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At the second one, I release her hand to run my fingers over the curves of her mouth. “So… this fake me you mentioned?”
She snaps at my fingers playfully and then brings our hands together again. “Let’s just say… you, Styx, caused quite a river between my thighs.”The sexiest laugh bursts out of her throat, followed by that innocent little snort.
With my lips to her nose, I kiss the button part; she laughs even harder. The more she giggles, the more I want to hear that sound. Falling asleep to that happiness would be bliss. “So, you’ve dreamed of me…”
“Dreamed, pictured, envisioned…”
She has a healthy take on sex…that’s fucking hot.
“I haven’t been with anyone in six years. I never said I didn’t masturbate…. often.”
Creeping over me, a smile. One too wide for my face. So much so, it stretches down to my dick. The thought of her aroused by me since the moment she saw is magic. Levitation, at its finest. “The shop makes so much more sense now.”
She guffaws and lifts her head up, patting her cheeks down with her hands and bobbing her head. The action causes her lips to squish into a fish face. A really cute fish face.
“Was that one of yourdreams?The cattle prod?”
“Yes,” she answers honestly. “One of the lighter sessions.”
Silence. No laughing.Just a lot of imagery popping up in my mind. My dick’s feeling a little constrained at the moment. “How many times?” I ask to redirect my thoughts someplace other than my anatomy.
“T-t-oo many.” She bites her bottom lip and smirks.
That stutter does it.I reach out and cup her neck, dragging her toward my lips. My abdomen screeches at the quick movement, but I don’t give a shit. If I kiss her right now, I won’t stop, so I warn her,“If you’re trying not to get fucked on this plane, you’re doing a shitty job, Snow.”
She rests her forehead against mine and climbs onto my lap. Just when I think she’s about to kiss me, she lifts my shirt up and drags her fingers along the edges of the gauze. “You’re not going to do anything because you’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.” I slide her hand down to my crotch.
She shakes her head before hopping off. “Where’s the first aid kit in this jet?”
I roll my eyes and point toward the side of the plane near the bar before leaning against the comfy leather rest. “It’s the big red box.”
“I see it,” she scoffs. “I’m may be many things, but I’m not blind. Tired but I think I can manage to clean out wound.”
“Neither am I… How’s the current between your thighs?” I joke.
She yanks the box out of its holster. “None of your business, at the moment.” She pops the box open to grab the items she’ll need to switch my bandage. “Does it hurt?”
There are things that hurt worse. “Nah. Just a little pinch.”
She holds up a box of pain killers. I watch her, in the wig and hoodie, hating how it hides her body from me. Those curves are meant to be shown, but even under all that clothing, I see her heart.
And I like what I see. And I can’t squash down the niggling feeling that my mom chose her for me.
Neve is sound asleep beside me, snoring lightly. Her head is pressed against the window pane, and she reacts to nothing, not even the turbulence. Her blonde wig is crooked, her eyeliner’s smudged, and she has mismatching socks on, yet, I think she looks insanely beautiful.
I slide out of the seat to get myself a drink and head toward the cockpit, where the pilot speaks on the intercom and holds up a finger for me to stay silent. Once he’s done giving our coordinates, he mutes his radio.
“Everything okay, Sir?” I sit beside him, loving the view from up here. It’s dark and peaceful gliding through the air at night. “I just like the view, Captain. How long until we land in France?”
“Thirty minutes.” He checks one of the gages beside him and flips a switch. “We’re going to be coming up on some turbulence again. It’s pouring. Thunder storms and flood warnings are in effect near Versailles.”
“Less people looking,” I confirm. “Everyone will be trying to stay dry.”
“Perhaps. Weather permitting, there will be another jet to take you to Quebec, then from there to New York. We’ve informed your father of the route.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, although I prefer my father not know anything. By now, Dad no doubt has a picture, and a background check on Neve Cassidy, in addition to a hundred reasons why getting hooked on a woman is the ultimate form of foolishness. Apparently, he thinks my mother made him weak.
