Panty Dropper (A Sexy Standalone Contemporary Romance)

by Paige North

  “No, not at all,” I said.

  He swirled the wine in his glass as he watched me, waiting for me to say more. If he was so willing to answer, I’d be willing to ask.

  Obliging my instincts, I went further. “Is your staff—like your driver Steve and Helen back there—carefully briefed on your new girls? Has anyone ever had a slipup and called someone by the wrong name?”

  “I like to make everyone feel comfortable,” Leo said, his expression relaxed. “My assistants help to make sure all my guests feel welcomed. No matter who they are.”

  “Even if they’re just some failed actress from nowhere Maine?”

  “I want to hear more about this place you’re from” he said, by way of changing the subject.

  Boy, he was smooth. I had to admire it, even as it angered me a little.

  But still, I didn’t want him to know too many details about me. The less he knew about me, and the more I knew about him, the better.

  “Don’t change the subject,” I said. I ran my hands over the soft buttery leather of the chair. “I just want to know how many other women have sat here.”

  “We’re not doing that numbers game,” Leo said, his tone hardening now. “Sophie, don’t ruin this by asking too many questions.”

  I had to get my story somehow. I needed to know more about him. As Helen brought us dinner—scallops and risotto on real china—I told myself to be patient.

  “Let’s talk about why you’re really here,” Leo said, setting down his fork. I’d always heard that airplane food was terrible—if you got anything more than peanuts—but the food on that plane was the best thing I’d eaten in months. Better than anyplace Paul ever took me, that’s for sure.

  “I thought I was just here to keep you company,” I said, my heart jumping as I once again braced myself for my cover to be blown.

  His eyes held mine like they often did. When Leo Armstrong looked at me, I didn’t want to look away. “What I mean,” he said, “was, we need to talk. About the script.”

  “The screenplay you gave me to read,” I said, relieved yet again. I’d let myself get caught up in everything else. Talking about the screenplay sounded like much more fun than trying to find out about his other women. I got my bag from behind the chair and pulled out the stack of pages.

  “Tell me what you thought,” Leo said.

  “I thought it was good,” I said, flipping through the pages.

  “Be specific.”

  I felt like I was being put on the spot by one of my college professors. But I wanted to impress Leo, so I started again. “I guess it’s just not my kind of movie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” I began. “I don’t know. I’m just not into these revenge stories. Drunk driver kills this woman, and then this crazy guy goes on a rampage of destruction to track down the driver and make him pay for what he did. I mean, did he have to blow up the police station in the process? It seemed a bit much.”

  “A man seeking to avenge his wife’s death is a bit much?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, as Helen cleared away our dinner plates and refreshed our wine. I leaned down and slipped off my heels, letting my toes feel the soft carpet of the plane. “I just think that I need to know more from this guy. Jake, that’s the killer’s name, right?”

  “You mean the man who is seeking revenge? Or the man who killed his wife?”

  I cocked my head. “You know what I mean.”

  “It’s an important distinction,” Leo said.

  “It’s just an action movie,” I laughed, wondering why he was pushing so hard. “What does matter?”

  “It matters,” Leo said, “because these characters are real. Or they should feel real, no matter if they’re seeking out a foreign enemy or someone from their hometown. You should feel something from the characters, understand their motivations. It matters, Sophie, because this is my business, and if you’re telling me that this is all just cheesy shit that doesn’t matter, then I have an earnings statement that says viewers all over the world think differently. This may not be Kill Bill, but it should be the best movie viewers pay to see on the night they choose to see it. Understand?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

  “These aren’t caricatures and if they are, tell me—and tell me how you’d fix it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, taking in a breath. “Tell me what doesn’t work about it.”

  I did as he asked, telling him my thoughts, being so specific I felt like I was a New York Times film critic or something. But Leo wanted to know every detail, every stray thought I had about the script.

  As Helen brought out dessert—chocolate raspberry cake—Leo continued to push me, asked me questions. We worked through the script for nearly two hours, making marks on the pages about character development and pacing.

