In Flight

Ten

A N HOUR AND A HALF later, I’m leading Isaac in through the front door of my apartment.

Nine years ago, when I graduated and got an entry-level staff job at my art college, I splurged when I picked out this apartment.

It’s only six hundred square feet—one bedroom and one bath—in a historic house converted into four apartments. The bedroom is so small I have to push my double bed against the wall to make it fit, and the kitchen is minisized. But it’s got the original claw-foot tub in the bathroom in addition to a small walk-in shower, and there’s a nook in the living room with huge windows where I’ve put my favorite chair. The floors are beautiful hardwood, and my landlord let me paint the walls and paneling in a warm, classy brown-and-red palette.

For the first couple of years, the rent was definitely a stretch, but now—after two promotions and several raises—I can easily afford it.

And I love it. More than I’ve ever loved anywhere else I’ve lived.

I see Isaac’s eyes moving over the space after we walk in, taking in the painted canvases on the walls and the knit throws draped over the couch and chairs and the hand-latched rug I did myself after taking a class three years ago.

I have absolutely no doubt he lives in a sleek, modern place with clean lines and minimal clutter. That’s not this at all.

When I lean over to unzip my boots and leave them by the door, he does the same with his shoes. Then his expression softens into a smile as he completes his scan of the room. “I like it.”

“I’m already going to have sex with you. You don’t have to lie about it.”

This surprises him into a short burst of laughter. “I’m not lying. I really do like it.” He pauses and turns to face me, his eyes warming in a way that isn’t only amusement. “It looks like you. Why wouldn’t I like that?”

And that just about does me in. I’m melting with affection inside, but I’m also hit with an irresistible compulsion.

To touch him.

To grab him.

To have him.

All the way.

I need it like I’ve never needed anything, so I move forward, reaching up to grip his head and pull him down into a kiss.

I surprise him. It takes him a few seconds to react, but then he’s with me all the way. Just as eager and hungry. His mouth moves against mine as he steps forward, taking me with him until my back hits the wall.

He’s about five inches taller than me, so the height difference is noticeable but not unwieldy. I stretch up and he tilts his head down, and we do just fine as I suck his tongue into my mouth and keep adjusting our heads so our noses don’t collide.

It’s a good kiss. No question. Isaac is generous and enthusiastic and considerate even in the way he works his mouth against mine. But it’s not skill or specific moves as much as pure, authentic passion I’m receiving from him. That’s what’s filling my heart and expanding in my head and awakening my body.

I’m pulsing with all that I feel as I grab a fistful of his hair and slide my other hand down so it’s curved around the tight shape of his ass through his tailored trousers.

We’ve been kissing for only a minute, but he’s already hard. I can feel the bulge of it pushing against my lower belly.

“River,” he murmurs against my lips, easing back slightly to scan my face. His is flushed and tense, his hair more rumpled than I’ve ever seen it.

“Yes.” I arch against the wall since the arousal is throbbing hard now between my legs and at every pulse point.

“You’re sure about this, right?”

I choke on a little laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. I can’t remember every being so sure about sex. The entire world is screaming that this is what we should be doing.”

He smiles, leaning his forehead briefly against mine. “I hear that screaming too.”

“Do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You think I’m not as into this as you are?”

“Of course you’re into it.” I rock my hips forward to rub against his erection. “I just mean that the world screaming is an intuitive thing. Not an analytical thing. I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hear it.”

“Oh, I hear it.” He kisses me, lightly, more gently than before. Just a soft press of his lips on mine. “Right now I can’t hear anything else.”

I drag his head down so I can kiss him deeper.

I had sex for the first time when I was eighteen with a guy named Brent I met in a portrait-painting class my first semester in Savannah. Boys in high school were never interested in me, and Brent was the first guy who ever gave me any attention. That alone swept me away, and I built up all kinds of ridiculous daydreams about our fated romance.

Before then, I was very interested in sex in theory, but I’d never experienced a physical response to an actual real, live person. But as soon as my emotions became attached to Brent, my body was right there with them.

We had a month of very good sex and growing feelings on my side before he got bored and moved on to someone else.

A few months later, another guy acted interested, and my feelings jumped into overdrive once more. During the summer, it happened again.

