Once I have Isabelle right where I want her, I cage her to the jet’s stairs with my arms and body before pressing my lips to the shell of her ear. “Are you coming, Isabelle?” I murmur, my voice full of sexual ambiguity.
Her shudder has me wanting to act as if I am a college boy. The thrill of the chase has always been addictive, and my presence makes Isabelle the equivalent of a deer stuck in headlights, seconds from being taken down, but she keeps the intensity up by balling her tiny hands into fists and climbing the stairs of the jet like her knees aren’t knocking.
She clears the galley three air hostesses are preparing beverages at before making a beeline for the first bay of white leather sofas. After plopping into her seat, her head darts left to right as she searches for her seat belt. Her chest stops heaving in panic when I bob down in front of her to pull the flimsy material out from beneath the plush padding.
The scent I’m sucking down like my lungs are as vacant of air as Isabelle’s triples when my hunt for her belt has my hands brushing portions of the silky-smooth skin high on her thighs. She’s wearing a skirt that goes from immoral to wicked depending on if she’s standing or seated. The hem rides up high on her thigh, and the image it conjures has me torn between offering her my jacket and carrying her into the room at the back of the plane. Usually, our fleet of jets are fitted with desks.Cormack specifically requested for this one to have a bed.
I’m confident you know why.
Talking about Cormack, his aftershave is overtaking the scent of Isabelle’s needy pussy. It also softens my cock, which means I need to get rid of it before it irrefutably scars me.
After latching Isabelle’s belt together and giving it an extra tug for good measure, I work toward unearthing if Cormack intends to shadow every move I make this weekend or just the ones that involve Isabelle.
My snappy attitude subdues when I discover Cormack’s interruption has nothing to do with him invading my privacy and everything to do with him attempting to maintain it. “I asked the pilot to take a detour toMummo Koti.After Clara’s debacle this week, I removed your name from the manifest, but I figured it was best to be safe than sorry.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
I don’t point out that he wants our flight prolonged for himself more than me. It would be a waste of breath. There’s no denying Isabelle is scared, but lust is still the most abundant trait in her eyes when she peers up at me, so I can only imagine Harlow’s response to the teasing atmosphere.
I acknowledge Isabelle’s wanton stare with a frisky wink before shifting my focus back to Cormack. “Have Mathers reach out to Hugo. He’ll coordinate our landing with transportation.”
Cormack lifts his chin in understanding before he enters the cockpit to pass on my request. He’s only just retaken his seat when Mathers commences our trip. He’s about as impatient to get in the air as I am to claim Isabelle as mine.
When he directs the jet toward the runway, the panicked pants parting Isabelle’s red-painted lips double. “If you need me to carry you into the bedroom, just let me know.”
I meant my comment in jest, but Isabelle doesn’t take it that way. “There’s a bedroom?” she asks, her breaths the breeziest they’ve been.
Smiling to hide the thickness the need in her voice caused, I nudge my head to a polished door at the back of the plane. “I’ll give you a private inspection later.”
When the plane shudders in response to breaking through the wind whipping in from the coast, I place my hand on Isabelle’s thigh. A growl rumbles in my chest when my briefest touch causes the vein in her neck to thump with hope instead of fear. Its throb is undeniable when I trace a figure-eight pattern on the delicate skin on the inside of her thigh. It thumps in rhythm to the blood feeding my dick.
I can’t recall the last time I was this hard. I fuck for pleasure, not feelings, but not once has my cock ached as it is now. The women I bed were there and available. Carnal need didn’t instigate our exchanges. I was with them purely to get off. It was my needs above theirs, and although the rock sitting behind my zipper could convince you only my desires are once again on my mind now, I can assure you they’re not.
The possibility of coming isn’t responsible for the thickness in my pants. Its throb is solely based on wondering how many times I can make Isabelle come before my cock gets anywhere near her fragrant-smelling pussy.
Needing to calm down before I upheave Cormack’s month-long plan, I remove my hand from Isabelle’s succulent thigh before muttering, “You’re getting better with flying. You didn’t require nearly as much stimulation this time around.”
Isabelle kills any endeavor for me to act like a gentleman when she rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. She bites on her mouth as I’ve dreamed about doing since the day my eyes landed on her, the gnawing of her teeth sending a pleasurable zap to my cock.
Blood surges around my body when I free her lip from her menacing teeth before I tilt in close to her side. “Everything you just imagined I’m going to do to your body tonight.”
She moans when I lick the shell of her ear before she tosses out her only lifejacket. “I have a boyfriend.”
As my lips thin with annoyance, my eyes rocket to hers. I study her intently, aware she is afraid but confused as to why all her panic centers around me.
Every endeavor you undertake has a potential loss associated with it, but that’s what makes it so invigorating. Opportunities don’t come knocking with a shiny bow wrapped around them. If you don’t take risks, you’ll die wondering what could have been.
Isabelle looks seconds from denying her lie, but I let her save face by saying, “I can tell by your eyes you’re hiding something, Isabelle.” My tone is sterner than intended, but it can’t be helped. I value integrity, and at the moment, Isabelle isn’t giving me that. “But it isn’t a boyfriend.”
She doesn’t attempt a rebuttal. It’s for the best. I’m not a man to be messed with in a boardroom, so you can imagine how tenacious my negotiation tactics will be if I were forced to do them in a bedroom.
Isabelle wouldn’t make it out of our exchange the same woman, and for some reason, that irritates me more than her continued denial of her body’s every want.
19
Drool on my shoulder isn’t what I envisioned when I think of a blistering connection. Don’t misconstrue. I’m pleased the tension crackling between Isabelle and me wasn’t squashed beyond repair when I called out her lie, but I’m equally shocked and disappointed my touch was needed to mollify her panic during landing. She breezed through landing, taxiing off the runway, and the deboarding of the crew without the slightest flutter of her lashes. If you excuse the faintest apology she whispered while encroaching my half of the dual seat we’re sharing, she hasn’t muttered a word in over three hours.
I thought her tiredness stemmed from her workplace’s disregard for a healthy work slash life balance, but now I’m not convinced. She didn’t murmur a peep when I wiggled her shoulders, and only the slightest moan parted her lips when I trekked my finger over the skin I stroked earlier when the jet roared down the runway. She’s the most unresponsive to my touch she’s ever been, and it is frustrating me to no end.
