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“Were you arrested?”
“Charges were never pressed against me, it was obvious to the police I had nothing to do with the drugs,” she shakes her head.
“What happened with this prick?”
“Oh, he got released from his contract immediately. Last I heard he blew through all his money and was living with friends,” she shrugs. “And I was fired.”
“But you had nothing to do with it.”
“Image is everything, Lennox. I didn’t do my job. No one wanted to work with me after that.”
“That’s bullshit,” I seethe. “That’s why you came to London,” it dawns on me and she nods her head.
I sink into my recliner and run my hands over my eyes. This complicates things, something that was not supposed to be complicated. I don’t want to screw her life up more by being my normal dickish self around the track if it can ruin her life like this. But I also need to do what I need to do.
“Sooooo,” she continues and I spin my chair back in her direction. “That’s why you can’t scare me off. You’re a marshmallow, comparatively.”
“A marshmallow…”
“Mmm-hmm, burnt and crusty on the outside but soft and squishy inside,” she pinches her fingers together at me like she’s kneading dough.
“I’ll show you soft and squishy,” I threaten her and move to the couch with her. Pulling her onto me to straddle my lap, I run my hands up the back of her shirt, my shirt, against her bare skin.
“You look good in my shirt,” I bite her bottom lip and pull it into my mouth.
“You look good out of your shirt, seems we make a good team,” she giggles.
Miles pass, huge distances pass beneath us over the ocean while we make out like teenagers. Gripping her ass and dragging her against my dick, which knows no moderation, she winces. “Sore?” I ask against her neck.
She nods, her arms wrapped around me. “That’s not exactly a small python in your pants.”
Can never hear that enough. “Go on,” I tease her and unbutton her jeans.
She grabs my hands and swivels her torso toward the cabin door, “The flight attendant could come back!”
“Trust me, love, she’s not coming back here. This is what happens on private jets.”
Her plump lips jut out in a pout and she squints her eyes at me. “I don’t want to think about you with other women.”
“I don’t want to think about you with other men,” I retort. “If you haven’t noticed, playing well with others is not one of my strong suits.”
“So, what are you saying?” She runs her fingers over my day-old stubble, wistful thoughts passing over her.
“I don’t share, Mallory.”
“Well, I don’t share, either,” she sasses me. Except now I enjoy her sassy mouth and where the quibbling leads.
“Great, problem solved. You done arguing now or you need more foreplay?” I wrap my palms around her ass cheeks and squeeze her softness.
“Seven months left, Lennox, like you said. That’s going to be hard for you.”
“More foreplay it is,” I murmur, rolling my eyes at this familiar myth.
“Can you do it? Be my personal Dick-on-Demand for seven whole months?”
“You’re the one who can’t keep up,” I glance down at her gorgeous pussy, still hidden under the blue denim of her jeans. It’s an absolute travesty, one I need to rectify as soon as possible.
She’s avoiding the question as much as I am, through the familiar dance of sarcasm. Seven months of banging Mallory across five continents is easy. I don’t have an answer for what happens at the end of seven months, though, and there’s little point of trying to plan it out. She has plans, I have plans, and they don’t line up at the end of this season, as far as I can tell.
