by Sharon Page
He hangs up then. I blow out a deep breath. By this time tomorrow, I’ll probably be dressed in leather, tied hand-and-foot, and doing wild, kinky things with gorgeous Jonathon Powell.
Chapter Two
By midnight, a blanket of white snow had covered everything, making even mom’s small bungalow look like a frosted gingerbread house. Now, at eight a.m., rain drizzles down. The downpour has washed away most of the snow. Only mounds of dirty, wet slush are left. This is the kind of Christmas I’ve always known; moments of prettiness, but mostly sloppy, cold, and wet.
I had to lie to Mom, of course. I told her something of the truth; that I was going south with Jonathon Powell. But I told her he was taking a bunch of us as a Christmas treat, including my roommate Lara and other girls. I mean, I’m nineteen and can certainly go if I want to, but I didn’t want to turn it into a huge debate. Nor did I want to discuss the issue of breaking up with Ryan. I googled Jonathon and his father’s companies, which convinced my mother that it was possible that a college student could spend thousands on a winter break vacation for his friends.
I sit on my rolling carry-on bag—purchased in a rush yesterday—passport in hand, biting my nails. Don’t think beyond the sex.
My problem is that I used to think that way. After I lost my virginity when I hadn’t wanted to, I tried to make up for it by having sex with guys I desired. I knew it would end after we went to bed once, twice, sometimes as many as five or ten times. But I couldn’t play games. If I was turned on by a guy, I did something about it.
But I started to realize I just felt empty. I got to have intimacy briefly, then it just vanished, leaving me with nothing at all. Not even good memories, since I felt bad about what I’d done.
I’d already vowed to change when I moved here to Milltown and met Ryan. He made it easy to change. He wanted more than just sex right from the start. We dated for almost two years before we made love. I was the one to seduce him, on our last weekend before we left for our respective colleges, at a last-weekend-of-summer party at a friend’s cabin—
Jonathon’s here.
A large, sleek black car turns into our driveway. A man in a black suit gets out of the driver’s seat, opens the door to let Jonathon out. For all he likes rebelling against his father, Jonathon looks exactly like Gregory Powell. At least, he looks just like the photos I’ve seen of the billionaire on the internet. Jonathon invested his annual allowance into video gaming start-ups, an independent music business that is entirely online, real estate, successful restaurants and even BDSM clubs. He’s reputedly worth twenty million personally. Ironically, it’s his brother who was supposed to eventually succeed his father at the helm of Powell Industries. But Jonathon’s personal success has prompted his father to change his mind.
Now the two sons are supposed to compete in the business world, where the winner will take all of the Powell empire.
Jonathon has refused to play. But I can sense, by the aggressive way he fights to make his own money that he needs to prove himself.
I swallow hard as he walks up to the front door of our rented, sucky bungalow. The garage of his home near Yardley College is bigger than my house. But when I open the door to him, gaze into his green eyes, see his dimpled, rugged smile, I don’t see any disgust or derision on his face.
“Hi, Mia,” he says softly. God, his voice should be a flavor of chocolate. It’s like sin for the ears. “I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to come with me. Ready to go?”
That’s it, of course. No more pre amble. No wasted time. He does come in and introduce himself to my mother. I hold my breath, but Jonathon charms her in an instant. She is dressed for work in a classic diner uniform, her gray-streaked auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. She hugs me, wipes at her eyes, and wishes me Merry Christmas.
I’ve never spent a Christmas away from her. Only the fact I was supposed to leave her anyway to go to Dad makes me feel okay about going. I hug her tight.
I’m only going away for a week, but I realize I’m going to leave Milltown forever eventually. One day I’ll hug her like this when I’m leaving for a whole new life.
Jonathon’s driver grabs my rolling suitcase off the step, and Jonathon—gorgeous in a full length, black wool coat—leads me to the waiting car. At least I have my passport. I got it a year ago, when I turned eighteen and had the crazy idea of convincing Ryan to travel across Europe.
