The helicopter lands at an airport that I’ve never been to before. It’s small and relatively empty. Gatsby helps me out of the helicopter. Continuing to hold my hand, he leads me across the runway.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Burbank Airport.” I didn’t even know there was an airport in Burbank.
“It’s a private airport,” he explains.
Gatsby leads me up the stairs to a luxurious white plane. It’s unlike any other plane I have ever been on. It only has a handful of seats, and all are facing each other as if this isn’t a plane at all but a coffee shop. The space smells of lavender, and a tall, gorgeous woman only a few years older than I greets us at the door.
“Welcome, Mr. Wild. Ms. York.” she nods. “My name’s Stacey, please let me know if there’s anything you need.”
I sit down in a large recliner seat with a little table in the middle of the plane. Stacey closes the door of the plane as soon as we get on, and we start moving down the runway. There are no announcements or annoying safety precaution instructions.
We don’t even have to buckle in. We take off, and Stacey comes around with the menu. Gatsby orders a whiskey, and I order a Bloody Mary. Stacey comes back a few minutes later with a delightful Bloody Mary.
“This is amazing,” I say, taking a sip.
“Well, all the tomatoes are organic and local. I like supporting local farmers. They work really hard.”
I smile at him. Who is this man? I have underestimated him so much. Here I am thinking that he is just some self-obsessed millionaire playboy who doesn’t give a shit about how hard other people worked for their paltry salaries. But he is really surprising me. He gives big tips, he is generous, and he seems to really care.
For dinner, Gatsby orders Tuscan vegetarian soup and an assortment of sushi. I have an open-faced salmon sandwich with avocado.
After devouring my delicious food, I turn to Gatsby and ask the question that has been gnawing at me for some time now.
“Why are we taking a plane on our date?”
“Because it would take too long to drive.” He cracks a smile. He is a smart-ass, one of his most annoying yet endearing qualities.
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “But if I remember correctly, I said yes to a date, not a trip.”
“I am taking you on a date. It’s just that this place happens to be a little too far from LA, and this is the quickest way to get there. You can leave anytime you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
He is toying with me, and he knows it.
“Oh yeah, and why is that?”
“Because I know you’ll love it.”
Chapter 15
Now, I know he is wrong. But his confidence is disarming. “What makes you think so? You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I may not know much about you, yet,” Gatsby says. His lips pause a bit on the word ‘yet’, as if they are massaging the word. “But I do know one thing. Maybe one of the most important things about you.”
I stare him down. I challenge him to tell me what it is that he thinks is the most important thing about me.
“You’re not just a regular girl, Annabelle. You’re quite special. Regular girls don’t go hiking for five days in the wilderness. Alone.”
I want to say maybe they do if something really bad has happened. If they really need to clear their heads. If it’s the only place in the world where they can be somewhere else. But I don’t.
“No matter what caused you to do that,” he says, as if he’s able to read my mind. “But ordinary girls don’t go into the wilderness unless they really love it there. Unless it gives them solace and hope and life. So what I know about you is that you love the wild.”
I give up my stare and look away. He’s right, of course. I do love nature. I love its beauty and its life. I love the animals, the trees, the bugs, and the earth.
And the thing that I love most about it is that it lacks people. People and their complications. There is no traffic, no cars, no waiting around. There is just you and the world how it is meant to be.
“Okay, yes, I like the wild,” I say.
“Well, that’s how I know that you don’t want to cut this date short. If you like the wild, you’ll love this place.”
I nod and give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Besides, this place isn’t just for you. It’s also for me. I like the wild too. And with everything that has been going on at the office, I needed some time away. Sometime somewhere else. In nature.”
“Because of the company going public?”
“Yes, the IPO process has been a big pain.”
I want to offer words of encouragement, but nothing comes to mind except, “I heard that it will make you a very rich man.”
This time, it’s he who rolls his eyes.
“I’m already a very rich man.” He shrugs. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to get into all of this in the first place. It was my brothers’ idea. And it’s my father’s company, so I’m trying to keep the peace.”
I had no idea any of this was going on. But then again, I hardly know anything about him in the first place. Gatsby stops talking and looks away. I want to push him for more information, but I feel like he needs space.
We sit in silence for a while, the airplane cruising through the air barely making a ripple. There is a familiar sound coming from the surround sound. And then I realize that it is Adele’s song Rolling in the Deep without the words. Just the instrumental part. An instrumental version of My Immortal takes over after that.
I cross my legs in the seat and close my eyes. This is the most comfortable place, and not just for an airplane. We might as well have been in a luxurious hotel room. The flight is so smooth that the water in my teacup barely moves.
“The air here is different somehow, right?” I ask. “It doesn’t feel like typical airplane air.”
Gatsby shrugs. I stick my tongue out and taste it. “Most of the air on planes is dry, sort of lacking in moisture. But here, it’s different. Humidified maybe.”
Lost in my thoughts, I look at Gatsby and am caught off guard by the strange look on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips part in a small smile.
“What?” I ask.
