I spin around, assessing the logistics of sexual intercourse in what is basically the equivalent of a broom closet. I’d hoped that First Class had some kind of fancy trans-dimensional huge restroom situation, but it’s tiny in here. Like, seriously small. But there’s a nice, solid-looking counter that I’m sure I could put to good use. As long as he can squeeze his body in, all I need to do is…
The door slides open and he’s in, barely able to close it behind him. We both let out a quiet, slightly awkward chuckle as he locks it and turns to me.
Conlon is tall. 6’3” at least, and from the way he moves I can see that he’s made of lean, gorgeous muscle. He looks at me for a few seconds, a smile turning his lips up, cradles my cheeks in his hands and leans in, kissing me hungrily. His tongue pushes past my teeth and finds my own, declaring my mouth Conlon-land as we consume each other like we only have five minutes left to live.
Amazing, amazing, amazing. His hands have moved away from my face now, and they’re working on the few buttons that are still done up on my shirt.
Within seconds he has it pulled off, and his hands are sliding up my belly, under my camisole and towards my breasts. Fuck, yes.
He yanks my bra cups down and his fingers slip over my nipples, hardening them to tight pebbles. Then he pulls back from the kiss and tears the camisole upwards and over my head, his lips pursing around my left nipple as I cradle the back of his head in my hand, guiding him.
“That feels so good,” I moan, the gin and tonic loosening my mind and lips. He’s got his hands on my ass now, sliding down, pulling my thighs apart, and he’s stroking me through my jeans. I want him so badly.
My hands are on his pants and I’m undoing them quickly, slipping them down to the floor. A second later I’m on my knees in an airplane bathroom, grasping the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in both hands and sucking lovingly on the tip, my lips and tongue treating him like the most delicious lollipop I’ve ever met.
Quiet moans are coming at me from above as genius hands reach down to pinch my nipples gently. God, he tastes like heaven, and if it’s possible, his cock is getting even harder with each gentle suck.
“Adriana…” He pulls me up, his eyes pleading. “Can I be inside you? I need to fuck you.”
I nod. I’m on the pill. Oh, God, is that stupid? I’m so not used to this.
He reaches down to his distant pants and pulls out his wallet, opening it. He extracts a lone condom. If he’s not a player, why is there a condom in his wallet? Oh, who the hell cares? I want him like I’ve never wanted anything.
“Jeans,” he commands, and I undo them and slip them down to the ground, somehow managing to yank them off in tandem with my boots. I expertly take my unattractive panties with them.
He slips down and splits my thighs apart again, then gives my clit a lick, and then another one. I lift my left leg, pressing the ball of my foot to the toilet seat lid to give him better access as I let out a long moan. Who knew that using a toilet as a prop could feel so damn sexy?
The plane jiggles and we get tossed to one side, but like the god that he is, Conlon doesn’t miss a beat. He holds me steady. Sucks, licks, fingers me until I’m on the brink of exploding.
Then, like he knows I’m close, he pulls away. “I want to be inside you,” he growls in a low voice.
The plane hits a pocket of turbulence and my hip slams into the mini-sink. Ow.
I nod, looking up at his face as he stretches upright. Holy beans, he’s so damn gorgeous. Right, what I’m doing is having sex with a god.
He reaches behind me and grabs my ass, then somehow lifts me so that I’m perched on the edge of the sink, my thighs wrapped around his waist. By some miracle he’s already slipped the condom on, and he has that remarkable cock of his in one hand. With the other he’s playing with my labia, smiling silently. He’s probably amused at how turned on I am.
“You are a very wet girl, aren’t you?” he preens, his tone the naughtiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Uh huh,” I nod, “very, very wet.” For you, Conlon Davies.
He edges the head of his condom-coated cock inside me and I slam my eyes shut, taking in the sensation of being cleft in two by his incredible girth. God, it’s so good. I can feel my body welcoming him in inch by inch as he slips forward, his hips pressing towards me. It almost hurts, but in such a good way that a sort of feral purr rises up in my throat.
