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“I don’t want to make you late for work,” he murmured. “But I need to do something.”
He pressed up against my back, his arousal hard and heavy against my tailbone. His hands covered my breasts, finally, and I moaned, arching back. He kneaded them firmly and my eyes fell closed.
“Look at me,” he snapped, and I obeyed automatically, meeting his intense eyes in the mirror.
“I like this nightgown,” he said almost absently, as he continued to touch me. “Spread your legs more,” he told me, and they just shifted apart, as though my body and his mouth had some sort of agreement that I wasn’t yet privy to.
One hand stayed kneading my breast, and plucking at my nipple just perfectly while the other ran along my ribs, down my abdomen, and straight between my legs.
They started to shut instinctively against the invasion.
“Open wider,” he ordered, and they just did. “I want to pleasure every inch of you, but for the moment, I’m just going to make you come. I just need to touch you. Lay your head back against my shoulder.”
He quickly found and rubbed my clitoris with his thumb while his index and middle finger played at my entrance almost teasingly.
He sucked in a breath as he felt me. “God, a fucking wet virgin. You are too much, Bianca.”
He pushed one finger into me slowly, and groaned. The fit was excruciatingly tight. I masturbated sometimes with my own fingers, but his were just so much bigger and rougher, and more talented. He knew how to touch me with far more skill than I knew how to touch myself. The thought was a little daunting, but my mind quickly wandered back to the sensations at hand.
He worked his finger all the way in and began to stroke, his finger seeking out just the right spot inside of me. His thumb never stopped circling my clit, and his other hand still kneaded my tender breast with consummate skill. He was a hell of a multi-tasker.
As he stroked, his arousal brushed against my back with increasing pressure. He slipped a second finger in and I felt impossibly full. I cried out, grinding against him.
He stopped suddenly. “Ask me for it,” he ordered, and I didn’t mistake his meaning.
“Please.” I didn’t hesitate.
“Say, please, Mr. Cavendish, make me come.”
“Please, Mr. Cavendish, make me come.”
He pinched my nipple hard as he stroked that perfect spot harder. I came in seconds, before I even really knew it was happening.
I hadn’t realized that an orgasm could be like that, erupting so swiftly. Or so powerfully. I felt like I may have lost myself for a moment.
We were both panting heavily as I came back to myself. He caught my gaze in the mirror as he shifted his fingers out of me. I watched, absolutely mesmerized, as he raised them to his mouth and licked them clean.
When he finished, he grabbed my chin and turned my head to his for a deep kiss. “You are the most perfect fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he murmured against my mouth.
I tried to reach for his still heavy arousal. He caught my hand, knowing where it was headed. “There’s no time. Get dressed.” He sounded almost angry now.
He was apparently frustrated and moody about it.
I got dressed in record time, in my little dress suit that was designed to look like a mock man’s suit, little tie and all.
James watched me the entire time, not giving me a second of privacy. I was in too much of a hurry to worry about it.
“That is the hottest fucking flight attendant uniform I’ve ever seen. That thing should be illegal. I’m going to do some illegal things to you with that little tease of a tie,” he said, his tone serious. I just laughed.
“I can do my hair and makeup in the van. Stephan will help me.” I licked my lower lip and waved a hand at his still obviously heavy arousal. “I still have ten minutes to spare. There has to be something I can do for you. I don’t like feeling like I’ve left you unsatisfied.”
He smiled at me, and it was pained. “You are too perfect. But it’s not happening this morning. I’m not coming again until I can be buried inside of you. Preferably for days.”
I took a step closer to him, licking my lips again. Impulsively, I knelt in front of him.
“You could bury yourself somewhere else,” I said, my voice turning breathy.
My face hovered just inches from his groin, but I checked the urge to touch him, just looking up at him instead.
He gripped my hair a little roughly. “Have you done that before?” he asked, his voice unsteady.
I shook my head, licking my lips again. “Like I’ve told you, I don’t date. I don’t do any of this stuff. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but you should take me up on the offer before I change my mind.”
He had his slacks unbuttoned and his arousal out so fast that I blinked at the sight of him. He was..spectacular. And right in my face.
It was no hardship at all to take him into my mouth and start sucking on him hungrily. Just the opposite. I’d never wanted something so much in my life. Though I couldn’t fit much more than the tip past my teeth.
“Use your hands at the base,” he told me. He used his hands to show me. He used the moisture that my mouth had spread on the tip and the shaft to lubricate my hands. He coached them into a twisting motion at the base.
“Harder,” he ordered. “Pull your lips over your teeth and suck harder,” he gasped. “Yes, that’s perfect, Bianca.”
