by R. K. Lilley
"Hey, sugar. You're a sight for sore eyes," one of them said in a loud New York accent. The words, and the greasy tone of his voice, made me tense.
"Good morning," she murmured back in a quiet, neutral voice. She handed them their drinks swiftly. She didn't linger, heading back into the galley for the next round within seconds.
"Look at the fucking rack on that one," one of the men said loudly.
"Great tits," another agreed.
My vision quite simply went red with temper. I couldn't decide which inflamed me more; that they were thinking about her like that, or that they were saying it out loud. I knew one thing for certain, it was unacceptable. I would need to find her another job immediately. Something that didn't put her within contact with men like that.
She came and went from the cabin, again not seeing me, which drove me crazy, but not as crazy as the loud comments from the men sitting two rows behind me.
"The flight attendant is a fucking ten," one said when she went back into the galley again.
"Between her eyes, the tits, and the legs, she's at the top of my Vegas fuck list."
"She ain't interested."
"There're plenty of ways to get her interested. Don't you worry 'bout it."
"As long as I get my turn."
My jaw clenched so hard that it ached. I wondered if I would be finding new and interesting ways to despise commercial air travel on every flight I took during this unorthodox courtship. And I also wondered if I was going to get myself added to the commercial no-fly list before this flight was over.
Finally, she noticed me, and her immediate, drastic response was gratifying. Her composed, professional mask slipped for a moment, and the smile froze on her face as her gaze met mine, and she just stared at me as though she couldn't believe that I was there.
She recovered quickly enough. "May I get you anything else, Mr. Cavendish?" she asked. "May I hang your jacket?"
I stood, moving into the aisle to remove my jacket, crowding her as I did so.
She sucked in a breath. "Why didn't you tell me you were taking this flight?" she asked quietly, her lovely brow furrowed.
"It was a last minute decision. I didn't know until this morning that I had urgent business in Las Vegas that needed attention today." I tried to make my tone quiet and neutral. It would do me no favors to reveal to her that I was very close to getting myself arrested because of the crass men behind me.
She studied my face briefly before moving away, working busily to prepare for departure.
I continued to watch her as she worked, studying her as she moved through her safety demonstration. She carefully avoided so much as glancing at me, even skipping over me as she did her obligatory seatbelt check for takeoff.
"You can check my lap a little closer, doll," I heard one of the obnoxious men say as she passed over him.
"Pull tight on my strap, sweetheart," another muttered.
My hands tightened into fists. The fucking nerve of them.
Bianca stopped by my seat, looking completely unfazed by the things that I knew she must have heard. Was this a common occurrence? Was she subject to treatment like this often? The very idea made me feel murderous.
"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Cavendish?" she asked softly, her tone concerned. She was already too good at reading me. I shook my head slightly.
"Tell Stephan I want to speak to him as soon as he's available," I told her, unable to help myself. Perhaps he could handle the men without resorting to violence, because I was beginning to seriously doubt that I could.
"Okaaay," she said, sounding perplexed. She moved away.
Stephan was approaching me within moments, bending down to speak quietly. "Is everything okay? Bianca told me that you were upset about something."
I grimaced, and told him everything I'd heard. "The men behind me are out of hand with the comments about Bianca," I concluded. "If they make one more comment about her tits, her legs, or fucking her, I'm going to lose it. Does this sort of thing happen often? Men talking about her like this? Are you okay with it?"
He gave me a level stare, and I could see the rage just under the surface that he hid so well. "Of course not. Do I look like I'm fucking okay with it? If anyone so much as hints at crossing a line with her, I kick them off the fucking plane. She gets hit on, but what you heard is definitely crossing a line. I'll take care of them after we reach altitude. It's too late now. We're next in line for takeoff. I'll handle them. Don't do anything crazy, okay?"
I looked away. "I'll try my best, but I can't make any promises if they keep it up."
We were taking off when the bastards started up again, talking so loudly that I could hear them even over the plane's engines.
"I get first dibs on blondie's pussy," the main offender said loudly.
"That's fine. You know I'm an ass man," another one said with a laugh. All of the bastards laughed.
My eyes widened, my hands going to my seat belt. I saw the alarmed looks on Stephan and Bianca's faces as they watched me.
"You two are so full of shit. She hasn't even looked at either of you twice," another loud voice told the other two.
I carefully let go of my seatbelt and unclenched my hands. I shut my eyes, counting to ten, trying hard not to lose it.
"I don't give a fuck where she's looking. She can point her eyes at the ground, as long as her ass goes in the fucking air."
"Well, she ain't interested, no matter where she's looking, and I don't see how you're gonna change that."
"One pill in a drink, and she'll be our party girl for as long as we want."
"You're so full of shit, Donny. You talk out of your ass more than you talk out of your mouth."
"How's this for talking out of my ass? We follow her through the airport," I was out of my seat, rage in every step, as he continued, "talk her into one drink, and I'll handle the rest. Who's full of shit now, huh?" He looked a little surprised as I reached his seat on his last sentence, but not at all alarmed. The man had terrible instincts. I was a word away from beating him to a bloody pulp.