The plane erupts in another stomach-curdling shudder. Shit. My arms stretch out fast, my palms press into the walls to keep me steady as my eyes meet Conlon’s. Don’t stop, sexy man. Don’t stop for anything.
“You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Adriana,” he tells me, staring deep into my eyes as he pushes himself deep inside me. “I wanted you the second I saw you.”
A wave of heat washes over me at his words. I believe him; I believe that he finds me that beautiful. It’s the most magical sensation. All my life I refused to think I could feel worthy of a man like this. Yet I am worthy, and I know it. He’s not playing with me, not trying to charm me. He means every word, and somehow I just know that he’s right.
I am beautiful. I am sexy. It’s taken me so long to feel this good about myself, and Conlon has just proven that I’ve made it.
He pulls out and slams back into me. I have no idea how the condom—or the plane, for that matter—can take the abuse, but somehow it survives. Maybe it’s some sort of fancy expensive billionaires-only latex lined with diamond residue.
Again, he withdraws before thrusting deep, the plane shuddering as hard as I am as I suppress a yell. With a wicked glint in his eye, Conlon reaches down, his thumb pressing into my clit. He draws small, sweet circles, stroking me to insanity. Oooh, fuck, that’s right. Keep doing that. Now I’m biting my lip, dying to cry out.
My mind faintly registers an announcement coming over the loud speaker. I can’t entirely make it out but I’m pretty sure it goes something like this:
Ladies and gentlemen, and the two people fucking like animals in the bathroom, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. The turbulence should only last a little while longer. Seriously, Adriana, you whore, put your damned clothes on and go sit down.
We ignore it, of course. My arms wrap around Conlon’s neck as he buries his face in mine, that thumb working magic on my bud. I feel myself getting close, and I know he’s waiting for me so we can come together. Just a few seconds…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Excuse me?” says a woman’s voice from outside the washroom.
Conlon and I pull apart, wide-eyed, and look at one another.
“Yes?” I crow.
“You need to return to your seat, Miss.”
But I like sitting just where I am. All the benefits of first class, plus complimentary sex with walking gods.
“Um…okay,” I reply as Conlon slams into me again, still hard as steel.
The knocks come again like machine gun fire. “Miss.”
Conlon thrusts again and I let out a moan. His thumb is slipping over my clit in tiny circles, determined to draw the orgasm from me regardless of distractions.
Oh, wow.
“I’m coming!” I shout.
“Okay,” the flight attendant replies.
My body is tightening hard around his cock and I feel him come, too, his face tucked into my neck. One pulse, then another, and another. I wish he didn’t have the condom on. I wish I could feel him shoot his heat into my core. But damn, this is good too.
He’s shaking by the time our orgasms subside, and I’m patting myself on the back, thinking I must be a goddess to bring on such an intense release. Only when he pulls back do I realize that he’s laughing.
I can’t help myself; I start howling too. It’s too ridiculous; a man, a virtual stranger, is buried inside me, a woman is screeching at me to sit the hell down and we have no idea how to get out of this mess.
“That was so good,” Conlon says at last, wiping away a tear
before kissing me lightly. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” I tell him.
He slips his cock out, pulling the wretched condom off and wrapping it in some one-ply sandpaper toilet tissue before flushing it.
“You go first,” he says, eyeing the door as he wipes himself down. Once I’ve clothed myself and looked in the mirror to see just how dishevelled I am, I return to the plane’s aisle. Fortunately, most of the passengers are asleep with fancy masks on, and those who aren’t are staring intently at laptop screens.
I ease myself into my seat, satisfied that my vacation is starting out just right.
Nine
Conlon
As I dispose of the condom, I curse the damned latex cock-strangler. I hate coming in those things under any circumstance, but this time it was a damned travesty. I hated having the barrier between myself and Adriana.