“What are you doing to me?” he demands.
I blush. I’m honestly not flirting. I’m just tasting the air.
“Come here,” he says, tapping his hand on his leg. The sternness in his voice turns me on, and I obey.
“Am I supposed to be out of my seat like this? I don’t think the FAA would approve.”
“This is my plane, and if I say it’s okay, it’s okay.”
My knees grow weak, and I melt into his lap. I want him to pull my hair back and kiss me forcefully, but he just moves my hair off my shoulders and lightly kisses my neck. This small erotic gesture drives me wild, and I lean toward him and kiss him on the mouth. I bury my hands in his hair and tilt his head up to mine. His hands remain at his sides, but his lips kiss mine, and his large cock swells beneath me.
“No, we can’t do this here.” I suddenly remember where I am. I pull away from him and look around for Stacey, but she is nowhere to be found. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere near the cockpit.
“Oh yes, we can.” He wraps his arms around me and draws me back to him.
“Should we go somewhere more private?” I ask. I can’t stand the fact that Stacey will know what I am doing here with him. I’m not this kind of girl. Gatsby just does something to me. He makes me do crazy things.
“Like a bathroom, you mean?” he mumbles through the kisses. I nod. Suddenly, he pulls away from me and looks me straight in the eyes.
“We don’t need to go to the bathroom, Annabelle. You see that button over there?”
A small button with the words ‘Private’ on it is glowing. “That means no one’s going to bother us.”
Gatsby presses another button, and the light around us dims. Wrapped in a soft light as if from a
candle, I look at him.
“No one is going to walk in on us, Annabelle. You don’t have to worry,” he whispers and moves closer. Wordlessly, he pulls off my work jacket and untucks my blouse from my skirt. He runs his fingers over my thighs.
“I don’t know…” I mumble, but he silences me with a kiss.
He positions me across his chest, pulling off my blouse and undoing my bra, freeing my breasts. He runs my fingers up his arm, feeling the veins that bulge out of it, as he cups my breasts.
His arms are strong and powerful, much stronger than they look in that tailored suit of his. Kissing me along my neck, he pushes me back to my feet and takes off my shoes. Once I am barefoot and topless before him, he unzips my skirt and drops it down.
I thread my fingers into his hair as his lips graze my nipples. Shivers run up my spine. His thick hair is so silky that my fingers can’t find traction, and I end up just caressing his hair instead of tugging on it as I had planned.
Completely nude, he sits me back down on his lap, facing away from him. His fingers find my clit, and my pussy begins to throb. I resist the urge to clench my thighs and open up instead. I pull up my feet to the top of his knees and open wide. He is still fully dressed, yet I am completely naked and spread wide like an eagle. It’s not like me. I’m not this girl, and yet I feel no shame.
He starts to kiss me behind my ears as his fingers find their way inside of me. The faster his fingers move, the more energy starts to build up within me. It builds quickly, spreading from my clit outwards toward my toes and fingers.
I let out a moan. “I’m getting close.”
“I know.”
His fingers swirl faster.
“Come for me,” he orders.
That sends me over the edge. The orgasm pulsates throughout me, and my body starts to shake. My mind goes blank, and my body goes limp on top of him. The release is so intense that I close my eyes and disappear as if into another world.
Whenever I come back, I am wrapped in a blanket in a fully reclined seat with Gatsby lying next to me.
“How was that?” he asks, pushing hair out of my face.
“Wonderful,” I mumble.
“Good. We’re almost there.”
I look out the window, but it’s pitch black and I can’t see a thing. “Where?”
“Yellowstone.”
Chapter 16
Gatsby is so close to me. I want to rip off his clothes. I want him to have his way with me. But Stacey, the flight attendant, is back with dessert. We’re having strawberry cheesecake made with real strawberries and delicious organic cream from grass-fed, free range cows.
The gorgeous cheesecake is presented to me on a plate monogrammed with the initials GTW.
* * *
Gatsby Tristan Wild.
* * *
Gatsby Tristan Wild, the owner of this private plane, and my one and only one-night stand.
Gatsby Tristan Wild is also the guy I met in Yosemite National Park after I had spent days alone in the wild without seeing another soul.
But I’m forgetting something. Oh yeah, Gatsby Tristan Wild is also my boss.
It’s our first date. I thought it was just going to be dinner, but he decided to take me to Yellowstone on his private plane for the weekend.
The trip is an apology. It’s supposed to make up for his lies. It’s his way of showing me how sorry he is.
I try not to be impressed. I’m trying to stay cool. I don’t want to forgive him just because of all of this. But I know that I would’ve forgiven him even if he had just given me flowers.
Glancing over at Gatsby staring out of the window, I again see the hiker who I initially fell for deep in the woods, under the bright starry sky and away from all this civilization.
He has kind eyes and a relaxed demeanor. His tan skin compliments the hair that’s falling into his face. It’s a little longer than customary for a man who makes his living wearing a $ 3,000 suit, but that’s what makes me want him even more.
