Matthew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 1)

by Becca Fanning

  Shit! Iyesha pulled her eyes off his crotch. Oh, he meant the seat. “Yeah, it’s incredible. Wait, so you’re really the pilot?”

  “Yeah, I fly whenever I can.”

  “But can’t you aff-“ Iyesha began, but cut the word off. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Sure I can afford someone else to fly for me, but I’m the kinda guy who likes to take control.” Dragon checked a gauge on the dashboard in front of him. “Besides, I’ve been flying planes for a long time. Gotta have a hobby.”

  “Well sure, hobbies. I crotchet hats and sell them online,” Iyesha lied. She had a friend who did this, and Iyesha always made fun of her for it. Truth be told she really didn’t have any hobbies to speak of. But once I get back, I’m going to crotchet some shit.

  “Mmmhmm,” Dragon mumbled. “I’m reading good for fuel and oil. How are we on cabin pressure?”

  Iyesha’s heart hammered in her chest. Co-pilot! Co-pilot! Oh God! She tried to remember what she’d put on that resume, but came up blank. It had been so long ago, so many margarita bowls ago. “Umm…cabin pressure…” she said, looking around at the massive amount of gauges and dials in front of her.

  Dragon turned to look at her, impatiently waiting for an answer.

  “Cabin pressure looks…optimal?” Iyesha said, still scanning the gauges in front of her.

  “Optimal?”

  “Yes, optimal. Or maybe, you know, satisfactory?” Iyesha said.

  Dragon brought his hand up to his mouth. “And how about our bilge capacity? About how many knots do you think we’ll do once we’re up in the air?”

  “Oh our bilge capacity is perfect!” Iyesha answered quickly. It had to be on a jet like this, right? “I think we’ll do an average amount of knots by my readings.”

  Dragon erupted in laughter, no longer able to contain himself. “Ahh girl, you are trouble! What am I gonna do with you?”

  Iyesha tried to deal with conflicting amounts of embarrassment and rage. “I’m sorry. I’m not a co-pilot. I think maybe there was a mistake on my resume.”

  “Oh maybe there was a mistake on your resume? That’s some weak shit girl,” Dragon said, recomposing himself. “Maxwell probably chose you because you had flight experience.”

  “Did…did I ruin your trip? Like did you need me to fly this thing too?”

  “Yep, we’re fucked. Guess I have to find another attendant. Maybe one that doesn’t lie on her resume,” Dragon said, shaking his head. He sat and stared at Iyesha.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry Mr. Dr- uhh, I mean Dragon. Look, I’m so sorry. I know your time is very valuable and I didn’t mean to ruin your vacation!” Iyesha said, exasperated. And I just blew my fucking chance with him. Iyesha slumped into the conforming chair. No paycheck either, I guess. This didn’t bother her as much as the former thought, which surprised her. She crossed her arms and looked back at Dragon.

  Who was smirking.

  Iyesha sighed. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

  “Girl, fucking with you was what we did back there,” he said, throwing a thumb behind them towards the tail end of the jet, “and what I’m gonna do to you later,” he said, grinning irresistibly at her. “But I was messin’ with you. Technically, by FAA rules, I can’t fly this thing solo. I have to have someone else on board who can fly it. So let me ask you, Iyesha,” he said, emphasizing her name, “Can you assist me in piloting this aircraft?”

  “Yes?”

  “That doesn’t sound like a confident answer, Iyesha Barnes. Try again.”

  “Yes,” she responded, more confidently.

  “This time with a little more passion and maybe I’d believe you.”

  “Yes I can fly this fucking plane!” Iyesha screamed towards the cockpit window at no one in particular.

  “Baller. Now buckle up, it’s time to get going,” Dragon said, leaning across to Iyesha’s side and flicking a switch. Something deep in the plane switched on, and pressurized air blew on Iyesha from a small spout above. Dragon put on a headset that was next to him, a large letter D with two dragon wings emblazoned on the side. “Check, check control tower one. This is USA four-three-nine ready for takeoff.”

  “Reading you loud and clear, USA four-three-nine. Confirming your flight path will be due southwest to Tahiti International Airport, no stops?” a voice crackled over the PA system. Dragon reached for another switch and flicked it, silencing the voice. “Sorry about that,” he said to Iyesha.

  “No that’s fine,” she responded, checking to make sure she was buckled in. Glancing over at Dragon, she saw him flick more switches while going over technical details with the control tower. Flicking another switch brought the engines on.

  Iyesha was no stranger to planes. She’d flown around the country, bouncing between her divorced parents for the holidays when she was younger. Then when she was older, spring breaks in Cancun and Bimini Island. So there was always that thrill when the plane engines spun up. All that power, all those pieces spinning up to launch them up into the air.

  But this was something else. Normal commercial planes were the station wagon to this jet’s European sports car. There was real power in this thing. But it wasn’t brutish: it didn’t shake her or make her uncomfortable at all. This was more like a tiger on a leash. Lithe, sleek and incredibly powerful. The thrum of the engines resonated through her, and she felt it between her legs.

