by Vivien Vale
But then again, he’s the man I’m asking to come away with me for the weekend.
“Hi,” his deep voice booms through the speaker and into my ear. “I knew you were too good to be true and cannot possibly be real.”
I’m taken aback.
“What do you mean?” Part of me is offended, the other being swept away in feelings of eating soft-centered chocolate. When you eat soft-centered chocolates, you kind of roll your eyes in sheer delight as your taste buds are bombarded with an artillery of taste sensations. Your whole body is enveloped in a warm, soft and cuddly blanket.
“Only witches I think have the power to read other people’s thoughts. And lo and behold, I’m sitting here, lonely as anything, thinking of an excuse to ring you. Bingo. My phone rings and it’s the woman of my dreams on the other end.”
At his words, my heart performs several summersaults and, for a moment, I’m unable to put one proper thought together.
“Witch.”
“Pardon?” Now he sounds confused.
I’m about to explain but change my mind.
“Never mind.”
Aaron laughs.
“Wait, wait. I got it. I should have said the witch of my dreams calls me.”
“Full marks, move to the top of the class.”
“What’re you up to?”
Perfect leading question.
“I’m packing and I wondered if you’d like to come to Reykjavik with me. Cassie and Ethan are going, and well…” Now I do falter just a little. “I just thought it might be fun if you came along, too.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and brace for the thanks for asking, but no thanks.
“Pardon?”
Now I haven’t heard what he said because I’ve been too fucking busy bracing.
“Looks like Cassie gets her double date after all.”
I can’t believe my ears.
“So you’ll come?” I double check and am already grinning ear to ear.
He may have taken me on a date to the library; I was going to take him to Reykjavik. And boy, would we have some fun together.
“You know, I normally don’t ask a man on a date like this.” I feel the need to explain. And it is true. It’s very out of character for me to ask someone out, especially on an overnight date.
“Well,” starts Aaron. “I’m pleased to hear you’ve broken with tradition.”
I can hear it in his voice that he’s genuine in what he just said.
“I’ll just move some appointments around and I’ll come and get you.”
Before I can protest and tell him to meet me at the airport, he’s ended the conversation.
On impulse, I get up and do a little victory dance.
Yeah, oh yeah, I’m going to Reykjavik with Aaron. I jig around the room—pleased no one can see me.
I’m not quite sure why I carry on like a little schoolgirl in love with some celebrity she’s about to meet. It’s silly, really. I’m a grown woman, a successful writer, and generally not one to let my emotions run away with me.
Ah well, no harm in letting my hair down from time to time.
I skip to my room to grab a case and pack some clothes. Why bother, my inner voice pipes up. You’ll be spending most of your time naked. I giggle at the thought.
Am I falling for this man? Is single, independent me falling in love with a successful businessman?
And what if I am?
Aaron is what every girl wants, isn’t he? He seems like the real deal. He’s honest, sincere, fucking funny, and he’s so fucking hot my insides almost melt every time I think of him or look at him.
I must really ask him one day what business exactly he’s in.
Could it be there’s a flaw I haven’t yet noticed?
I push the thought aside. He’s the real deal. He’s the Mr. Darcy women only read about.
My time on Thebadboys.net has been the perfect training ground to work out people’s character. I’m pretty confident my online training has been excellent and I’ve learned to read people well.
With my case packed, I do the only thing left to do: I go online to plan an itinerary for the weekend.
Aaron
It dawns on me.
This must be how the fucking fat man in the red suit must feel like every year.
I’ve watched Chloe’s face ever since I’ve picked her up in my limo. I mean, of course I used my fucking limo. If you want to use a car, use one that stands out.
Standing out from the crowd is what I do as the owner of Thebadboys.net. It is what Ms. Winters has done online for the last few months too. Ms. Winters knows how to stand out.
If you stand out, you succeed. If you blend in, you’re at risk of getting lost in the crowd. Ordinary is highly overrated, and ordinary does not spell success.
I can feel the excitement oozing from Chloe, and if the trip to the airport was a little bit longer, I know what I would do with her.
It’s so tempting to grab her gorgeous body and throw her over my knees to give her a fucking fantastic spanking before fucking her.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“I’m imagining all the fun we’ll be having in Reykjavik.” It’s not exactly a lie. The spanking can wait till we get there, or maybe not. There’s always the plane trip.
Chloe leans into me, kitten-like. She’s even purring. Her tight top stretches across her tits.
“Thanks for coming, and thanks for picking me up in a limo.”
This girl is so fucking genuine it hurts. I can tell she’s not used to being treated like a queen, and yet she should be.
The limo stops, and Jacque, my driver, opens the door. I poke my head out the door and do a quick check. All going according to plan.
“Thank you, Jacque.” I smile at him. “I’ll call you when I return.”
His face stays totally impassive, and that’s what I like most about Jacque. He’s discretion and silence personified. Any of my secrets he knows, he will take to his grave.
“Enjoy your trip, sir,” he says and slams the door shut.