I pointed at him. "Don't say another word. I'm having you arrested on the other side of this flight, but one more fucking word and you're going to lose some teeth first."
I felt Stephan moving in behind me as the man raised his hands in an innocent pose that I didn't believe for a second. "We meant no harm, man. Just talking. Talking ain't against the law."
I leaned very close to the scumbag. "It is when the talk involves drugging and gang-raping a woman."
I heard Stephan suck in a breath just behind me.
"What did you say?" Stephan said loudly, sounding as angry as I felt. "This ends now," he addressed the group at large. "One more of you say another crude word and we will divert this plane and have you arrested at the nearest airport. Do you understand? It's going to be perfect silence or police."
"What hotel are you booked at?" I asked the one I had singled out as the worst offender, while Stephan continued his tirade
His eyes were wide, and he looked genuinely surprised that there had been a negative reaction to his outlandish statements. Who the hell was he used to dealing with, that he thought it was okay to talk like that where anyone could hear? Or at all, for that matter . . .
"The Middleton Hotel," he said, sounding meek as a lamb now.
"No, you're not," I told him. These sick bastards were about to find themselves blacklisted from every decent property in Vegas. No hotel wanted a gang of roving sexual predators on the premises, and I would make all the calls to assure that everyone had their names.
"Chill out. I was joking about drugging her. You can check my bag, if you don't believe me."
"I mean it," Stephan said, his voice raised to a near shout. "One more word out of any of you, we are diverting this plane, and there will be law enforcement waiting for you at the gate." Stephan turned and strode back to his seat, but I wasn't done.
I made very solid eye contact with the man. I knew he was lying. Ev
ery instinct I had was telling me so. "If you so much as look at that flight attendant funny, I swear to you that I will make you regret it. This won't be a short-term regret. It will be a, holy fuck what happened to my life, kind of regret. I won't tell you again."
I returned to my seat. I sat down, closing my eyes, making an attempt to retain some semblance of calm and composure.
I didn't stir until Stephan approached me while he was handing out hot towels. I took one, waving him closer. Like me, he still looked tense, but he leaned forward.
"Even if they don't make another sound back there, they need to be arrested and searched when we get to Las Vegas," I told him quietly.
He nodded. "I know. Even if it was all talk, they need to be questioned and searched. I'll arrange to have law enforcement meet us at the gate."
I nodded, leaning back and closing my eyes.
I didn't see Bianca again for the entire first half of the flight, but all things considered, I was actually relieved that she wasn't out in the cabin, going near those men.
I was too distracted and agitated to work or sleep, so I just sat and thought, which was troublesome, because all I could think about was Bianca, and the things we'd done, and of course, the things we hadn't done. I was particularly obsessed with the fact that she had gone down on me, and I hadn't reciprocated, hadn't had the chance. I needed that first, needed to taste her and feel her shake with need under my tongue.
Bianca and Stephan both had their backs to me as I went into the bathroom, but I could hear their muffled voices through the door as I washed my hands.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," Stephan was telling her. "Brenda is baking the cookies back there right now. I'll bring some back to add to the cheese service."
I smiled. At last, a bit of luck. I was moving quietly into the galley to join her scant seconds later.
Bianca gave me a small, rather shy smile when she saw me.
"Hey," she said, watching me.
I smiled back, moving the cart she was handling into position to give us a few moments of much needed privacy behind the curtain.
"Oh," she said softly, her eyes glued to me.
I loved having her focused on me like that.
I set the brake on the cart with my toe, taking a deep breath, fighting for control.
I turned, striding to her. I grabbed her braid, pulling her head back roughly, and kissing her without holding back.
She submitted instantly and perfectly, and I pushed her by the hips to the tiny galley counter, lifting her to perch there, my lips still crushed to hers.
She made a startled sound of protest as I began working her pencil skirt up her legs. "What are you doing?" she asked when I had her thighs bared.
"Shh," I told her, kissing her while I shoved her skirt higher. "I need to do this."
I just stopped and stared when I saw her garters and the tops of her stockings. I recovered quickly, shoving her skirt up roughly.
I cursed when I saw the tiny scrap of lace she was wearing underneath. "This is the type of panty you were wearing last night, too, wasn't it? But that one was blue."
She nodded, looking dazed. "They're the most comfortable underwear I've ever worn. I can't wear anything else, since I discovered them."
"I fucking love them," I told her, meaning it.
She smiled at me.
I knelt in front of her, handing her a handkerchief. "Put that in your mouth and bite down. Try not to make too much noise."
She obeyed with no hesitation, her body trembling, and I felt my cock twitch. This would be torture, since I couldn't be inside of her for hours yet, but it would be worth it.
"Grip my hair," I told her. She stroked her hands into my hair, turning it into a caress.
I shoved her thong to the side and buried my face between her legs. Her entire body was shaking under my hands as I nuzzled and licked at her core.
Knowing that I was the first one to do this to her, the first to taste her like this, gave me the most primitive and overpowering sense of satisfaction. It was an anomaly for me. I could be possessive, and had been in the past, it was a Dom's prerogative to own his sub, but it had been such a fleeting sort of possession, belonging solely in the short-term. What I felt just then was so different that what the word possessive meant to me was irrevocably changed. This was mine. Her I possessed. Not just today, or tomorrow, but for all of the befores and all of the afters.
