Chapter Thirty-Two
The following weekend, I find myself back at Lake Placid, watching ten girls skate behind Pippa, one after another, each trying to copy the move she demonstrates before it travels down the line like a skating version of Telephone. Each version looks less and less like the one Pippa did, and by the time it reaches the last girl, it’s completely different.
“Miss Pippa, that weird man is back,” the little girl with Pippa’s old pink skates shouts, pointing directly at me. She glares at me before sticking out her tongue.
“Daisy,” Pippa chastises, and she snaps her head up, eyes locking on mine. “We don’t call people weird.”
“Sorry,” she pouts, then returns to gaze at me for a beat before taking off down the rink toward her friends.
“Hey,” Pippa beams, skating close to the edge of the rink but staying far enough away that we can’t reach each other. Considering what happened at the last rink we were at together, that’s probably for the best. “I’ll be done here in about ten minutes. We’re just finishing, but then I need to wait until they’re all picked up.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, nodding toward the row of seats I sat in the last time I was here. “Take your time.”
Pippa glances over her shoulders before closing in on the boards. “I’ve also got a surprise for you.”
Her grin screams trouble, and the hidden message I hope I’m reading correctly brings with it all sorts of dirty ideas. I loved her surprise before… All red and silky and sexy as fuck, something I could unwrap and savor.
She pushes backward, her pink tongue peeking out and seductively running along her lower lip.
I think I’ve got a thing for ice rinks. The image of her starting to sink to her knees in the shower at the Colorado facility has been in my mind on a loop; except in the fantasy, instead of it being cut short, we don’t get interrupted by the janitor. She takes me whole, sucking and lavishing my cock with expert precision, swallowing everything I give her, looking up at me with a dazed expression, licking her swollen lips.
She doesn’t owe me for the way I tongue-fucked her pussy or ate her ass out like I was becoming best friends with it. But if she wanted to finish what she started, I’m sure there’s a shower here some place…
Only that is not what she has in mind. Nearly half an hour later, when the rink is deserted, she’s on her knees, her hands clutching my ankles, checking over the pair of blades tied tight and secure around my feet.
“I’m so glad Evan is the same size as you,” she says with barely controlled glee as she stands and dusts off her hands. “He even sharpened them up for you, too.”
“How nice of him,” I deadpan as I push off the small wooden bench and try to stand. I wobble, throwing my hand out to catch Pippa’s shoulder, and she giggles.
“Have you never skated before?” I shake my head, and she cracks up. “This is going to be so good.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say as I carefully pad across the mats, still holding on to Pippa. My feet almost go out from under me as I step onto the ice, the sensation completely different from what I’d imagined it to be by simply watching how effortlessly she takes to it.
“Let go of the side,” she coaxes, taking one of my hands in hers while holding out the other and waiting for me. “I promise you’ll be fine.”
“Says the professional athlete,” I mutter.
“I won’t let go.” She laughs, pulling me away from the edge and I have no choice but to grab her.
Pippa pries my hands from her, coming behind me and clutching the winter coat I’d had the good sense to wear since the first time I was here, it was fucking freezing dressed only in my work uniform. We glide together—well, she glides while I get pushed along, my knees locked as I try to stay upright.
After about ten minutes of her crash course in skating, she gently slows me to a stop, letting me get my balance before saying, “Okay, try it on your own.”
I grumble under my breath, not entirely convinced I’ll be able to move. “Maybe I should let you fly the plane on our way back to Westchester and see how you do.”
“I teach kids as young as five how to skate. I’m pretty sure an old man like yourself can manage.”
“Will you stop calling me an old man?” I growl, taking a tentative step forward.
“Or what?” she teases. Doing some fancy footwork, she skates away, leaving me stranded in the middle of the rink.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say, throwing my arms out wide, balancing like a baby giraffe unsure about taking their first steps.
“Then come teach me a lesson, Captain, ” she whispers from behind me.
I grit my teeth, my eyes glued to the ice, watching the black boots move across it at an embarrassingly slow pace.
“Glide, baby, don’t walk.” Her fingers brush my arm, and I lift my head, her gray eyes warm as she watches me. I’ll never get tired of her calling me that or the way she looks at me when that word falls from her lips. “Like this.” She demonstrates with one long slide on the ice. “You’ve got this.”
It takes a few tries and more times landing on my ass than I’d happily admit until I’m skating unassisted from one end to the other. Pippa’s laughter rings out around the rink, the lightness and joy making my heart do stupid things inside my chest. I wasn’t lying when I said back in France that she’s a different girl on this ice here in Lake Placid than in Colorado. Or when she’s competing.
