled back just enough to look down, to see those breasts straining against her black lace bra just an inch from his chest, and he was a lost man. He pulled her blouse down her arms and dropped it to the floor.

  God, she felt good, all warm, velvety skin and that bra. He palmed her ass, pressing her hips against his erection, and she moaned again, into his mouth. He wanted his mouth on her breasts, but there wasn’t even room to crouch in here, so he pivoted them just slightly until her ass hit the sink. Gripping her hips, he lifted her just enough to prop her on the edge. Immediately, she raised her knees and wrapped her heels around the backs of his calves, drawing him between her legs. Her tight black skirt slid halfway up her thighs and he replaced it with his hands, sliding it even higher.

  Kissing back to her ear, he nipped at her earlobe, loving the breathy little moan she made and the way her head fell back against the mirror. There was just en
ough clearance to kiss his way down her neck, tasting her with his tongue, biting her with his teeth. Her thighs tightened on his hips and he bit down on her collarbone. She hissed through her teeth. That would leave a mark. Good.

  If he stretched, he could just reach his head down to kiss her breast above the edge of her bra. He palmed her, raising the fullness higher, and sucked her skin into his mouth, determined to leave another mark on her. Sydney writhed against him, one hand in his hair. Catching the edge of her bra with his thumb, he tugged it down to bare her nipple and drew it into his mouth.

  “Oh.” There was a thunk as her head hit the mirror again. He sucked on her slowly, rhythmically, and he began to thrust his hips in time with his mouth, rocking himself into the space between her thighs with each small movement. Her skirt was rucked up nearly to the tops of her thighs now—perfect, creamy thighs that he was tracing with his hands. And his cock was nestled right between her legs, almost pressing against her. She shifted, scooting her ass a millimeter forward on the edge of the sink, and he was there, the front of his pants pressed against her underwear.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Her fingers, which had been busy unbuttoning his shirt, slipped lower, working on his belt buckle.

  “Sydney, what are we doing?” he whispered, releasing her breast and kissing his way back up her chest.

  “What’s the matter, Jesse? Can’t follow through on all that swagger?” She was taunting him, but he was perversely grateful she’d just said his name. He wanted her fully aware of who was touching her, who was about to fuck her senseless, because that was exactly what was going to happen.

  “Oh, I can follow through. Just watch me.”

  Then he slipped his hands under the hem of her skirt, hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties, a tiny scrap of silky black fabric and lace, and unceremoniously dragged them down her legs. He had to back away from her just long enough to get them off her feet, and he made eye contact with her the whole time. His gaze was challenging, a question. Are we really doing this? Her eyes were half closed with lust, her lips parted and a little swollen. Her hair was a tousled mess from his hands. One breast was still exposed, her nipple hard and glistening from his mouth. She had to be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. She stared back at him, silently acknowledging what was happening, then she reached for his belt buckle again.

  “Please tell me you’re smart enough to carry a condom in your wallet.”

  “Two, actually. You never know.”

  “Bragging asshole,” she muttered. He opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t bragging if it was a fact, but then her hand slid into his fly and grabbed his cock and he lost all power of speech. There was nothing tentative in her touch as she gripped him through his boxers. Then she released him and reached inside to touch him skin to skin. He thought he might literally lose his mind, it felt so good. She pulled him free, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to gain access to him. He shuddered, dropping his forehead against her shoulder as she stroked him, long, hard, assured strokes that were about to bring him to his knees. Her thumb swept across his head, smearing the bead of liquid there, and he groaned.

  “Fuck, Sydney.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  His fingers fumbled to his back pocket, nearly dropping his wallet twice as he dug through for a condom. But then he had it and he was ripping the packet open and rolling it onto his aching cock and fuck…this was going to happen. He slid his hands under her skirt to grip her bare ass in his palms, tugging her to the very edge of the sink. He could feel the warm heat of her on his head as he slid between her legs. Then he pushed forward, just nudging inside of her. At this angle, it was tight, so unbelievably tight. Then she hooked her heels around the backs of his knees and he slid forward, all the way in.

  “Jesus,” he hissed. Sydney made some unintelligible sound of pleasure as her head fell back. They were wedged in so close that he could barely draw back, so it was a hard, tight fuck—short, rapid thrusts, barely pulling free of her body each time. He gripped her ass to hold her steady and he did what he’d dreamed about for five years—he fucked Sydney senseless. She held on tight, her nails digging sharply into his shoulders. The pain was good, it was grounding, because he’d have come in seconds without it. Instead, he focused on the sounds she was making, the low moans of pleasure as he pounded into her. She brought her head forward, kissing the side of his neck.

  “God, Syd, tell me you’re close,” he muttered, feeling his release bearing down on him.