For several years, it happened over and over again. My heart was all in far sooner than was wise, and I ended up crushed when inevitably the guy moved on.

My longest relationship lasted almost a year when I was twenty-six. Looking back now, I’m quite sure it lasted as long as it did because the guy was making do with me until he found someone he liked better. He never initiated further steps toward a deeper relationship. It all came from me. Finally I realized it myself and ended things before I wasted more years of my life on a man who didn’t really want me.

That’s when I got smarter. But being smarter meant I had a lot of first dates but nothing that lasted more than a few weeks. That went on for a couple of years until Cash came along and wanted me enough to initiate moves.

I never felt like this with him though. I was comfortable in bed with him but not burning all over with this kind of fire.

Isaac’s hands are getting greedier and more presumptuous. One of them has found a breast through the fabric of my dress, and the other is hiking up my skirt so he can stroke the bare skin of my thigh.

Even that small touch feels so good that I lift one leg to wrap it around his thighs, trying to get more friction where I desperately need it.

I’m making a lot of silly gasps and whimpers into the kiss, but he’s making sounds too. Low, throaty, hungry sounds that send jolts right to my center.

“Fuck, River,” he says hoarsely, finally breaking out of the kiss to gaze down at me. “I could eat you alive.”

The naked words have a definite effect. On my heart even more than my body. But a little spark of spirit prompts me to reply, “Sex first, I think. Acts of cannibalism second.”

He collapses into soft, shaking laughter and pulls me into a hug.

Seriously, I wouldn’t think in my state of arousal a hug would mean more to me than a sexual touch would, but it does.

It really does.

I’m not sure anything in my entire life has made me feel better and more secure and more cared for—for myself, all of me, my heart and my body both—than his instinctive reaching for me in his amusement.

I squeeze him back, and the rise of emotion turns me on even more. After a minute I can’t hold back. I back off just enough to pull him down into another kiss.

He responds with equal enthusiasm. And this time he uses the wall to brace some of my weight as he eases me up off the floor.

I wrap my legs around him, and he carries me into the bedroom like that.

I’ve always been medium size in every way—definitely not a lightweight—so the simple act thrills me to a ridiculous degree. By the time he lays me down on the bed, I’m breathless and so jittery with desire that I can’t lie still. I grab fistfuls of his jacket, trying to drag him down on top of me.

He delays only long enough to shrug off his suit coat and pull off his tie and belt. Then he climbs on top of me, leaning over to give me a longer, slower, deeper kiss.

If it were possible for my head to fly all the way off my neck, it would definitely do so right now.

“Fuck, River,” he mutters after several minutes of kissing. He’s started moving his mouth against the skin of my cheek, my jaw, my throat. “I’ve never known anyone as warm and beautiful and deep and real as you. It’s like I’m drunk on you. I’ve heard people talk about it, but I didn’t think it was possible until right now.”

“Me too.” I gasp and arch up when he sucks on the pulse point at the base of my throat. “I thought this kind of thing only happened in fantasies.”

“Had a lot of fantasies about fucking me, have you?” There’s affectionate laughter in his murmur. He’s reaching beneath me to find the zipper of my dress.

“Not you. Just generic men. I’ve had all kinds of fantasies about generic men.”

“Hmm.” He’s found the zipper. After sliding it down, he gently pulls down the top of my dress to expose my chest and pretty black bra. My boobs need a lot of support, so it’s not a few flimsy pieces of lace and silk. But it’s as pretty as my bras get.

He definitely likes the look of it. His eyes heat up visibly as he stares.

“Hmm, what?”

“What?” He blinks up at me.

“You said hmm like you were thinking something.”

“Oh.” His mouth twitches up before he reaches around to undo my bra. “Just wondering if I should be jealous of all these generic men you’ve been fucking in your mind.”

I giggle, too into him to be self-conscious when he unclasps my bra and pulls it away, baring my breasts to his view. “No reason to be jealous. They were mostly faceless if you want to know the truth. I’d make up whole scenarios and imagine every touch and word. But the guys themselves never had a face.”