Her smile is wider, her eyes are brighter, and she radiates. But both versions, professional and carefree, have me hooked. They both have me falling for her harder than my tailbone smacking the ice.
Because you’re in love with her, dumbass.
Pippa skates in front of me, holding my waist and spinning us around. It’s faster than I’d like, and my feet don’t know what they’re doing until she loops her arms around my neck, her lips finding mine, her cool nose brushing my cheek as she kisses me.
“Thank you for doing this with me,” she whispers.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do for this girl if she asked me, and the way she’s looking at me, with happiness, comfort, trust. Part of me wonders if there’s a way she could love me, too.
“I get to be a part of your world in the sky, and now you’ve got to experience mine on the ice.” Dropping her hold, she laces our fingers together, her thumb grazing over the back of my numb hand, frowning. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” I say, wanting my lips on hers again. It’s embarrassing how far gone I am for her. She hums into my kiss, gently moving us across the rink until she steps off and onto the mat.
“C’mon, it’s getting late anyway, and I have one more thing I want to do with you.” She walks toward the chute, turning at the last second and holding up a hand. “Actually, you wait here.”
“The other thing isn’t a hot shower with you?”
She stifles a laugh. “No, besides, we almost got caught in Colorado. We can’t do anything here.” She plays with the hem of my shirt. “While last time was hot as fuck, on reflection, it wasn’t a smart idea. If we did get caught, I could have been kicked off the team. I can’t take that chance.”
“I know,” I say as guilt seeps into my bones. I didn’t think about the repercussions my joining her in the fucking Team USA facility showers could have had for her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
This is exactly why sneaking around with her is fucking stupid.
She smiles, cupping my cheek. “It was my fault, too. I should have waited until we got to my apartment.” Pippa’s lips touch mine, light and tentative, before she groans. “Fuck you for being so irresistible.” She pushes me away. “Take Evan’s skates off and wait in the reception while I get tidied up, okay?”
I laugh as I watch her disappear down the chute, her head hanging back as she grumbles, “Why did my father have to hire a sexy pilot?”
“C’mon, Wyatt,” she whines, stopping by my chair, her hands placed firmly on her hips. “What’s the point in having my very own private jet with my very own pilot if I can’t fly to Martha’s Vineyard whenever I want?”
“And this is why I call you a brat,” I say, not taking my eyes off my tablet. Tapping the stylus against the screen, I finish logging the flight path into the system and order the fuel needed to get to the island just off the coast of Massachusetts, letting Pippa continue her huffing. It’s amusing, something I haven’t seen her do before, and I struggle to keep my face straight.
Pippa leans on the armrest of the co-pilot seat, walking her fingers up my arm.
“Please?” She pouts. “I want to take you out for dinner.”
My gaze lifts to hers. “Like on a date?”
Something about that throws me off balance—a date. Something we’ve never done before and something I should have asked her on long before now, instead of hiding her away in my bed for hours every weekend.
“Uh, well…” She flushes, not just a faint splattering of pink across her cheeks. No, her entire face turns red as she glances around the cockpit, avoiding me. “I mean, it’s getting late. You’re going to get dinner… I’m going to get dinner… we should get it together. It makes sense since we’re going to spend the night together, so why don’t we just do everything together and…” Shutting her eyes, she takes a deep breath. I should cut in, help her out, but her rambling is endearing, so fucking cute and so unlike her that I want to see where she’s going with it. She groans, then mutters, “I should stop saying the word together.”
Standing and closing the very small gap between us, I hold her chin between my finger and thumb.
“I should have asked you out long before now,” I say, using the tip of my thumb to pull her lower lip down, watching it fall back into place.
“Really?” She looks up at me from under her eyelashes, her voice a whisper before she clears her throat, squaring her shoulders. “I mean, yes, you should have. But I think you’d really like this Italian place. That’s what I meant to say.”
“I’d be happy eating from a taco truck.” She sighs into my kiss, her lips soft and tender as I brush mine over hers. “It’s a date, baby.”
She sags against me, and I can feel her smile as she breathes, “Okay then.”
“If you’d like to take your seat, we’ll leave as soon as the fuelers arrive.”
“You mean we can go?” she asks, bouncing back, eyes wide.
I stretch over and tap my tablet. “Confirmation’s through now. The new flight plan has been approved.”
She squeals, grabbing my shoulders and smacking a kiss to my cheek before bounding into the cabin, throwing herself into her chair. “You are going to love this place.”