Chloe is about to grab her case when one of my staff reaches us and relieves her of this mundane task.
This weekend, I plan to totally spoil my girl.
My insides squirm. Had I really just thought of her in terms of my girl?
I shake my head. There was something wrong with me. First, she wasn’t my girl, and if I thought of her in possessive terms, surely I could do better than that.
“What the—” She leaves the sentence unfinished, and I catch her eye.
“I thought—” she stammers, but I cut her off with a kiss to the nose.
“A pretty face like you should not do too much thinking.”
She punches me in the arm.
“Hey, Mr. Sexist, newsflash: we are in the twenty-first century. We’ve left the Dark Ages behind. Women do think for themselves.”
I pull a face at her as I link arms.
“Next you’ll be telling me they let women vote now too?”
Chloe laughs.
I love the way she laughs. It sounds a little like bells ringing.
“They have ages ago.”
In mock horror, I pull away from her.
“No fucking way. When did that happen?”
This comment earns me another punch to my upper arm.
“Ages ago. I told you the Dark Ages are long gone.”
I take her arm again. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. I mean, what was wrong with the traditional role of the woman? I love to see a woman barefoot and, you know, naked in the kitchen.”
We are standing at the foot of the stairs to my jet.
“After you, dear madam.” I love how she’s looking at me all puppy-eyed. “Or is chivalry totally prohibited these days?”
Chloe shakes her head.
I can tell she’s overwhelmed.
“No, chivalry is nice from time to time.”
“Good.” I take a little bow. “Up the stairs you go, my
fair maiden.”
Giggling, she leads the way.
Of course I have an ulterior motive for letting her go up before me. I’m not just being a gentleman. I want to feast on her fucking hot ass.
My eyes nearly melt at the sight of that delicious ass wiggling its way up the stairs. By the time she’s halfway up, I catch a bit of a glimpse of her thong as her skirt has ridden up.
In my pants, my cock’s coming to life.
Quickly I hurry after her.
When she steps inside, I hear her squeal in delight. She claps her hands. And when she turns to face me, I see her eyes glowing with pleasure.
“Welcome to my den.”
She laughs.
“You own a private jet?”
There is obvious disbelief in her voice.
I nod.
Her index finger taps against my chest.
“Mr. Bennet, I think we will have to have a serious discussion about what you do for a living. A writer you ain’t.”
My heart beats a little faster. I don’t want to lie to her. I want to fucking impress her.
For a microsecond, I toy with telling her about my business—about owning Thebadboys.net.
“I’m in business,” I say instead. “I own a small company.”
Sometimes it’s all in the how you say it.
I’m not lying to her. I’m just not telling her exactly what I do…yet. In time I might.
“Mr. Bennet, if you could please be seated so we can get ready for takeoff?” the flight attendant says as she comes up behind me.
“Let me show you to your seat, darling.”
Chloe giggles again.
I lead the way to the real part of the plane, since so far we’ve only been standing in the back part.
When the curtain is drawn back and the full extent of the luxury is revealed, Chloe sucks in her breath.
She turns to me.
“Fuck, Aaron. This is really yours?”
I nod.
She shakes her head.
Pride swells up inside of me. This is a better surprise than the library, I know.
I’ve outdone myself. I’ve set new standards in impressing Chloe.
I watch as she takes tiny steps toward the inside of the room.
She goes over to the television, then she sits on one of the leather lounges before bouncing over to one of the bed-sized recliner chairs.
Her fingers find the buttons, and I watch her recline and come back up again. She giggles.
“Aaron, this is fucking amazing.”
Her pleasure is about as much of a turn on as watching her ass wiggle up the stairs.
It occurs to me that I want to show off my toys to her. I want to impress her. And I want to possess her.
Usually, role models come to mind pretty fucking quickly. But right now I can’t think of which fictional character I want to be. Maybe I just want to be myself.
And being myself means being truthful.
I ignore the niggle in the pit of my stomach. Not telling is not lying.
As I watch her, my desire for her increases. I can’t wait to rip her fucking clothes off.
Like a girl let loose in a candy shop, she darts here, there, and everywhere. Her sheer delight is palpable.
Breathless, she comes to stand in front of me again.
Her chest is heaving. I see her nipples push through her flimsy material, and I imagine her pussy already wet and waiting.
“Aaaaaron.” She’s deliberately pulling the a as long as she can. Her index finger is now wiggling in front of my face. “There’s definitely something you’re not telling me. What business exactly are you in?”
The need to tell her the truth seems to be crushing me like a giant wave. It’s picking me up, tossing me in the fucking air, and then slamming me into the ground, squeezing every last bit of air out of me.
“Please, Mr. Bennet,” a voice interrupts us from behind. “Can you and your guest take a seat?”
I nod.
“Now, Chloe, let’s sit down.” I usher her to the reclining bed seat.
“Champagne, madam?” another one of the flight attendants has surfaced and is carrying two glasses of bubbles on a round tray.