He’s laughing as much as I am as he draws my dress all the way down my body and pulls it off over my feet. Now I’m wearing nothing but my panties and the winter thigh-high stockings I wore under my boots.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, straightening up slightly so he can see the length of my body.

“You never said fuck before.”

“I’ve said fuck a lot.”

“But with me. I don’t think you ever said it even once until we started kissing.”

“Really? Well, I’m going to make up for that over the next few hours. You’ll never have heard as many fucks in your life as you’re about to hear.”

This makes me giggle again. It’s spilling out of me. An intense mingling of hilarity and affection and pure, blazing joy. He’s not giggling like me, but I can sense the same kind of overflow of feeling filling him too, seeping out the edges of his expression.

“Hold on. I better grab a condom.”

For no good reason, even that makes me smile. “Good thinking.”

He makes a detour from the bed to get a couple of condoms from his bag. Then he works on the rest of his clothes until he’s wearing nothing but a pair of light gray boxer briefs. His body is as good to look at naked as it is with clothes. Not particularly bulky but with a strong frame, long limbs, and neatly developed musculature. He’s got some hair on his chest and leading down under the waistband of his underwear. He has a large scar on his left shoulder.

“Okay then.” While he undressed, I took off my stockings and panties. I make a summoning gesture with my hand. “Come here.”

Smiling, he lowers himself on top of me again.

We start with another kiss, and it goes on as the intensity heightens. Soon I’m so turned on I’m squirming. There’s no way I can stay still as his tongue thrusts into my mouth and his pelvis rocks down in a sensual rhythm. I’ve been stroking and clutching his smooth back and firm ass and the strong contours of his thighs.

“Isaac,” I finally gasp, turning my face to the side to break the kiss. “I’m dying here. We’ve got to move on.”

“I’m dying too,” he admits. “But it feels like I’m drowning in you. Like I can’t quite reach the surface to catch my breath.”

“Then don’t catch your breath. Just give me an orgasm so I don’t explode.”

He chokes on a soft laugh, rousing himself enough to reposition and slide his hand between my legs. There’s no doubt how much I want this. I’m so wet I can hear the suction as he caresses me and then slides two fingers inside me.

He pumps them a few times, and that’s all it takes for the tension to break inside me. I make a silly sound as my body shakes through the pleasure. When I open my eyes, Isaac is smiling down at me.

“You’re looking kind of full of yourself.”

“Not full of myself.” He gives me a quick kiss, but then he’s already pulling my thighs apart to make room for him between them. “Full of you.”

I could melt again with sentiment, but instead, I fight for my wit. “It’s time for me to be full of you if you think you’re finally capable of moving.”

“I’m capable. No one has ever been more capable than I am right now.” He quickly rolls on a condom, lines himself up at my entrance, and pushes in partway, withdrawing and then sliding in all the way.

I let out a long moan as he stretches and penetrates me. It’s full. Tight. But not uncomfortable.

Not at all.

It feels just right.

“Good?” Isaac asks, supporting himself on his arms above me.

“Oh yeah. It’s just right.” I roll my hips, adjusting to the size of him inside me. “Is it good for you?”

“Nothing has ever been better.”

He holds still for a minute until we’re both settled and relaxed. Then he’s smiling as he starts to thrust.

His rhythm is different from Cash’s. Different from anyone’s I remember. It takes me a little while to get used to it, but then I start rocking my hips up to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm and intensifying the friction between us.

I already had an orgasm, and I’ve never been able to come from intercourse until I’ve had a lot of practice with a man, but I’m so overwhelmed with so many things right now that the pressure of another climax starts tightening inside me again.

It gets me excited. Speeds up my rhythm and deepens the eagerness with which I’m dragging my fingernails down his back.

“Fuck, River.” He’s breathing heavily now. “Oh fuck. You feel so good.”

“Yes. Yes! Oh God!” I’m trying to ride him from below, squeezing my inner muscles around his erection.

“Can you come? I’m about to lose it already.”

“Yes! I can come. Hold on. Hold on!”

“I’m holding.” His face twists, and his eyes never leave my face as his thrusts get faster and harder.

I work eagerly toward climax, going at it so vigorously that the headboard is banging against the wall.

“Fuck, River. You’re the hottest little thing I’ve ever known.”