The flight is short, and by the time we land, Pippa is already out of her seat, tugging on my hand. “C’mon, I called ahead, and they’ve managed to squeeze us in, but we have to move. We don’t have much time.”
“If we miss this reservation, we can just go anywhere else that serves Italian.”
Her mouth drops, and she stabs her fingers into my pec. “It is not just any Italian restaurant. It is one of the best Italian restaurants to have ever opened, and their waitlist is more than ten months in advance.”
“So, how did we end up with a table?” I ask, removing my epaulets and tie and dropping them onto my seat. Pippa’s quiet, and I glance up, noticing her watching me as I unfasten the cuff links and tuck them in the tie to keep them safe. She still hasn’t answered by the time I’m rolling up my shirt sleeves, exposing my tattoos, and her tongue runs along her lips hungrily. “Pippa?”
“Oh right,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear, looking flustered.
I swallow a grin as I gather up my things and slot them inside the front of my flight bag, zipping it up.
She wrinkles her nose, looking embarrassed. “I might have used my last name.” I bark a laugh, and she holds up her hands in exasperation. “Look, I’m not proud of it, but I am dying for a bowl of their linguine. And I’ll leave a massive tip so it doesn’t make me feel as icky.”
Icky or not, I can see why Pippa played the name card to jump the waitlist because the food is exquisite, the view of the harbor is amazing, and she doesn’t spare any expense, requesting the two-hundred dollar per head meal as soon as we sit down.
“What happened to wanting a bowl of pasta?” I ask, taking a sip from my glass of water.
“I did want that, but then I saw what they had on their new executive chef’s tasting menu. That chef has been all over the major food blogs, and I have been dying to try his stuff when he used to work in New York.”
Sitting back in my seat, I watch her eyes grow wide as she talks about this big-time chef and his amazing food. She beams as she speaks, her hands gesturing wildly around her as she explains about his dishes.
“Why didn’t you go?”
“Didn’t have the time. Practice was unbelievably grueling when I was trying to make a name for myself, and by the time I could go, he’d left.” She leans forward, whispering as if she’s scared this infamous chef could hear her. “Apparently, he’s chasing a Michelin Star, and given how mouthwateringly good people say his food is, he’s bound to get it.”
I chuckle. “Well, hopefully you enjoy his cooking tonight.”
She gasps excitedly, straightening in her seat to look toward the kitchen door. “Do you think he’s here? Cooking our dinner now?”
“No idea, baby.”
“Could you imagine? Gah, I think I’d die.” She’s practically vibrating as she holds out an olive from the dish the waiter set down as soon as we arrived. “Try this.” I open my mouth, and she pops it inside. She watches me avidly, waiting for my reaction as she grins at me from across the table. “Is that not the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth? Chef Skip knows where to get all the finest produce for his dishes. Nothing he serves is by accident.”
“Do you want me to go back there and see if he’d rather replace me for this date?” I say around the first bite, smiling but not really tasting anything other than the standard olive flavor.
“Don’t be silly. There’s only one professional I have eyes for.” She glances down, her cheeks breaking out in a faint blush. Schooling her features, she plants her hands flat on the table. “Now stop talking and let your tongue enjoy all the flavors…”
She pushes another between my lips, and a mixture of sweetness with a hint of tang explodes across my tastebuds. Pippa takes one herself, dancing in her seat as she chews, pointing at me with a look of pure delight on her face when I bounce my head approvingly. “Told you.”
I lick my lips, my eyes locked on hers as I say, “My tongue’s tasted something better.”
She swallows, hiding her flushed face as the server comes over, placing the first course of eight in front of us. Listening intently, she soaks up everything the waiter has to say about the dish before lifting her fork and prodding a sliver of a beet.
“Holy shit,” she groans, covering her mouth with her hand. I wish she wouldn’t hide; I want to see her pretty pink lips as she chews her food and the joy she experiences with every bite.
“Aren’t you going to try it?” she asks, pointing to my untouched plate. Truth be told, I’m not that hungry. I would much rather watch her all night instead.
We eat in near silence, the food too good for chatter, excluding the moans and groans coming from the girl opposite me. By the last course, I am stuffed. While the portions are small, they’re filling.
I might need to reevaluate the fuel load to compensate for the extra weight.
Pippa excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I try to flag a waiter down, wanting to settle the check. Awareness makes itself known as everyone appears to be pointedly ignoring me. It gets worse when she comes back, smiling as she says, “Ready to go?”
“What about the bill?”