  The plane began to taxi out onto the runway. A runway worker gave the all clear sign and ran out of the jet’s path. Iyesha could see the runway stretched out in front of them, the bright noon sun illuminating everything clearly. She saw Dragon’s hands go to the control wheel in front of him. One dipped down to the throttle next to him and he pushed it.

  Iyesha felt herself shift straight backwards three inches as the jet leapt forward in a smooth, explosive motion. The hangars at the far end of the runway got close at an alarming pace. Instinctively, Iyesha’s hands went out in front of her and she closed her eyes. A chuckle came from her left. She felt herself being pulled downwards as the jet angled up, leaving the runway and airport below.

  Iyesha opened her eyes. The jet had evened out, the tops of clouds down below them, stretching out like endless fields of cotton.

  A hand clasped her shoulder. “We’re gonna have to work on them nerves, girl. It’s a big world out there, but not everything is out to get you. You know?” Dragon said, comforting her.

  “Oh I wasn’t scared,” Iyesha said, embarrassed. “I thought I saw a bird, and was going to shield you from it if it came through the windshield. My training kicked in automatically.” I think that was convincing. It wasn’t.

  “Mmmhmm,” Dragon said, adjusting a few switches in front of him and checking some dials. “Well, we good for another eight hours, then we land. I think you can turn off that training til’ then.”

  “I thought it was like ten and a half hours to Tahiti.”

  “It is if you flying commercial,” he said, looking over at her. “We ain’t flying commercial.”

  “No, we’re definitely not. So, like, whats up with this?” she asked, tapping the logo on his headset.

  “Oh. These…” he said, sighing. “It’s what Maxwell calls brand management. He thinks that some paparazzi is going to snap photos of me in the cockpit, so he thinks I should be wearing my Dragonwings when I fly.”

  “Dragonwings?”

  “Yeah…hey I didn’t come up with the name. It’s a little…” Dragon said, looking down.

  “A little…nerdy?” Iyesha asked, a grin forming.

  “Nah fuck that. I ain’t no nerd! Think I’m sittin’ in a basement with a bunch of twenty-sided dice or some shit?” he said, obviously perturbed.

  “Wait, what?” Iyesha squealed, “Twenty what?”

  “Never mind, just…never mind. I’m hungry. Why don’t you do something useful?” he said dismissively.

  “Umm, ok,” Iyesha said. Guess I found a nerve. Iyesha unbuckled herself and stood up, walking to the back of th
e cockpit. “What should I make?”

  Dragon’s upraised hand shooing her away was the only response she got.

  Iyesha stood in the jet’s kitchen. No expense was spared in the equipment. She only knew what half of these devices and utensils did, but anything she thought was associated with food was here. Gas range, refrigerator, oven, blenders, mixers, and a large device with copper tubes that looked like a mad scientist’s lab device.

  Iyesha was left with another problem. The shit I make comes out of a box and goes into a microwave. That was the one thing she expected that she didn’t see anywhere: a microwave. She opened the steel door of the refrigerator and was met with ingredients. Bundles of fresh vegetables, fruits and meats. There was even a drawer full of herbs.

  “Goddamn it,” she said. I can’t fuck this up too. I’m supposed to be caring for him, and so far I’ve helped him come into a sink and called him a nerd. Pushing some stuff around, she found a small brown package and unwrapped it. Inside was some pasta, fresh and soft. Ok, I can do spaghetti. I can fucking do spaghetti!

  “I can do spaghetti!” she cheered, thanking her good luck. She put the bundle of pasta on the marble countertop. She went through the cupboards, hoping to find a jar of tomato sauce, but no luck. Ok, I’ll have to improvise. She thought back to the countless mornings she’d lie in bed watching the daytime cooking shows, too lazy to change the channel. But she couldn’t think of any actual recipes. Nothing had stuck. If I could masturbate to those shows, I bet I’d have a damn catalogue of recipes in my head! Frustrated, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  The opening line of one of the cooking shows kept going through her head: keep it fresh and keep it simple. Keep it fresh and keep it simple. The first part was easy, everything around her was fresh. But simple…what could she do with that? She went back to the fridge and looked around. There were tomatoes, but turning those into a sauce would probably be disastrous. She looked at the door of the fridge and saw a few small bottles of oil.

  The first bottle she picked up had a handwritten label that identified it as olive oil from Spain, and that it had been cold pressed a few weeks ago. The other bottle was much smaller. It’s label also identified it as olive oil, but from Portugal. South American olive oil. Maybe it tastes better? It had more writing on it but her mind was made up. She put the smaller bottle on the counter. In another drawer she found a bunch of small bundles of cheese, and she sniffed each one until finding one that smelled like the powder in the green shaker bottle in the grocery store. This must be the parmesan.

  “Keep it fresh, keep it simple,” she said as she put a pan of water on to boil. Once the water reached a nice boil, she dropped the pasta in. Once it was done to her liking, she strained it out and put two small portions on plates. She opened the bottle of oil and poured it over the noodles, noting a fragrant musky odor. Portuguese olives are stinky! Grating a bit of the parmesan cheese over the plates of noodles, she found forks and walked the plates to the cockpit.