I know that by going, I’m walking away from Ryan forever. There’s a huge lump in my throat. But I have to move on. And I want to do it with the gorgeous green-eyed man sitting beside me.
***
An hour later, Jonathon and I are settled into the enormous comfortable leather seats on one of the Powell Industries private jets. Champagne has been served by a pretty blond flight attendant. She closes a curtain across our compartment.
Jonathon unbuckles his seatbelt, even though we’ve been instructed by the pilot to leave them on.
“There are some rules even you have to follow,” I point out. “You have to listen to your pilot.”
His green eyes glint wickedly. “True. But first I want to get you ready for the flight. Do you trust me to give you pleasure?”
Since September when I arrived at Yardley, Jonathon and I have been friends and nothing has ever happened between us because I was staying faithful to Ryan. We’ve never even kissed. Now I can completely let loose.
I’m here for a week of wild sex. I can live any fantasy I want. I’m here to take risks. “Yes,” I answer.
“Pull down your jeans,” he instructs.
I have to undo my seatbelt to obey. I’m wearing a new pair of panties in fluorescent pink that make me look like I have a tan, which is amazing since I’m a redhead. They are almost completely made of lace. I drove into the nearest metropolis to Milltown to buy new underwear, and used my textbook budget for next term to do it. But at least I look respectably sexy.
Sticking my tongue out at Jonathon, I re-buckle the seatbelt. My jeans are down around my knees.
“Spread your legs.”
Jonathon did take me as his guest to one of his BDSM clubs in fall term, but nothing happened there between us, obviously. I knew Jonathon would be determined to push limits now that he has the chance. I just didn’t expect it would be on the plane.
I’m nineteen and I’ve never done anything really kinky. But I’ve heard about kinky things. Read about them. Fantasized about them. I have to admit I’m royally excited by the combination of smooth leather beneath my half-bare butt cheeks, my anticipation, and Jonathon’s commanding tone. The lace of my panties is already wet.
Jonathon’s big hands push my legs further apart—as far as my jeans will let him. His fingers pry my panties aside and I gasp at the brush of his fingers over my very sensitive pussy.
Wow, we’re getting down to it pretty fast. I guess I thought there would be foreplay. Him kissing my mouth, my nipples, me getting to touch him all over—
He strokes my clit with the edges of his fingernails and the scraping sensation makes me bolt up on the chair in shock. Watching me, he rubs his fingertip over that aching place in gentle circles.
Oh. God.
My fingers gouge into the chair arms. I almost climb up the back of the seat. I bite my lip. Then moan really loud.
Okay, I don’t mind moving ahead quickly. But I glance desperately at the curtain.
“She won’t come until she’s called,” Jonathon says.
He just lets his fingers rest which gives me a chance to stop moaning and say, “You know, that statement can have more than one meaning.”
He shrugs. “She is an employee of my father’s. Not my type. God, you’re soaking wet.” As if to prove it, he slides two of his fingers inside me, and I am indeed slick enough to take them right in. Deep. He crooks his fingers, draws them back and strokes a spot inside me that makes my head spin.
All the while, his green eyes watch me, fringed by thick black lashes. I’m wriggling on the seat.
“Don’t come yet, Mia,” Jonathon instructs. A wicked grin touches his lips.
It’s torture not to start rocking on his fingers and turn my sexual arousal into a climactic explosion.
The plane lurches forward and starts rolling down the runway.
Under my lace undies, Jonathon’s thumb brushes my clit while his fingers slowly spread inside me. “When I’m ready, fantasy girl, I’m going to lick your pussy.”
I squirm. And pant. I can’t believe I am having sex on a private jet on the way to paradise. But I wag my finger at him. “What about your seatbelt?”
“Soon, Mia. There is something I need to do first.”
He slips a third long, graceful finger inside me. I’ve watched his hands cup pints of beer, mugs of coffee, and was always impressed by how sexy and masculine they are. But having him slide three fingers in and out of my pussy is incredible. All the while, his thumb taps my clit.