She waves a hand dismissively and tries not to smile. “Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”
“Pippa,” I warn, hoping she’s fucking joking. Not only did she ask me out because I didn’t have the sense to ask her, but now she paid?
“Wyatt,” she echoes, lowering her voice to mock me. “I asked you on this date, so therefore I pay.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
“Huh,” she says innocently as she walks toward the exit. “My bad.”
“You know you’re going to pay for this, right?”
She turns to look over her shoulder, a coy smile tugging at her lips. “I was counting on it.”
We head back to her plane, the sun setting in the distance, casting an orange haze across the horizon. Sitting in the back of the car she’d ordered to take us to the airfield, her hand rests on the middle seat. I stare at it, itching to take it in mine, run my fingers over the back of it, and trace patterns into her skin.
There’s nothing stopping me. No one here knows who we are, and this is a date, so… I lace my fingers with hers, and she jerks her head to look at me, a soft smile pulling on her lips as she looks down before leaning back with a contented sigh.
But my gaze stays focused on our clasped hands, on how small and dainty her fingers look compared to mine, on how smooth her skin is as I brush my thumb over the back of her hand, on how warm she feels compared to the cool leather of the empty seat between us.
I hold it until we step inside the plane, and Pippa spins, walking backward while twirling her hair seductively around her finger and nibbling on her lower lip. “Do you know what would be a great way to end this date?”
“What?” I ask, drawing the word out, sounding skeptical.
“If we joined the mile-high club,” she says coyly. “I mean, we had a romantic evening that, if we were at your place, would lead to sex… And we’ve got a perfectly good bed that’s going to waste in the back there.”
She thumbs toward the bedroom at the back of the cabin. I pinch the bridge of my nose, ignoring the way my cock starts to thicken behind my zipper. There has not been a single flight when I haven’t thought of taking her and fucking her while miles high in the sky.
“You know we can’t do that, not when I’m the only one flying this plane,” I tell her, hating how professional I need to be right now. “If something happened, even with the autopilot on and I wasn’t at the front, ready to correct it, we’d be fucked.”
She sticks out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Shame. Maybe I’ll join it on my own. Just go back there, strip down, spread my legs, and make myself come screaming your name.”
“Such a fucking brat,” I growl, wrenching myself away and storming into the cockpit, my cock fully hard and loving the idea of hearing her pleasure herself while I fly her home.
I hear her cackling as I put on my headset and dial into Air Traffic Control.
“This is November-Three-Niner-Juliet-Lima requesting a slot for take-off.”
“Next available time is nineteen-twenty.” I glance at my watch. Next available slot is in forty minutes. “Would you want me to put in a ready message?”
I turn around and peer back into the cabin at Pippa with her legs thrown over the armrest, flicking through her phone.
“No. I’ll wait.” Now I’ve made up my mind; there’s no way I want our time moved up should a slot become available.
Throwing off my headset, I stand, marching down the aisle, hauling Pippa into my arms as she cries out, “Wyatt, what the hell?”
Carrying her down the back of the plane, I flip her onto the bed and pull my wallet out of my pocket, sliding out the condom I carry in there and tossing it next to her.
“I thought I was a brat for wanting this?” she asks, pushing herself up to rest on her elbows, her eyes wide as I unbuckle my belt.
“You still are,” I say, flicking my pants button and pulling down the zipper. The sound of the metal scraping against the teeth as it comes apart is electric, every raspy mechanical rattle heightened by the forbiddenness of what I’m about to do.
“So you’re here to teach me a lesson? Finally ready to tame the brat?”
With little finesse, I tug down her leggings and panties, throwing them over my shoulder, and pulling myself out of my boxer briefs, stroking casually as I pick up the condom, tear it open, and cover my cock in one swift motion.
Grabbing her ankles, I drag her to the edge of the bed, her ass perched on the side as I line myself up. “Baby, I’ve been trying and it’s not working.”
“Then try harder.”
I thrust forward and bottom out as Pippa moans, her back arching off the bed, her fingers digging into the comforter. Her head tips back as she draws her lower lip between her teeth, biting hard. Holding behind her knees, I use her body the way I know she likes. It’s carnal, how she’s naked from the waist down while I’m fully dressed, my belt buckle smacking against the backs of her thighs with every pump of my hips.
“Pippa,” I grind out from behind clenched teeth. “Tell me you like this. Tell me who owns your beautiful pussy.”
Her eyes snap open, my possessive tone exciting her. “Make me.”