  Finally Leo tossed his pen on the table between us and said, “You did well, Sophie. When you push yourself, you really see the heart of things. Of this.” He tapped the screenplay.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Armstrong,” I said. “I’m glad I pleased you.”

  “Well,” he said, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” We locked eyes, and I wished for the life of me that the table wasn’t between us.

  “You enjoyed the work?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I loved it. I mean, I didn’t do so great on this first go-around but I learned a lot.” It was true. Leo had made me look at the characters I’d normally brush off as one-dimensional in a different way.

  I had to admit, I was surprised and impressed by him, by his work ethic, and his willingness to really take me seriously. Something about that fact was more attractive to me than almost anything else.

  My desire for Leo had just grown by leaps and bounds in this short time.

  Leo nodded, watching me carefully. Helen appeared and asked if we’d like our dessert plates cleared. “Yes, thank you,” Leo said. “And that’ll be all until arrival.”

  “Yes, Mr. Armstrong,” she said, and she retreated to the front of the cabin, where I knew she’d stay behind the closed door until we landed. The thought thrilled me so much I felt myself twitch in anticipation.

  Once she’d closed the door behind her and dimmed the cabin lights, Leo slowly rose from his side of the table and I almost melted with relief. A part of me had wondered all night if he really did just want to talk to me on the flight to Seattle, but the hunger in his eyes as he walked toward me said he wanted so much more.

  He leaned on the armrests, boxing me into my seat. “Now,” he said, watching my lips as I tried to control my breathing. “Are we done with the business portion of the evening?”

  Before I could answer his lips were on mine, soft and full of want, and I knew he’d been waiting for this all night, too. His kiss was needy, his tongue going deep, seeking more of me, and I gave him everything back I could. His mouth absolutely devoured me, and because he stood above me while I still sat in the chair, he was at the perfect height for my hands to start wandering.

  In almost no time I had his shirt un-tucked and my hand running over the steel of his abs, which clenched under my touch. I looked up at him, his lips full and parted as he watched me slowly unbutton his shirt, his hands caressing my face and neck as if he couldn’t bare to stop touching me. It only propelled me to keep going, further, pushing his shirt open like curtains once it was free from the restraint of the buttons. I looked at his chest and stomach, my hands tracing over his beauty like it was a piece of fine art. The hard muscles, the deep breathing I knew he was trying to control, his strong chest rising and falling, all had me so weak that if I weren’t already sitting, I’d be down on the ground.

  I touched my lips to his skin, just above his belt, slipping my tongue out delicately to taste him. Leo’s hands raked through my hair, his breathing urging me on—not that I needed it. I was on autopilot, doing only as my body wanted, and it wanted more of this perfectly formed man in front of me, kissing and tasting and touchi
ng as much of his flesh as I could.

  This felt so right and so wrong all at once.

  I was only here because of lies and deceit and my motive was purely business. Yet, my lust for this man couldn’t be denied. And knowing that the last thing I should be doing was having sexual relations with Leo Armstrong right now, only made me want him that much more.

  I was sure I could never please him, not in the way in which he was accustomed. He’d had gorgeous, experienced women, and I was practically a born-again virgin. I’d only ever been with Paul, and we didn’t even have sex the last four months we were together. So as my hand traced the thick outline of Leo’s penis through his pants, pressing against the fine material as if it wanted out as much as I wanted to feel it in my hand and mouth, a part of me hesitated, afraid I’d only make a fool of myself, that I’d somehow do it wrong. The other part of me—the purely sexual part of me that had my panties soaked once again—decided I needed him. That part of me thought I might die from want if I didn't have him in my mouth.

  I slid open the smooth leather of his belt, watching him as he swallowed hard, the lump of his Adam’s apple bobbing up, then down. His mouth fell open again, and he ran his thumb over my bottom lip, which I bit gently, teased it with my tongue. He kept his eyes on me like nothing else mattered, and I was sure nothing did. I slowly pulled the zipper down, waiting for the present he held so tightly in those soft, elegant pants. I ran my hand over the next thin layer of fabric of his boxer briefs, his breath becoming deeper and more ragged. Leo slipped his hand to the base of my neck and gave me the slightest, almost imperceptible nudge toward. I looked up at him and smiled, reveling in the power I was seeing I held over him in the moment.