“I’m coming,” he warned me several intoxicating moments later. Both of his hands were gripped in my hair tightly. “If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, you should pull back now.” His voice was absolutely raw with his need, and I loved it. I could get addicted to this feeling. To this act.
Instead of pulling back, I sucked harder, swallowing instinctively when the warm essence of him shot against the back of my throat.
He pulled me up and kissed me. His hands were rough in my hair, almost to the point of pain, but, caught up in the moment, I loved it.
He finally set me down, glancing at the clock. “You’re late. We’ll talk later. I don’t want you to get into trouble. I’ve seen how important your work ethic is to you.”
I just nodded, in full rush mode.
I grabbed my bags and my half-empty cup of coffee on the way out, not saying goodbye. Frankly, I just didn’t know what to say. I’d never done such intimate things in my entire life, and I’d never even agreed to give Mr. Beautiful my phone number.
It was like I wasn’t myself anymore, once I got into his orbit. He just took over. And so far, I was batting zero at resisting him. When he touched me, I lost all control, and he took all of it, and it just felt so good to let go. In fact, it felt more than good. It felt so perfect to me that I didn’t even know how to resist.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mr. Stalker
I felt a huge wave of relief as I noted, coming down into the lobby five minutes late, that Stephan and I were the only crew members that had shown up so far.
I’d never been late before, not even five minutes late, but it wouldn’t count against me this time. If we got a crew delay today, it would be whoever showed up last that caused it, and not me, since I had shown up second.
Stephan gave me a tentative smile when he saw me. “Good morning, Buttercup.”
“Morning. How was the rest of your night?” I asked, hoping it had ended well for him.
He grinned. “It was great. We went back to Melvin’s place and talked for hours. We’re taking it slow, but we understand each other now.”
I grinned back. “That’s awesome. Guess we’ll be sticking to New York for awhile, huh?”
He sighed. “I hope so. So how did it go with Mr. Beautiful?” he asked me with a smile. “You are looking much more chipper this morning than I had thought possible, considering the condition you were in when you left the bar. I assume he kept his promise to be a perfect gentleman last night?” He made the last into a question.
I nodded carefully. “Yes, he was a perfect gentleman last night. He was very sweet, actually. He even washed off my makeup. And he brought me coffee and aspirin this morning.”
Something caught his eye behind me, and I turned, expecting one of the tardy crew members. I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was James. I had left him behind in my room. He had to pass through the lobby in order to leave. But it was still a little shock to see him so soon after what we’d just done.
My eyes traveled unbidden down to the area of his body that I’d just given special attention to. I licked my lower lip. His blue eyes were positively vivid as he stared back at me, striding straight up to me.
He nodded politely to Stephan. They both murmured a good morning. James’s warm hand landed possessively on the nape of my neck. My eyes wandered back down south. His fingers bit harder into my nape, and my eyes shot back up to his.
“Our Buttercup is a handful, Stephan,” he said idly to the other man.
Stephan laughed. “She is that.”
“A fucking perfect handful,” James murmured to me.
Stephan heard him, and laughed harder. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly know about that, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“Walk me to the door, please?” James asked me politely.
I did. He lowered his hand from my neck when we reached the door.
“I’m going to tie you to my bed and take your hymen. I can’t seem to think about anything else,” he told me quietly. “Tell me when I can see you again.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m not sure. I have a twelve hour day tomorrow. We’re doing a turn to DC.”
“What about today?”
I just blinked at him. “I’m flying back to Las Vegas.”
He just nodded as though that was helpful, and left.
The other flight attendants came down in short order, starting with Brenda. She was a solid ten minutes late from our showtime. Melissa and Jake came down a few minutes after that.
We waited another ten minutes before Stephan had to phone headquarters.
“Yes, I’m just making sure that we are sharing an airport shuttle with our pilots this morning,” he murmured into his phone. “Okay, thank you.”
The disheveled looking pilots showed just as he was hanging up his phone. We had already loaded up our bags, so we piled in while the pilots got theirs loaded up.
We rushed through the airport, the entire crew hustling to avoid a delay.
Stephan had braided my hair into one sleek braid in the van, while I applied a minimal amount of makeup at red lights. There was no way I could have done it while the maniac driver was swerving around. Even after years of New York layovers, I had yet to get used to the crazy thing New Yorkers called ‘driving.’
We made it to the gate in record time, and an exasperated gate agent let us onto the jetway. She was plump, middle-aged, and harried looking.
“You guys are borderline late,” she scolded us. “If this flight is delayed, I’m putting down the flight crew as the cause.”
Stephan gave her his most charming smile. “Sweetheart, let’s not be delayed then. Send them down anytime you like. We have the A team working today. We don’t need any prep time at all.”