I pushed two fingers inside of her, stroking along her tight walls. If I let myself, I thought that I could come just from feeling her clench against my fingers. I moved my mouth up to suck mercilessly at her clit, and she came, violently, her entire body rocking with her pleasure. I felt that strong sense of satisfying possessiveness so strongly then that I shuddered, nuzzling into her as she calmed.
I lifted my head to look at her as she stilled, propping my face on her skirt to study her. She had the most adorable, dazed look on her lovely face.
"One more," I told her, relishing the way my words made her jaw go slack with need.
I licked at her, going straight for her clit with time in short supply. She came easily, letting out a muffled scream around the cloth in her mouth; our chemistry and my experienced tongue making it seem effortless.
I licked her once, twice more as she recovered.
"I could eat you all day," I told her, standing. I decided it was better to keep it to myself that eating her pussy had been close to a religious experience for me.
I pulled the handkerchief from her mouth, and used it between her legs. "I love how wet you are," I said softly, bending down to kiss her deeply. Perfect fucking Bianca sucked on my tongue. I groaned, and she sucked harder.
I pulled back, knowing that things would get out of hand if I didn't. I pulled her off the counter, shoving the handkerchief into my pocket and straightening her clothes as quickly as I could.
Stephan burst through the curtain just as I was pulling her skirt down. He looked shocked, and then scandalized, blushing scarlet. "Was that noise you? That muffled scream?" he asked her.
She blushed, but she nodded.
Stephan turned a stern look my way. "Really, James? On a morning flight? With a group of perverts just a few feet away?"
I flushed, agreeing with his censure wholeheartedly. I had lost my mind for a few minutes, and as her protector, I couldn't be upset with him for calling me out for it.
Stephan pointed towards the first class cabin. "I think you should go sit down now."
I went back to my seat without comment.
The rest of the flight was basically an exercise in torture, while I just sat in my seat and tried not to think about Bianca every single second. Even with the most optimistic estimate, it would be hours before I could bury myself inside of her, and I'd never been so impatient for anything in my life. Hours seemed like years from where I was sitting just then.
The only highlight of the flight from that point was when she served me.
I was trying to relax in my seat, but I had the handkerchief I'd used on her clutched in my hand, and that wasn't helping a bit. Still, I couldn't bring myself to put it away. I wanted her to see it, and to know just what I was thinking about. And I loved to shake up that perfect composure of hers.
I could tell that she was trying not to look at me as she served me, and that made me smile. I made a point of folding out my tray table and perching my arm there, the handkerchief blatantly on display in my hand.
I clenched and unclenched my fist, watching her closely. The moment when she saw what was in my hand was as gratifying as I could have hoped. She went white, then pink, then looked away, a scandalized look on her face. I grinned, admitting to myself right then that I was infatuated. As if I'd had any lingering doubts about that fact . . .
I watched her as she finally took her seat, just as I heard the wheels coming down for landing. I waited patiently until she finally glanced at me. I smiled at her. It was a fond smile, I couldn't help that.
She just stare
d back at me, blushing. She gasped loudly as I brought the handkerchief to my face and inhaled deeply, my eyes closing.
"What the hell?" Stephan said loudly.
I was grinning like a fool when I opened my eyes again, watching her stare at anything but me, completely scandalized.
BIRTHDAY
JAMES - BETWEEN BOOKS 1&2
I checked my phone again, feeling pathetic. It was my birthday today, and all I was hoping for was a text, and even that wasn't likely. My mouth twisted bitterly when I saw that she hadn't responded to my latest inquiry about her welfare. She usually didn't.
I checked my computer. I had an entire network keeping tabs on her—sending me every photo and scrap of information that they found. I was basically torturing myself, because most of it was taking the form of petty tabloid gossip. Still, I looked.
The first picture I saw made my jaw clench. I gritted my teeth hard enough that the sound of it filled my office. I had the childish urge to throw my computer across the room in a fit, but I tamped it down. It wouldn't make me feel better to break something. Nothing would make me feel better, aside from hearing from her.
In the picture, Bianca was lying on a pool lounger, wearing a see-through black cover-up with a little bikini under it. Her face was peaceful. She could have been sleeping, in fact. It was his face that bothered me. Damien was sitting on a lounger beside her, and he was staring at her breasts. Even in a picture, I could read his filthy thoughts.
Mine, I thought savagely.
I clicked to the next picture rather violently. It was no better. Worse, in fact.
I studied the picture for a long time. I rubbed at my chest. It hurt. The picture troubled me on a number of levels. She was with Damien again in the picture. They were walking on the beach. Even the lighting was romantic.
They walked side by side, barefoot in the sand. They looked like a fucking Hallmark card, and he was touching her.
Mine, I thought again.
Her expression was hard to read. She was wearing dark shades, but I could tell that she was blushing. I didn't know what to think of the look on her face. Again, it was his face that made me want to break things. Namely, his face.