Look, I’m not a cuddler, or a bring-my-lady-flowers-every-day type. All right, that’s mostly because I don’t have a lady. Well, not for more than a few hours at a time, and frankly, I generally don’t like to spend time with them after fucking. But then, this wasn’t fucking. That word is crass. But that’s what it is, isn’t it, when two mutually attracted people hop into a loo and do the nasty against the wall, or find a secluded Paris alleyway? No need for cuddling then; just a quick wipe of the mouth and an awkward exchange of faux numbers.
What I’m trying to say is that Adriana is different. The moment I first touched her I wanted more of her. I wanted inside her mind as well as her body. To press my head to her chest and listen to her heart, because it probably sounds like music. Something in that woman is special, and her magnificent tits are only the tip of the iceberg, as it were.
To reduce her to a physical entity is to render her a disservice, though. There’s a beauty in her soul that I want to possess, to steal and to hold to myself. I knew it when I watched her smile in that airport bar, that lovely curl of her lips, the excitement in her movements. She’s not like other women I’ve known.
But it doesn’t really matter. Because in a few hours we’ll get off this plane, say an awkward good-bye and be done with it. I won’t see her again, not unless she brings up the memoir, and she probably won’t. The magnificent woman probably doesn’t want to write the life story of a man who just introduced her to the mile-high club.
No. She’ll wander off alone to discover the beauty of the Parisian landscape. She’ll be worshiped by every Frenchman who sees her, every tourist, every waiter. Someone else will perhaps be fortunate enough to experience what I just did, but horizontally, slowly, lovingly. He’ll manage to sustain the sensation and it won’t be reduced to a cheap bit of quickie sex. Oh, to be that man. It actually hurts me to think of another man’s mouth on her. God, when has a woman ever caused me actual pain?
Adriana thought I was laughing after I came because of the turbulence and the flight attendant. The truth is that it was because I felt so damned happy in that moment. I felt so right, so good, so comfortable, so aroused, so fucking perfect, tucked so deep inside her, those loving arms of hers engulfing me. Who wouldn’t let out a laugh of pure joy amid such a tangled web of bliss?
After giving my cock the requisite wipe-down I zip up and walk quietly towards our seats. Adriana stands to let me by and greets me with a shy look, as if she’s wondering if I regret what just happened. Wondering if I’ve lost respect for her, or if she should be ashamed of herself.
Hell no, you luscious queen. You should be so fucking proud.
When I’ve fastened my seatbelt like a good little boy, I reach over and take her hand in mine. She probably thinks I’m doing it to reassure her, but no. It’s to reassure myself. She’s still here, at least for now, and that’s all I need.
“I’m glad we did that,” I whisper, leaning towards her.
“Me too,” she replies, “at least I think I am.”
Silence. Awful, painful, icicle-cold silence. After a time she leans down and pulls her backpack from under the seat in front of her. She yanks out some papers and starts to look over them tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about the taste of her. I want more Adriana.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing towards the papers as if it’s any of my business.
“Information about my apartment,” she says. “And some other stuff. Someone’s meeting me at the airport to drive me into Paris, apparently. They’re going to take me to my place. It’s all set up by the agency.”
“What about tour guides and such?” I ask. “Will someone show you around the city?”
“Not sure. I guess I’ll find out when I get there. I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest.”
“Ah,” I say stupidly. “I could show you…” I stop. I was about to offer to walk her around Paris, but that would be foolish. A few minutes in an airplane bathroom does not make us a couple. “I mean, I could mark some sights, if you have a map.”
“It’s okay. I sort of know what I want to see.”
“You have a list, then?”
She issues me a smirk. “More or less,” she says. “All I know is that the Eiffel Tower had better be as tall and erect as they say.”
Saucy little cat.
“It’s not that impressive, though it’ll no doubt grow significantly in your presence,” I say, my cock doing a twitchy dance in my trousers.