  “Almost,” she said against his skin. “Oh, there. Right… Ohhh.” He could feel it, her body pulsing around him as she gasped and gripped him. She bit him, sinking her teeth into the muscle between his shoulder and neck. That was all it took to send him over the edge, too. He came with one muffled grunt, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

  In the aftermath, the sound of their labored breathing was nearly deafening in the tiny room. He held on to her, held himself tightly inside of her for another moment, just breathing into her hair, as his body slowly came back together. His legs felt too weak to hold them up. Sydney’s legs had gone slack around his hips.

  Just then, the overhead intercom dinged and a flight attendant’s smooth, cheerful voice filled the bathroom. “We’re beginning our final descent into JFK. Please return to your seats, fasten your seat belts, and prepare for landing.”

  It was a general announcement to the whole plane, but it seemed like she was speaking directly to them. Stop fucking, put your clothes back on, and get back to reality.

  Reality.

  The reality was, he’d just hate-fucked Sydney Bishop in an airplane bathroom and it was so good, it blew his mind. The reality was, he wanted to do it again right away, this time with space to spread out and take his time. The reality was, he’d like to fuck her without all the hate.

  But the more pressing reality was that they had to extricate themselves from this situation and put themselves back together enough to get off the plane. Once they’d landed, they could sort out what happened next.

  “You okay?” he whispered.

  “Yeah. I need…” She made a helpless gesture with one hand. She needed her underwear. And her shirt. And for that, she needed him to get his cock out of her.

  “Right.” He slid free, keeping his eyes off her as he shucked the condom. He retrieved her underwear and blouse from the floor and plastered himself against the door to give her room to put them both back on. As she buttoned her blouse, her eyes danced up to his and then away. He couldn’t read the expression on her face at all. She turned to the sink and washed her hands, pressing her damp fingers to her cheeks briefly.

  He reached for her hips and leaned forward to speak against her hair. “Sydney…”

  “We need to get out of here,” she said quickly, pulling away from him as much as she was able to in the tiny space. “I’ll go first. You wait two minutes and then you leave.”

  He hesitated. She sounded like old Sydney, like she was about to walk out of this bathroom and forget this had happened, which was impossible. But he couldn’t exactly have it out with her now, in this flying coffin. “Okay.”

  She didn’t speak or look at him again, she just slipped out of the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her. Jesse cleaned up while he waited, straightening his clothes, rebuttoning his shirt, washing his hands, trying to put his hair to rights. He did his best not to think about what they’d just done, but it was impossible. He could still feel her body trembling around him as she came. He could still smell her. Whatever perfume she wore was clinging to his clothes and skin.

  A tentative knock came at the door, and for a second, hope flared that Sydney had come back, but the voice on the other side wasn’t hers.

  “Hey in there.” The flight attendant’s voice was cheery and impassive. “We need you to take your seat for landing.”

  “Su—” He had to stop and clear his throat. “Sure thing.”

  He waited a
nother minute, just so he wouldn’t have to face the attendant, before slipping out of the bathroom. He was sure “We just had sex” was written all over his face. It’s not like they fooled anyone with that leaving separately shit. The sly smile the old lady sitting on the aisle gave him as he sat down again told him so. He sat, rebuckled his seat belt, and glanced at Sydney. She was reading her magazine, calm, cool, and perfectly put together. Looking at her now, you’d never guess fifteen minutes ago he’d had that tight black skirt shoved up to her waist as he pounded into her on the edge of the sink. He was getting hard again just remembering it.

  He cleared his throat this time before he tried speaking. “Hey—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, cutting him off.

  “But, Sydney—”

  “No.”

  He sighed. Fine, it wasn’t like they could talk properly now anyway. He sat in silence as the plane landed and the grumpy, rerouted passengers began to gather their things and deplane.

  “Good luck in Mexico,” the little old lady next to him said as she got ready to leave.

  “It’ll be fine. I’m rebooked on another flight tomorrow morning.”

  She cast a quick glance past him to Sydney. “I wasn’t talking about the flight,” she whispered. Jesse stared after her as she shuffled off down the aisle.

  “I need to get my carry-on.”

  Sydney had neatly restowed all of her things, and her bag was on her shoulder as she glared at him, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Right.” Jesse snapped to attention, pulling first her bag down from overhead and then his. She slipped past him out of the row, taking care not to touch him. By the time he reached under his seat for his shoulder bag and stood back up, she was halfway down the aisle with several passengers between them. He cursed under his breath, not taking his eyes off her as the line inched forward and off the plane. She could try to run, but she wasn’t getting away from him that easily. She did her best, though. As soon as they made it off the plane and into the airport, she vanished into the crowd. Jesse sprinted through the terminal, straining for a glimpse of her dark hair, the black of her blouse. He finally spotted her just as she was exiting the airport and getting in line for the taxis. Shoving his way past an irate businessman, he made it into the line just behind her.