I’m going to come. I’m going to—
To my shock, Jonathon stops, slides his fingers out, slips my panties back into place, and casually takes the seat beside me.
“You’re stopping now?” I gasp.
He grins. “Once we’re in the air, I’m going to lick your pussy until you have a screaming orgasm. You are not allowed to come until then.”
“What if I do?” I ask defiantly.
“You will be punished.” He clicks his seatbelt into place. He winks—a long, sensual sweep of dark lashes. This is the guy who has listened to all my fears, who has done nothing but help me, so I don’t feel scared by his threat. I’m turned on by it.
I sit there, my clit swollen and aching, while the plane takes off. Jonathon’s fingers stroke my wrist. Just that touch is enough to make me close to an explosion. The vibrations of the plane make my pussy clench. I flutter my inner muscles, realizing even that could make me come. Just having my panties rub against my sensitized clit could do it.
I bite my lip as the plane lifts off.
God, I don’t think I can hold the orgasm back—
I fight to do so. Not to please Jonathon, but because I want this orgasm to build into something earth-shattering. I feel wild, bold, daring.
The pilot’s voice comes over the loudspeaker, allowing us to undo our seatbelts. Jonathon undoes his and gets on his knees in front of me. We’re in the front row and there are yards of lush carpet in front of us. His big hands rest on my thighs.
I’m shaking with need.
Two fingers slide inside my pussy. Then, wow, he gently presses his index finger to the tight entrance of my ass. And penetrates just the tiniest bit as his mouth lowers…
The instant his tongue rasps over my clit, I arch up, grinding my pussy against his mouth. When I come, I make unusual sounds. I always try to make sexy moans, but that never happens. I mewl like a kitten, or sob like I’m going to burst into tears, or sometimes I scream because it’s so intense.
I’m just about to scream when I bite it back. I don’t want to make the pilot crash this thing. My teeth sink into my lip as the orgasm takes me and the only sound I can make are desperate kitten sounds.
When I sink back against the seat, Jonathon lifts his head, runs his tongue over his lips. I blush, knowing he’s tasting my juices on his mouth. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Or do you want lunch?”
I giggle. “How can you even ask?” I say breathlessly. “More.” I want to make him come. He’s so stunning with his black hair, chiseled cheekbones, pouty lips, green eyes. I want to watch Jonathon have an orgasm.
He lets his slow, liquid smile spill over me. “Can I tie you up?”
“On the plane?” I’ve heard of the mile high club, but never anything like this.
“No one will disturb us until I call,” he reminds me.
The plane rises and drops. My stomach makes the same motion. I notice a smaller plane gets more buffeted by the wind.
Jonathon must see the look on my face because he points out that if we’re having sex, I won’t focus on the flight. “Okay,” I whisper.
Jonathon opens his black leather carryon bags. He draws out a roll of black tape. “Bondage tape,” he explains. “It will bind you but it’s easily broken.”
“They make special tape for this?” I’ve never heard of it. I did know twist ties can be used, but not vinyl tape. Who thinks up this stuff?
“Mmm,” he responds, obviously focusing on his task. He pulls off a length of tape, tears it with his teeth. “Put your hands together behind the seat.”
That’s possible to do because the seats aren’t placed tightly together. There are consoles and arm rests between them.
“What are you going to do exactly?”
“Have fun.”
I lift my brows at his cocky tone as something touches my wrists, winding around them. When he’s finished, black vinyl bondage tape wraps around my wrists and they are connected by a length of the tape behind my seat so I can’t move them. I’m completely at Jonathon’s mercy.
I wanted this, but am I really ready?
“Trust, remember?” he says softly.
To fly, I wore jeans, a t-shirt, and a zippered hoodie. I took off the hoodie already. Jonathon pushes my shirt up over my bra, which is brand new, like the panties. It’s a push-up bra designed to add a cup size to my breasts, and it squeezes them together to improve my cleavage.
I haven’t gained weight in college. Right now, if anything, I’m too thin. The stalker incident kept me too freaked out to eat, as did the pressures of the fall term. Instead of seeking solace in food, I kept forgetting to eat. My breasts are smaller than when I started school.