  Tracing the thick outline of his long cock, I smiled and said, “You’re not getting impatient, are you?”

  In answer to my question, he took the smallest step closer to me, putting what I wanted even closer to my mouth. I moved both my hands just under the remaining fabric that stood between us, and lowered it past his knees. My breath caught. His massive dick stood at attention before me, more intimidating than Leo Armstrong himself. I took it in my hand, my fingers not quite meeting on the other side it was so thick, and I wondered how I’d ever manage, even as much as I wanted to take every last inch of him in my mouth.

  I flicked my eyes up at him as I pressed my tongue flat against at the base of him, slowly dragging it up the full length.

  “Jesus,” he gasped.

  I traced over the slit at the top and twirled my tongue around the entire head. Then I started again, licking up the front and swirling around to the ridge on the underside, teasing him, making him wish he were fully in my mouth. I used my tongue as a lubricant to gently pull his flesh up and down with my hand until finally I dipped my head, stretching my jaw as wide as it would go, and took Leo in my mouth. He let out a deep moan.

  Slowly I lowered my head, taking him in inch by inch as his fingers dug into the hair at the base of my neck. Knowing I had him so hot made me want to give him more. With one hand on his dick, following the motion of my mouth up and down his now slick cock, I used my other hand to gently cup his balls, moving them gently toward his body. They tightened under my delicate touch, and I loosened my grip.

  My main work was done with my mouth, though, and I savored every taste, keeping my lips and tongue firm against him, releasing only to lick him at the top, the delicious treat that he was, more satisfying than that chocolate raspberry cake could ever hope to be. Each time my head dipped down, I took more of him in my mouth, marveling at how loose my throat had become, that it could take much more than I ever imagined.

  “God, Sophie,” Leo moaned, his fingers fully tangled in my hair as he took over, guiding my head at the pace he wanted, a little faster, my mouth stretched wide as I moaned at the feel of him on my touch. I paused and took my mouth off his dick, giving it quick kisses up the side before taking it back, as deep as I could, Leo’s hand gently pushing to have more of him. His breath came in gasps as I quickened my pace, my hand still holding him.

  “Don’t stop,” he gasped, and I wouldn’t have even if the plane were going down. “I’m going to come,” he said, and knowing my mouth could do this to him made me moan with him and soon he exploded, down my throat and I took him, all of him, holding him there as more came from him, his grunts hardly contained. His hand fell from my head to my shoulder, and finally he braced himself on the arm of my chair, panting for air. I slipped him out of my mouth.

  Once he’ll pulled himself together—and pulled up his pants—he sat on the bench across the aisle. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. “Damn, girl. I’m going to need a minute. I think I went off to another universe for awhile there.”

  “Flatterer,” I said, but secretly I was pleased. I’d never made a man—the one I’d been with—say my name like that and was amazed I had done it, and to this man of all men. I moved over and sat next to him.

  “I’m not kidding,” he said. “How’d you get so good at that?”

  “I’ll never tell,” I said, leaning over to nip at his neck. That part, at least, was the truth. Like I’d admit to learning how to give a blowjob from a magazine? And not even Crush. The horror!

  He let out a satisfied sigh as I kissed his neck. “Come closer,” he said. He put an arm around my back and hooked the other under my legs. In one smooth motion, he had me sitting on his lap.

  “Right where you want me,” I said.

  “Why don’t you come to the set with me?” he said, his fingers tracing lazily on my bare thigh. “I’ll just keep you like this during meetings. ‘Uh, Mr. Armstrong, are you aware that there’s a human woman attached to your lap?’ We’ll just feign ignorance.”

  I laughed and went back to his neck, giving him gentle little licks and bites as I went. “You taste so good,” I mumbled, as I continued kissing.

