Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
RIVER
It physically pains me to pull out of her. I feel a little guilty as I do. I hear her wince and something inside me wants to soothe her. I wish we had rooms with locks on them. I wish I could properly do all the things my mouth and hands are itching to do, but there’s no space for that here.
I grab a napkin I stuck in the seat pocket and dispose of the used condom before quietly zipping up my pants.
I reach back under her blanket and help her pull her panties and yoga pants back up her legs.
I can’t help myself as I slip my hand between her legs once more, feeling how wet she is makes me wish we had more condoms and more time.
She places her hand over mine, keeping it where she wants it. I slide two of my fingers inside her and slowly bring her to orgasm one last time. She grips my hand, riding it with small movements and then clenching when she comes.
When she releases me, I pull away and suck her juices off my digits. She rolls over to face me.
“Was the mile high club everything you hoped it would be, feisty one?” I ask as I brush a lock of hair away from her face.
She smiles shyly before answering. “Yes,” she says in a low raspy voice that has my cock wishing to be back inside of her.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she says. We raise our seats, and she climbs over me and pushes back the curtain.
She looks over her shoulder at me as she stands in the aisle.
The only lights on in the cabin, illuminating her silhouette.
She looks like an angel, and I know I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.
She turns and heads to the bathroom. I adjust myself in my pants and grab the bottle of water I placed in my bag.
Taking a sip of it, I realize I know nothing about this woman I just fucked.
What’s her story? Do I want to know? A part of me wants to just let it go.
Leave this as a great story I tell the guys when we have drinks.
Another part of me wants to not tell a soul and just let it be my little secret, one memory just for me.
But a third part of me wants to continue what I started here.
This woman is stubborn and irritating, but she’s also interesting and funny.
She has wit and beauty. She’s a rare breed of human and I find that fascinating as fuck.
A movement draws my attention. She’s standing by the curtain. She has the bottom of her shirt rolled up oddly. She lifts a leg over me and closes the curtain. I pull her down onto my lap so she’s straddling me.
“What have we got here?” I ask.
She grins and unrolls her shirt to reveal six little bottles of alcohol.
“I didn’t know which type you might like, besides scotch, of course,” she says with a shrug.
“How’d you get these?” I ask.
She shrugs and then smirks.
I tickle her a little and she squirms on my lap. “You naughty woman,” I scold.
She giggles. She takes the vodka one and opens it, handing me its twin bottle. I open mine and she clinks our bottles together. “To popping mile high cherries,” she says quietly.
“To meeting gorgeous, interesting seatmates,” I offer.
She raises an eyebrow. “What? Not irritating seatmates?” she asks.
I lean up and nuzzle my nose alongside hers. “That too,” I breathe.
I pull back a little to bring the bottle to my lips. She mirrors me and we both toss back the drinks.
She slides off my lap and I miss her immediately. She plops into her seat and buckles up, pulling the blanket back over her legs.
She grabs the tequila bottles next, handing one to me.
“Let’s play a game,” she suggests.
“What game are we playing?” I ask.
“Never have I ever,” she states.
“Explain it,” I demand.
“I’ll start. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”
I glare at her.
“Never have I ever had sex on a plane,” she says.
She takes a drink and motions for me to drink.
“So you drink if you have done something?” I confirm.
She nods.
“Never have I ever come from being given oral sex,” I state, drinking my drink. She doesn’t drink hers.
“Really?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Maybe we’ll need to resolve that issue,” I insist, licking my lips.
“River…no way. There’s no room,” she hisses as she looks around us.
I frown. “You’re ruining all my fun.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Never have I ever had a threesome,” she says, not bringing the bottle to her mouth.
I take another shot.
“What? Seriously?” she asks.
I nod and shrug. “It was college. I was bored and…the ladies liked me.”
“Figures,” she says as she glares at me.
“Never have I ever met a movie star,” I state.