Gatsby’s breathing is steady. I wonder what he is thinking about. He brings his fingers to his nose and inhales as if he’s smelling an aromatic perfume. He gives me a wink.
My cheeks get flush. He had just given me one of the most intense and pleasurable orgasms of my life. It drew me closer to him than I thought was possible, making me want him even more.
Well, tonight, I will turn the tables. Tonight, as soon as the plane lands, I will make it about him. I will make him want me as much he has made me want him. I promise this to myself.
Hundreds of contradictory thoughts swirl around in my head. Is this whole relationship appropriate? It’s like I’m sleeping my way to the top. Except that I’m not. I had already slept with him when I thought he was just a white water rafting instructor. It was he who hired me for this job without revealing that he’s actually the CEO of this company.
Still, Gatsby is my boss. He hired me when I couldn’t find a job anywhere else. But after this weekend, he will go back to being my boss. He will go back to his glass office on the 67th floor of Wild International, and he will go back to dealing with the upcoming IPO offering that his pharmaceutical company is going through.
And I will go back to being his assistant. Or rather, an assistant in his office, since technically my boss is the indifferent Ms. Greaves. First name unknown. She’s technically his personal assistant/secretary/everything else. And I just work for her.
A startling thought suddenly pops into my head. What if I lose my job?
Don’t worry about it, I say to myself. It doesn’t really matter because I shouldn’t even have this job in the first place, given that I never applied for it! Were it not for Gatsby, I wouldn’t even be working there!
What would Ms. Greaves think if she ever found out about Gatsby and me? Who the hell cares what she would think? Who is she to judge me, anyway?
Gatsby leans closer to me. I can feel his breath on my face. He smells of mint and whiskey. He reaches down to the table and picks up the ornate silver spoon. The daintiness of the spoon makes his strong hand appear even more powerful. His fingers are long, but not delicate at all. He might not work with them for a living, but he works out, and his hands show it.
With one swift motion, Gatsby breaks through the masterpiece that is this cheesecake and lifts the spoon up to my mouth.
“Open wide,” he whispers. He places the cheesecake carefully onto my tongue, and I let it melt in my mouth. The aroma of real strawberries and the coolness of the cheesecake consume my senses, and I lay back in the recliner and disappear into another world.
Gatsby takes a bite and looks out the window.
“We’re landing soon.”
It is dark when we land, but through the lights of the runway, I can still make out the thick forests that surround us on all sides. The wilderness is so thick that it takes my breath away. It’s a different park and a completely different ecosystem than the one in which we met. But it reminds me of the first time we met anyway. It is in this kind of wilderness that I had first laid my eyes on this man who changed my life so much in only a few brief weeks.
Gatsby helps me out of the plane by holding my hand and doesn’t let go until we get to the lodge.
“Mr. Wild,” a pleasant young man greets, waving to us as soon as we step over the threshold.
Gatsby walks directly to him while I take a moment to take everything in.
The lodge is made of thick, whole pine trees, and the ceiling is at least twenty feet high, if not higher. It is pitch black outside, but there are windows lining one whole side of the lodge, looking over the wilderness outside.
I am relieved that the décor inside isn’t lined with busts of taxidermic animals. There is just one ominous chandelier made of antlers. At each point of the antler, there is a large lit candle. The candles bathe the room in soothing candlelight and put me at ease.
Gatsby makes small talk with the front desk attendant while I continue to explore. I have been to Yellowstone before, a lo
ng time ago, on a high school trip. But we stayed in a Motel 6 about twenty miles away from the entrance. I had no idea this place even existed.
Gatsby waves me over and leads me down one of the hallways on the other side of the enormous stone fireplace. We walk to the end of the rustic hallway to two double doors.
“This is our suite.”
When he opens the door, I am greeted by another gigantic fireplace made of rounded stones. The fireplace extends all the way up to the ceiling, which is made of exposed beams. The suite is elegant and five-star yet comfy in design. Somehow, this unusually refined style manages to evoke feelings of solace and tranquility.
“In the brochure, they call it rustic elegance,” Gatsby says. “What do you think?”
I don’t know what to think. I stand in awe. The suite is made of multiple rooms, each grander than the last. The grandeur does not come from expensive chandeliers and wide open spaces and modern design like it does in Los Angeles. Here, grandeur is evoked by simplicity.
“Rustic elegance is probably appropriate.” I nod. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“All the walls were created from dead standing trees, and the fireplace was built of locally quarried stones, which were found on the property. They are local in the truest sense; they weren’t even brought over from a neighboring county.”
I walk over to the fireplace and run my fingers over the smooth gray and tan stones that make up the fireplace. They have been polished and arranged so that the colors and sizes compliment their neighbors. There aren’t too many gray stones on one side. Instead, the gray and tan stones intertwine to make up a delightful tapestry.
“I love how organic they look,” I say. “It’s almost as if they were alive and moving.”
Gatsby smiles and puts his hand over mine. We run both of our hands together over the stones.
Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction Page 30
