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I cupped my breasts in my hands. I knew I had a nice chest, even my self-doubts couldn’t deny that. Full and round, with delicate pink nipples that perked up easily at touch or chill. Even the faint breeze in my room was enough to make them stand at attention.
My waist wasn’t what I would consider slender, but it was a nice balance to my stacked top half and the lush curves of my hips and ass.
Overall, I thought I had a nice body. And my blonde hair was cut in layers that framed my cheekbones nicely, making my doe-brown eyes look even wider in my lightly tanned face.
I wasn’t supermodel gorgeous, but I would dare to call myself “pretty,” at least.
Silently, as I explored my body before that mirror, I wondered how I would feel being under his touch. Would his hands be as coarse and firm on my breasts? How hard would he cup them when his warm and wet tongue slithered down my nape? How soft would his broad chest be, and how hard would his thick would his…
No.
I swallowed hard and fanned my heated face, trying to push those thoughts out of my head quickly. The man was the richest across the West Coast, and probably had had his fair share of supermodels from all around the globe. Deflated, I got myself dressed and made a few finishing touches before loading everything into the suitcase.
After a quick final walk through the house to make sure I wasn’t about to do something foolish like leave the stove or a curling iron on or something, I zipped up my bag and locked my door. The cab was right on time.
Chapter 5 – Harlee
If ever there was a course on elegance and opulence, Caleb took it and was class valedictorian. The exterior alone would get the Queen her self’s attention. Taking the five steps upward and inward, and watching the door behind us shut itself automatically was almost a dream, like being on some futuristic space craft or something.
Minutes towards 9 PM, we were up in the air.
The jet was stunning, albeit simple. It had six black seats designed to look like lounge chairs. There was a tailored rack at the far edge of the tube that made it look like a shelf of sorts. I could see a couple bottles of wine and a handful of liquor bottles, mostly fine scotch. There were a handful of varied glasses. The floor was black and carpeted.
Overall, it felt extravagant, but not in the way one might expect in a bachelor’s private jet. There was no party atmosphere, no flashing lights or stripper pole right above where Caleb sat. It was a normal beginning to our trip, and honestly I wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
Staring out the window wistfully, I wished I had left earlier in the day when I could see the clouds. I always loved the white and silver mashing together into a glorious but silent harmony. I know a lot of people hate flying, but I’ve never been one of them. I’ve always liked the thrill, watching the world spread out beneath me as I rose into the sky. I even kind of like the little thrill of fear when there’s turbulence. If I was as rich as Caleb was I would have lived in the jet.
He sat there glaring. I don’t know why; I was superbly dressed. I was in a tightly fitted black pencil skirt, matched evenly with a light-pressed white silky blouse hidden under a matching black blazer. My lengthy blonde hair, which I had flat-ironed to perfection, was tied behind my head in a simple yet elegant and professional ponytail. To top it all off, I had worn black pumps that really did pump up my height.
I was at the top of the world, and the man was just glaring. There was more to his simmering glare than met the eye. He was wearing one of the usual suits, but the tie was loosened and the top buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing his smooth chest below.
Well, that answered my hairy question.
I watched as he passed a quick glance from me to the open window, and the lights from the wing reflected against his smooth, clean-shaven face. I wanted to know what ailed his mind, and just seeing him like this, so relaxed yet so turbulent, made my mouth water, and my skin hot.
So I decided to peel off my blazer. Just to cool down, of course.
I wriggled out of it and folded it over the back of one of the other seats before giving a long, luxurious stretch, arching my back.
Ok, I was taunting him, and it was immature and unprofessional, but I couldn’t help myself around him. And the blouse I wore beneath the blazer, like most of my clothes, had been purchased a few pounds ago and now strains at the chest. I definitely noticed him looking, and I hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d make a move.