We both drink. I’m not shocked at all. She looks like she comes from money. And in the States, that probably means she’s run in circles with at least one celebrity.
“Never have I ever dated a famous person,” she says.
She takes a sip and I raise an eyebrow.
“My high school boyfriend was in a band that’s pretty well known. My dad hated it and him,” she explains.
I laugh. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Damn, maybe I should be calling you Daddy,” she says with a smirk.
My cock jumps to attention. “Cute. How long have you had daddy issues?” I ask.
This time she blushes and looks away. Well, damn, didn’t mean to hit that nail on the head quite so hard.
I place my hand on her leg. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to…is he alive?” I ask.
She nods and I see her wipe a tear. Fuck. I hate that I made her cry. “He’s just a dick,” she explains.
I tighten my squeeze on her leg and then loosen it when I realize what I’m doing. “He doesn’t…hurt you, does he?” I hiss through gritted teeth as I feel my anger boiling.
She shakes her head. “No, not physically. He’s just a jerk,” she clarifies.
I visibly relax. “Good. I was worried I might have to go home and beat the shit out of him for you,” I state.
She grins. “Feel free. But it’s more my mean stepmom that could use an ass kicking.”
“Sorry. Do you live with them?”
“No, not really. I just am staying there for a few weeks until my apartment is ready,” she explains and then yawns.
I take her little bottle and place it with the others in my bag’s pocket. “I think we should try to sleep a little,” I say.
She frowns. “But we only have like a few hours left,” she whines as she fights another yawn. My feisty one is tired, and quite frankly, so am I.
I place a hand on her leg again. “I know. Come on,” I encourage.
She sighs and leans her chair back again, rolling to her side. I do the same, spooning her, my hand on her hip as we fall asleep.
* * *
“We’re on our final descent into New York.” The flight attendant’s voice wakes me.
“Please bring your seatbacks up to their full upright position. We’ll be coming around the cabin one last time to hand out customs forms. And to collect any trash.”
Paris stirs and sits up, raising her arms in the air, she stretches like a cat.
“Did you get some sleep?” I ask.
She nods and rubs her eyes. “Did we miss the food?” she asks as she looks around.
“I think so,” I state. I reach into my bag and offer her one of the granola bars I’d grabbed at the airport. She accepts it and we eat in silence while filling out our customs cards.
As the plane lists a little to one side, she reaches out and grabs my hand.
I hold hers tightly, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
After placing my wrapper and card into my bag’s pocket, I take my other hand and place it over our joined hands, rubbing small circles on the back of hers.
I feel her relax a little. The flight attendant comes through and pulls back our curtain, eyeing our joined hands before moving on.
I honestly don’t care what the woman thinks.
The plane descends and the tires hit the tarmac. She gives a little jump and tightens her grip as the pilot applies the brakes.
When we make it to the gate, I wait for her to walk in front of me.
She takes my hand again as we make our way to customs. We grab our bags.
When we get there, I look at the Global Entry line and the other line where she’s walking.
Cursing, I decide to wait with her. I’ll get at least thirty more minutes with her.
We don’t speak as we inch closer to the front of the line.
Her grip stays strong on mine. My thumb continues drawing little circles on her hand.
When we finally get to the front, I look down at her and release her hand. “This is where I leave you, feisty one,” I say.
She gives me a sad smile.
“Next in line,” a TSA agent says.
I turn to her. “Go ahead.” She steps away from me, but as she looks back, I smile.
“Pierre was my grandfather,” I state.
Her eyes widen. “Seriously? You’re telling me that now?”
I laugh and shrug. She rolls her eyes but pauses as realization washes over her. She realizes why I was in Paris. She gives me a sad smile and waves to me as she shuffles toward the open window and the passport-control agent waiting on her.
I get called next, and by the time I finish, I don’t see her. I walk to a waiting car, feeling a little sad that I only got that one night with her. But it was definitely a night that I’ll never forget.