  “If you keep that up, I really will be forced to take you with me.”

  “Please take me,” I sighed into his ear, my hand running across the chest I hadn’t spent enough time exploring. There was so much more of him to touch and taste and feel. If he rerouted the plane to Australia I wouldn’t have minded at all. It still wouldn’t be enough time.

  “Soon, sweet Sophie,” he whispered back. “Soon.”

  “Mr. Armstrong,” came the captain’s voice over the intercom. “Be advised that we will be landing in twenty minutes. Please make sure your seatbelts are secured.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” I said, my arm wrapped around his neck. I brushed the brown strands of hair from his forehead, then kissed him there.

  He laughed. “Even I have to listen to the captain. Sophie,” he said, pulling back and looking at me closely, and I felt it—he needed to tell me something, confess his feelings or beg me to wait for him in Seattle. It had to be something, the way he looked at me like I held all the answers to the questions he’d asked his whole life. His eyes flicked away for a brief second, and then he said, “This bench pulls out into a bed. You can sleep on the way back to L.A.”

  It was as if we’d hit a sudden patch of turbulence, the way my stomach suddenly plummeted. I’d believed for a moment that he was going to say something deep and personal to me—especially after the deep, personal thing I’d just done to him. But something about the sudden business of it all had me rattled.

  “Great,” I said, standing up and tugging my skirt down as I did. “Lucky me.” I sat back in my own seat and buckled my seatbelt.

  Leo sat across from me. “I didn’t mean—are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sophie,” he said. “Look at me.”

  I was afraid that if I did I’d burst into tears, and that was not how I wanted what had been an otherwise incredible night in the sky to end. I did, though, I looked at him, the blue of his eyes so bright now, looking at me in that way he had that I couldn’t fully describe. It made me feel exposed, and that was the last way I wanted to feel around him. “Thank you
for coming with me,” he said. “Honestly, I travel a lot and I hate flying alone. It’s depressing.”

  “Glad I could hang out, then,” I said, looking away again, despite the sincerity I could hear in his voice.

  “Don’t be like that. There’s no one else I wanted to be with tonight than you,” he said. “And I want to see you again. I want to see more of you.”

  My eyes turned back to him. He definitely seemed sincere, but I knew that this was simply a ploy—this kind of pacifying speech was his stock-in-trade. Leo was damn good at making me feel wanted, but I had to remember that he’d also been just as good at it with dozens and dozens of women previously.

  Do not ever forget who and what he is, I told myself.

  Before he stepped off the plane he took me in his arms, pressed me tight to him, and kissed me deeply and with such tenderness. I sank against him, wishing that kiss would never end. But it did. Soon I was watching from the window as he slipped into an awaiting black town car on the tarmac, and Helen had lowered that bench into a bed for me, complete with pillows and blanket.

  “Can I get you anything before takeoff?” she asked.

  I watched out the small window as the car drove away, taking Leo with it. I realized he hadn’t said how long he’d be gone.

  “No, thank you,” I said. I felt strangely sad and forlorn, and I hated knowing that my body and emotions were steadily betraying my rational brain.

  As we hit cruising altitude and I had snuggled down into the cozy little bed, I fell asleep quickly, wondering how soon I could see him again.

  9

  When I walked back into my apartment at three o’clock that morning, I heard Ava Marie moaning and her bed bucking behind her slightly ajar bedroom door. Great, I thought. Just what I need to hear after rocking off Leo but not fully finishing myself.

  Did oral count as being part of the mile-high club? I wondered stupidly.

  Had I been used? The first night at his apartment had, frankly, been all about me. If that’s how Leo Armstrong used women, then I say let him. But tonight I’d returned the favor, so to speak. And even though I’d enjoyed every delicious second of it, was he laughing at me right now, telling the guys how some dumb girl gave him a blow job on the company jet? “Again, Armstrong?” they’d probably tease, and he’d laugh self-deprecatingly, all the while knowing his legend was increasing by the second.