Leaning slightly forward, my knees rest on the frame, the wood biting into them as I release one of her legs, moving my hand to wrap around her throat, flexing my grip slightly. “You’re mine, Pippa. Your pussy’s mine. Your ass is mine. The orgasm I know you want”—I slam my hips forward—“belongs to me. I decide if and when you come. Now tell me…” I snap back, pulling out of her tight heat and tapping her cunt with my hand, hard enough to make her cry out.
“Who owns this pussy?”
“You do,” she pants, bucking upward, her ass lifting off the bed. “Fuck, Wyatt, you. You own me.”
Grinning wildly, I fuck her with abandon, harder and faster, her declaration of ownership making me turn into an animal. Her eyes roll back, her body shifting in time with my thrusts, my hips moving of their own volition.
My eyes flick up to the port-hole-like windows lining the plane, and the reflection of a man enthralled in this raw and dirty sex stares back at me. Exhilaration fills my veins, the knowledge that at any moment, someone could see us, the light in the cabin bright a contrast to the darkening sky outside.
“Look at what you do to me,” I rasp, staring down at the debauched image of Pippa flat on her back, eyes blown. “Look at how crazy you make me.”
“Wyatt,” she begs, lifting her arm out. “Kiss me.”
The taste of her arousal is potent as my mouth smashes to hers. My cock is like steel as I piston quicker, bringing a hand to play with her clit. Her lips part in a silent scream, her cheeks stained pink in a telltale sign that she’s close.
“Not yet,” I growl, withdrawing, and she whimpers, cursing me out, but I have her flipped around, her feet on the floor, her legs spread wide as I enter her from behind.
My arm laces up her front, my hand collaring her throat again as I pull her up so she’s flush against my chest. My other hand moves back to her clit, stroking, circling, pinching frantically as I chase after her to the brink of pleasure.
“Watch yourself in the window, Pippa,” I command, watching our reflections through the glass. “Watch when you come all over your pilot's cock.”
She detonates, my words the trigger to send her careening over the edge, her tight little cunt squeezing me in its vice-like grip, taking me with her.
“Yes, baby,” I groan into her ear. My thrusts become more purposeful as I empty into the condom, wishing I was pumping my release straight into her, painting her walls, marking them as mine. “Milk me, take it all.”
“Wy—Oh god,” she pants, her pussy still spasming as I slip from her body. She flops back onto the bed, a dazed smile on her lips as she watches me tie off the condom. I take it to the bathroom, wrapping it in a tissue before putting it into my pocket. There’s no way I’m discarding it here.
Pippa’s in the same spot I’d left her in a second ago, and I walk over, placing a chaste kiss to her lips, whispering against them, “Looks like I tamed the brat after all.”
Her laughter follows me as I walk straight into the cockpit and take a seat, focusing on finishing the pre-flight checks, my body alight with endorphins and adrenaline. Soft footsteps have me looking up from my checklist as Pippa walks into the flight deck. Her fingers brush over the back of my head and play with my hair before dropping down on the empty co-pilot seat. Technically, she shouldn’t be here, up front with me, but I can’t find it in me to tell her to leave. I want her here. Seeing the world like I do from thirty-five thousand feet high.
I keep one ear of my headset off once we're in the air—not that she wants to talk—as she clutches the side window, her reflection in the glass more beautiful than the fading sunlight. Her mouth is parted, her eyes wide with awe as she gazes out before her at the clouds, the expanse of sky, the world a mere speck below. It’s a sight I’ve taken for granted. Until now.
She turns to look over her shoulder, the glow from the instruments lighting up her face, the sight making my mouth dry. My hands grip the yolk, my thoughts far away from the flight path back to Westchester. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and the sweet scent of her shampoo or perfume or whatever, filters into my senses.
I can’t keep pretending that what we have is enough. The lingering glances, the stolen touches, the Saturday nights spent under the cloak of darkness. Pippa is everything I want, but everything I can’t have. Not like this. Not when we’re hiding in the shadows, sneaking around behind her father’s back.
I’ve wanted to try to find a way to make this work…but now I need to.
I can’t keep working for him. I can’t keep lying to the man who’s given me more than I could have ever imagined in such a short time. I can’t keep loving her in secret, pretending I don’t know what she tastes like, sounds like, looks like when I’m with her. Pretending I’ve never felt as complete as I do when I’m with her. Pretending that I’m not in love with her.
Pippa deserves to be loved in the light, out in the open.
But you love your job.
There will be more families to fly. More CEOs to work for. The view outside a cockpit window is the same regardless of what craft I’m in. But the view inside this jet, the one right beside me, is the only one I can’t stand the thought of losing.
Because, there will only ever be her.