Ryan didn’t seem to mind, but I wonder what Jonathon will think.
Jonathon takes the cups and draws them down until my breasts pop out and are sitting on top of the bra. My hard nipples point at him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Perfect nipples.”
Actually, I am proud of my nipples. They are very large and puffy and guys tend to like them. They’ve gone hard much faster than usual. Proof of how aroused I am.
Jonathon pulls a length of silver chain from his carry-on. He pinches one end and as the cool metal brushes my nipple I moan and whimper. There are clamps at the end of the chain.
“Oh no. My nipples are way too sensitive.”
“Perfect.” First he gently closes a clamp on my right nipple, then on my left nipple while my heart pounds like wild. The pressure is intense, but not as painful as I thought it would be. The sensitivity makes me focus completely on my breasts. They look so erotic, shoved up by the bra, with clamps hanging off of my nipples.
I guess he likes my breasts.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what he will do next. I promised him I would try anything, but now I’m warring between my vow to change and be good, and my desire to explore my sexuality.
The clamps make my breasts jiggle, which stimulates my nipples like crazy.
Jonathon takes something else out of his carryon bag. A pink jelly dildo that sparkles. I know I’m blushing. I may have a past, but I am actually very shy. Last year, a high-end adult store opened in Milltown. I went in with a bunch of girls from my school, where they giggled and I went beet red over the wall of dildos, which had everything from a realistic twelve inch monster with anatomically correct coloring to a cute five inch thing made of sparkly see-through purple rubber.
Jonathon holds the squishy dildo against my clit and strokes.
“Oh God,” I moan. I close my eyes, suddenly feeling exposed.
He starts sliding the fake cock into my pussy. When it’s all the way in, he bends and flicks his tongue over my clit. His mouth torments me with such skill, I come instantly. His tongue strums me while I thrash and writhe on the seat. I’ve never had such an explosion from oral sex. Of course, I’ve never been primed for one quite like this.
He draws back, grinning with a flash of white teeth, with lines that bracket his sensual mouth.
His jeans cling to his lean hips, sweep along
his long legs. His charcoal shirt sets off the green of his eyes. How can he not want to get naked right now?
He has other plans, I guess. He removes the clamp from my left nipple. When I see its squished shape, I wince, though it doesn’t hurt. It just feels intense and erotic. Jonathon presses his mouth to my nipple. At the exact moment he sucks, he thrusts the pink jelly cock in and out of me.
Whenever I have one orgasm, I usually have the successive ones almost instantaneously. Three thrusts and I soar with ecstasy, then giggle helplessly with it, too boneless and weak to move.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Untie me,” I beg. “Make love with me.”
He leans over me and tears the tape away, freeing my wrists. But then he sits on the seat, watching me. He’s making no move to undress.
“Don’t you want to join me in another orgasm?”
“This is foreplay, fantasy girl,” he answers. “I enjoy foreplay when it lasts a long time.”
“Then what do you plan to do?”
He cocks his head. “I’m thinking.” A reminder he is in control. He will do to me what he wants, when he wants to do it. He reaches over and begins to slowly thrust the fake cock in and out. I touch my clit, and when he doesn’t complain, I rub it surreptitiously, feeling the tension build. I’m on a luxurious seat in a private jet, being gloriously fucked. Then he gives the dildo one last thrust and I come. This time I’m sobbing with sheer, melting, intense delight.
He strokes my tangled hair. “I’ve never seen a woman come as much as you.”
Breathing hard, I whisper. “I’m not done yet.” After all, now that I’ve had so many orgasms—this is the best flight ever—I want to do the same for him.
I ask him sweetly to sit in his seat and I kneel in front of him. I undo the button of his jeans. They have a traditional zippered fly. I catch the zipper between my teeth and draw it down.
It’s a struggle but I get his jeans and his silk boxers pulled down, baring his cock. Jonathon’s is gorgeous. Thick. Long. With a sweeping curve that points up to the sky.