Chloe giggles.
“Champagne at this hour?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
“Cheers.” I clink my glass against hers.
She responds.
“Now then,” I say as I put my glass down and lean into her.
She smells intoxicating. I detect rose petal and something citrus and sexual desire. “Let me tell you about the flight.”
Her puppy eyes give me their undivided attention. Her chin is cupped in her right hand.
“The flight is five hours. And we’ve got this plane all to ourselves. So plenty of time to…” I leave the last words hanging.
My right hand reaches for her loose hair and plays with it.
My thumb caresses her face, and I see her flush a little.
She’s so fucking ready.
“And what exactly did you have in mind?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
I frown.
“Do you want me to spell it out or…” I don’t finish the sentence and let my fingers do the talking.
Chloe
The bubbles dance across my tongue and I relish the coolness down the back of my throat.
My insides are already on fire and I can’t wait for the plane to level out. Aaron’s words a clear indication of what’s on his mind.
And here, only a few hours ago I had worried about a rejection.
I stare at my champagne and that stupid cliché phrase ‘the mile-high club’ comes to mind. Who had invented that phrase anyway? I didn’t really want to think in those terms but just like bad ad jingles, this one’s sticking in my mind.
Although it’s not only jingles that haunt and annoy. The tune, everything, is awesome but now infamous because the Lego movie is in my annoying basket. Particularly when I’m paying for my extra-large takeaway coffee and the barista hands it to me singing ‘everything is awesome…’
“What are you thinking my lovely lady?”
Aaron’s voice rouses me out of my navel-gazing.
“Where the expression the mile-high club comes from?”
I don’t make up some lame thought I might be having, I tell him the truth. I’m a terrible liar. In fact, I’m fucking hopeless at it and he’d see right through me.
“It is alleged that it was first used in some betting book in a gentlemen’s club back in seventeen hundred and something.”
“What the fuck?”
He nods.
“Apparently, some old lord was offered fifty dollars for every time he had sex with a woman in his hot air balloon.”
I can feel my eyes grow large with disbelief.
“You’re fucking pulling my leg. That sounds too fucking cockeyed to be true.”
Aaron’s shaking his head. “No. I wouldn’t lie to you. I read it somewhere. We’ll look it up when we land.”
Having sex a hot air balloon? For fucking real? Back in seventeen hundred and something. What woman would be fucking mad enough to get into a hot air balloon with some old lord and then have sex with him?
My brain’s having some difficulty absorbing this news.
“It’s still tacky,” I say eventually, unable to muster another response. The image of the cane basket, the hot flame shooting up into the balloon, and two people having a fuck are too difficult to get out my mind.
He grins.
“So you don’t want to, you know…”
I roll my eyes.
“I didn’t say that but I think we could come up with something a little more inventive don’t you agree?”
“Why don’t we get comfortable first and think words later?”
Instead of a reply, I unclip my seat belt and move my seat into the recline position. When I’m lying horizontally, I spread my legs.
Aaron needs no further invitation.
> He practically jumps out of his seat and onto the floor, in front of me.
“Like what you see?”
I’m not wearing any slip.
Instead of a reply, his hands push up my skirt. Instantly his fingers find my wet opening.
A discreet cough has him stop mid enter.
“Is there anything you or our guest would like Mr. Bennet?”
I cannot see the speaker but I feel myself go red. Just because I can’t see them, does not mean they can’t see me in this rather compromising position. Frantically, I try to push my skirt back down.
Aaron does not bat an eyelid.
“Is there something you would like Chloe?”
Your fucking cock inside my wet pussy is on my lips but I don’t utter those words. “Martini on ice with an olive,” I whisper instead.
“Mark, you heard the lady. Make it two.”
Martini on ice. It’s very James Bond, I think to myself and chuckle.
I feel as if I’m in a James Bond movie. Aaron’s James and who am I? I try and remember one of the female spies. Russian, I’d be one of the Russian ones I’m sure.
Granted there are no guns, and no one’s hot on our heels. Still, it’s all so surreal it could be a movie set.
“Now where were we?”
I close my legs.
“What the fuck woman?”
“Let’s wait for our drink first,” I whisper and sit back up in my luxury chair.
Before Aaron can protest, the handsome attendant brings us our drink.
I take it from the tray and smile at him.
His smile is a knowing ‘I know what you two are up to. Don’t worry.’
My smile replies, ‘I can tell you wish you were a part of it.’
I fish out my olive and eat it. Next, my fingers find the ice. I put the cube between my lips and suck on it.
Aaron sits back down next to me.
Before my next move, I take off my top and bra.
Instead of going back to the recline position, I knee in front of him, ice cube still between my teeth.
Slowly, I unzip his pants and free his waiting cock. It’s rock hard and ready for action. My fingers gently hold it, feeling its power and weight.
Without taking my eyes off the tip of his delicious shaft, I move my face forward. Then, I plant a gentle kiss on his tip with my ice cube still in place.
His body convulses with shock waves.
