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23
Dylan
Evensittingonthiscushioned seat, I can still feel him inside me.
Maybe that was the plan all along. To have me so used up, I'd remember our night all day today and the following day and the following day.
We spent the night doing things we'd never do again. Once was not enough. Testing our limits, pushing each other's buttons again and again until we were so spent I barely had the energy to wake up and make my flight back home.
I’d woken up to the earliest light filtering into the bedroom. Orienting myself, I found his heavy arm draped over me, my cheek against his chest, both of us still naked, with twisted legs beneath the sheets. I stared at him as he slept so peacefully. His lips, seemingly more pouty than before, any and all tension absent from his expression. His hair was still tossed across his forehead in the mess we'd left it.
My heart squeezed tightly in my chest, knowing this was the end. It had to be. I don't even know if he’ll still want me to be his therapist after exploring each other the way we did. The way I just so carelessly tossed my career into the flames, it infuriates me.
I'm disappointed in myself for acting so reckless when I have real responsibilities back home waiting for me. Colin's future depends on my decisions, and I totally fucked them away by being a selfish, dick-hungry whore.
Sleeping with Lake would only cause me problems. Not him, though. It wouldn't affect his life in the least. He could go on, easily find a new therapist to finish the job, and replace me like I never happened.
I'd be back to spotting Cedric and asking Greg if I could host Pampered Chef parties for supplemental cash. This job, the money, the foot in the door to the career of my dreams, all of it, gone. Because, like Lake said, I couldn't keep my legs closed.
I'd scurried out of that hotel room while he was still sleeping, wondering where we stood going forward. I couldn't wait around and ask. I didn't want to feel the rejection I knew he'd give me. I didn’t think I could stomach the look in his eyes when he dismissed me as his therapist. The fog had lifted, the veil of lust pulled from my eyes, and I needed an escape.
Now I sit in coach on this cheap airline, nervously cracking my knuckles as people shuffle onto the plane and find their seats. I let out a vast sigh of relief, loving the fact that the seat next to me has yet to be filled. There's nothing worse than being forced to sit next to some stranger who smells.
My luck is shit on as an older woman checks the number above my row. She smiles at me, and I give her a forced grin back. Pushing her bag up into the overhead, she actually passes gas in front of my face. I drop my head into my hands, groaning as I pull my sweatshirt up and over my nose as inconspicuously as possible.
She takes her seat as another waft of flatulence hits me.
Must be nice to fly on a private jet in your own reclining seat, being served extravagant meals with champagne, and not have to breathe in random stranger’s gas. I hate that I do it, but I find my mind wandering to Lake again.
After last night, I have a feeling I'll be remembering the evening often. Seeing his dark hanging locks between my thighs as he devoured me. My legs squeeze together, still feeling the ache between them from the man who drove through me relentlessly until just before dawn.
Peering down the aisle, I see a guy with hair just like the disheveled mop that was between my legs not even three hours ago, walking onto the plane in the line of people still filtering in.
I must be crazy.
I’m seeing things. Manifesting them.
I watch as he gets closer, and the resemblance is uncanny. I sit up higher in my seat, trying to see his face behind the man standing and putting his carry-on in the overhead, but every chance I get, someone else stands in front of my field of view.
The crowds part, and I see him clear as day.
Lake Decker.
Lake's on the plane. Lake's on the motherfuckin’ plane. Oh, shit.Why is Lake on my commercial flight?! He should be back in Chicago already with the team.
With his bag slung over his broad shoulder, he patiently waits in line with an amiable smile on his sexy face while the people in front of him get into their seats. He's in a fitted black sweatshirt and sweatpants, his textured hair laying perfectly tousled as he ducks his tall frame in the small aircraft. I know he smells like spiced cologne and aftershave. I can still taste him on my tongue.
My heart is beating a mile a minute.Does he know I'm on here? Does he see me? Should I hide? I should hide.
I cower down, pretending to shuffle through things in my purse on the floor, looking for my lip gloss, when I feel him standing next to my aisle.
“Excuse me, ma'am.” His deep, sexy voice floods my ears, finding its way inside me, running down into the pit of my gut as he speaks to the woman next to me. I want to disappear. “I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to switch seats with me.”
His voice is velvet, rubbing over and across this poor, unassuming older woman as he has his way with her. Poor old lady never saw it coming.
“You see, my stomach is upset from my breakfast this morning, and I'd rather be closer to the restrooms, just in case I get sick.”
Oh my God. Pathetic. She'll never buy it.