Adriana’s eyes look into mine and for a moment I wonder if we’re going to begin our dance all over again. But she holds back, disciplined woman that she is.
“Anyhow, I should…” she holds up the papers, conveying a desperate need to read them.
“Yes, of course.” I lean my head back and close my eyes.
Sleep, I tell myself. Sleep and try to separate yourself from her. It’s what she wants.
And it’s what you need.
Adriana
I stare at him for a second. Is he asleep? Maybe.
Probably.
I guess he’s a roll-over-after-sex type. But it’s for the best; I don’t want to talk about what happened in there. It was too intimate, too real to have shared with someone I barely know. When I had my arms around him, when he was so far inside me, I felt something more than just sex. I felt connected to Conlon, a man I’d looked at with scorn just a few hours ago. He did something to my chest; opened me up, somehow, to a feeling I thought had died a long time ago.
I was with Roger for all of six years. Six years of good and bad. We were best friends at the start, but at some point along the way he became someone I didn’t know. In the end, I didn’t love him. I didn’t even like him that much.
But in all our time together, he never once stirred up the sort of excitement I’ve felt for Conlon in the few hours I’ve known him. The guy I rejected in the bar at JFK is my lover now—or rather, he was. He excites me, but not just physically. He’s a genius, for one thing. He’s clever and kind. And my God, that orgasm. I feel like all the drugs in the world have been poured into my bloodstream and I’m going to be riding the high for a very long time.
But however great this all sounds, it’s not good. Because every high is followed by a low. There’s gonna be a crash, and I won’t like it. In a few hours we’ll get off this plane and go our separate ways. There’s no way I can work on this guy’s memoir now, not after that.
Damn it, I vowed not to get involved with men on this trip; this was supposed to be a celebration of my independence. And now I’m sitting here, my heart racing, analyzing my damned feelings for someone I’ve only known for a few hours. Trying to guess what he’s thinking. Trying to piece it all together like I can somehow make sense of what’s happened.
How do men do it? How do they shove things so neatly into tidy little compartments and get over everything as soon as it’s happened?
Stupid question. I already know the answer:
Men are made of stone.
And I need to learn to turn myself into that substance, stat.
Ten
Adriana
> The plane lands with a thud, grunting in protest just like my heart is doing. I’m staring straight ahead, even though I know he’s awake next to me. I can feel him stirring, stretching gently in his seat. Can feel him trying to avoid physical contact as he shifts his weight around. I’m not his girlfriend; I’m not even his lover anymore.
I’m just a stranger on a plane now.
“Looks like a nice day,” he says, lifting the blind slightly to peek out the window. That is so not something Conlon Davies should ever say. He’s making small talk, for crap’s sake. We’ve gone from talking about his family’s traumas to having sex to the freaking weather. Our relationship has come full circle and devolved into banality.
I lean over a little and catch a glimpse of the airport as we taxi. “Yes it does. Sun’s out.” Oh goody, I’m doing it too.
Well, it’s official: we suck llama balls.
“Any plans for the day?” he asks. He’s trying to be friendly, at least. Talking to me like I’m some casual business acquaintance of his.
“Just to get to my place, settle in, maybe go for a little walk.”
“Good. Good.” He’s not looking at me. He’s rubbing his hands over his thighs, like he’s nervous or something. How the hell could that man ever be nervous about anything?
“You heading home to your billion-dollar French chateau?” I ask, attempting a smile.
“Flat, actually,” he says, “and only worth millions, I’m afraid. And yes. I desperately need a shower.”
“Right. Because…” I reply. I get it, he wants to wash me off him ASAP.
“Oh, no, not that,” he tells me, reading my expression. “I’m actually quite sorry to lose your scent.” My woman bits throb with his acknowledgment that he was so close to them. Damn you, woman bits. “It’s just that travel grunge,” he continues. “You know what I mean.”
Gettin' Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 1) Page 6