For some reason, that’s what does it. All the tension snaps, and I cry out loudly as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

Isaac comes too—almost immediately after me. His body jerks and shakes as he lets out a low, helpless groan of satisfaction. His hips make a small, helpless pump with every spurt of his release.

Then he finally lowers himself on me as I wrap my arms around him. We gasp together. I’m hot and a little sweaty, and he’s heavy. The condom is going to start leaking soon.

But I don’t want this moment to end. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt closer to anyone than I do right now.

To him.

To Isaac.

“Oh fuck, how was that so good?” he murmurs, winded and sated.

“I don’t know. But it really was.”

“I could lie right here and sleep for days.”

I giggle. “Maybe roll off me before you sleep for days.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He moves off me, turning on his side so he can smile at me.

“It was fine. For a little while. Not for hours.”

“Fair enough.” With one hand on the condom, he smooths some of my hair back with the other and leans forward to kiss me sweetly. “I’m not lying or exaggerating when I say that was the best sex of my life.”

“Me too,” I admit. “Me too.”

***

A FTER WE FIND THE ENERGY to clean up and go the bathroom, we settle back into bed together. He pulls me against him, and I cuddle close. He’s asleep in just a few minutes, and I’m asleep shortly after that.

He’s still in bed with me when I wake up the next morning. It’s early. Just after five. But his sleeping presence in the bed beside me surprises and excites me so much I jolt awake at the first awareness.

“Y’okay,” he mumbles, shifting under the covers when I sit up abruptly.

“Yes. Just surprised. I slept all the way through the night.”

“Me too. Didn’t even wake up to check my phone in the middle of the night.”

“You don’t do that a lot, do you? That’s not good for you. You need to get some time away from your phone.”

“I know. But if I wake up, I feel it drawing me from the nightstand. It calls to me.”

I laugh at his choice of words and his intonation.

He pulls me into a loose embrace, and I caress his shoulder and arm. When I find the faint outline of the scar I noticed last night, I ask, “How did you get this?”

“What? Oh, the scar? I was about three and climbing on furniture. I tried to support myself on a curtain rod, and that was a very bad idea. I fell and got a gash in my shoulder from a sharp edge. The scar never went away.”

“That sounds awful. You could have really been hurt.”

“I wasn’t.”

I don’t like the thought of him being hurt. I don’t like it at all. It bothers me unduly. I scoot closer.

“Shit, I’ve got to get going. I need to be at work in a couple of hours.”

“You have time. You can shower here if you want.”

“I better stop by my hotel room first so I can get back into gear. I don’t like to feel unsettled before working.”

“That makes sense.”

What he said is entirely natural. And means absolutely nothing bad about our connection.

But for some reason it pulls me back down to reality with a hard bump.

Because this isn’t one of my faceless fantasies that can be turned off and entirely separated from real life. And Isaac and I have a lot that separates us—including hundreds of miles.

I’ve been trying for so long to be smart with my heart, but I’ve basically handed it now to Isaac without verifying that it was safe.

It felt safe. But my feelings often lead me astray.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, evidently sensing a change in my body.

“Nothing. Just never fun getting back into everyday life.”

“No. It’s really not.” He nuzzles my hair and lets me go, rolling away and then dropping his legs over the side of the bed. “So...” He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his messy hair. “How do you want to do this?”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestures between our bodies. “What are you thinking about all of it?”

I’d rather he tell me how he’s feeling first, but there’s no reason not to be honest with him. “I really loved last night. It was... so good. But this is... this is new. And I don’t do well when I jump headlong into new things. So maybe we can... we can keep it kind of casual at first. You need to focus on work, and I need to feel secure in my regular life. So let’s go slow. At least for now.”

He nods. I can’t read his reaction in his expression at all, which is strange and frustrating. “That’s a good idea. So how about we go through our normal week, and we’ll see each other on Friday and go from there.”

“That sounds good.”

It doesn’t sound good. It sounds wrenching. Terrible. I desperately want to see him again tonight.

But my feelings don’t always lead in the right direction, and I’m not going to let them carry me away this time.

It was hard enough recovering from relationships that mostly existed in my mind.

If I have to get over a heartbreak from Isaac, my heart might never fully heal.