  Stepping into the cockpit, she saw Dragon fold a display panel down and slide it to the left. “I hope you’re in the mood for Spaghetti di Iyesha,” she said, holding out a plate to him. He hit a switch and the control stick pulled away from him. Large green letters blinked across the cockpit window: AUTOPILOT ENGAGED. He stood and took both plates, motioning her back out of the cockpit. “No food in the cockpit. We’ll eat in the lounge.”

  Back in the bar area, Dragon placed both plates on a table. He went to one of the chairs and pulled it out, looking at her expectantly. She scurried to stand in front of the chair and Dragon pushed it in for her. “Thank you,” she said.

  Dragon walked over to take his own seat. “Look, I’m sorry I blew up on you. Doing all this shit with the label and the clothing line has me on edge. But none of that is your fault. You didn’t deserve that,” he said, gathering up his fork and twirling a bundle of noodles onto his fork. He hefted them into his mouth, chewing with satisfaction.

  Iyesha beamed with pride. Yay! “It’s an old family recipe,” she lied. “Well, I had to improvise a little.” She began to eat her noodles. These are really good! I should open up a pasta place. The small portions on their plates didn’t last long. She grinned across the table at Dragon. Mmm…now that the appetizer is out of the way, time to have something more substantial.

  She pushed her seat back and ducked under the table. On her hands and knees, she crawled over to Dragon’s side of the table. She felt lightheaded, drunk on lust for this man. She looked down at his leather shoes, the supple brown calfskin and bold stitching along the sides. The white shoelaces were a stark contrast and were blazingly white.

  Her hands closed over his ankles, feeling the skin under his pants and the light curly downy hairs. Her fingertips brushed their way up his pant legs. She pulled the fabric of his pants taut and she saw the outline of his manhood pressed against his leg. It pulsed and grew half an inch while she watched. Her hand went to it, softly gripping it and giving it a squeeze through the thin wool of his pants. Her thumb stroked it near the base.

  A soft, lusty chuckle came from above her, Dragon obviously enjoying the after meal activity.

  She brought her mouth to his other leg and gently bit him. She smiled as she heard a sharp inhale up above. Her head swam. Must be the altitude. She nibbled her way up his thigh, her hand squeezing his cock every so often. Her face right in front of his crotch, she unzipped him and brought him out. His engorged length was still soft and pliable, and she brought him down to her waiting mouth.

  His head passed easily between her teeth, and she pressed further down until she felt his cock lodging itself against the back of her throat. She pulled back out, letting his spit covered cock hit the cool air of the lounge, which made it twitch towards her. “It knows where it wants to go. Must have a mind of it’s own,” she said before engulfing him again. Her hands massaged his balls through his pants, and she felt those tighten up after a few moments.

  She sped up her tempo, her mouth pulling back and jousting forward along his shaft.

  Dragon couldn’t hold back any more. With a grunt, his hips pushed upwards, bringing Iyesha’s head along for the ride. The top of her head bonked against the table, but before she could rub it, Dragon was flooding her mouth his with cum. He pulsed and pulsed, shooting hot sticky ropes all over her tongue. She swallowed it all, then squeezed him from the base of his cock to empty him into her hungry mouth. She kissed the head of his cock softly and crawled out from under the table.

  Standing up, Iyesha had to brace herself against the table. Down was up, up was down. She looked down at Dragon and saw him looking back at her. Their eyes locked. Iyesha felt her legs go weak and she needed to sit down. Her chair was impossibly far away, all the way on the other side of the table. Instead she just sat down in Dragon’s lap and nuzzled his neck. She felt his half hard cock strain against her ass, but it was out of commission for the moment.

  “Damn girl, you are trouble,” he said, softly kissing her forehead. “All any man wants in this life is a good meal and a good nut. I’m going to have to be careful around you,” his hand idly stroking her leg. “I feel fuckin’ faded. Any more of that pasta left?”

  “Nope. We ate it all. I used that whole bottle of oil, though I guess the bigger bottle is still in there.”

  His hand on her leg stopped. “Wait, which oil did you use?”

  “The South American one,” she mumbled. Why is he still talking? This is snuggle time.

  “South American? Huh?”

  Iyesha sighed. “The small one from Portugal,” she said.

  “The one with the long label talking about dosages?” he asked, his temper rising. “Goddamnit!”

  “What? Who cares?” she said, forcing her eyes open.

  “That was dank oil. We’re high as fuck right now!”

  Iyesha tried to stifle a giggle but couldn’t. “Yeah, I guess we are. About thirty thousand feet high!”

  “And I have to land this plan
e.”

  Iyesha’s giggle died in her throat. Shit! “Well, it’s better than being drunk, right? We’re going to be fine, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing to smoke a pound of kush then land a twenty eight million dollar jet. Fuck!” He said, lifting her off his lap. His hands went out to brace himself on the table. He breathed in and out deeply.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. “I just wanted to make something nice for you. I should have paid better attention.”

  “Just kill that cryin’ shit right now. It won’t help,” he said, regaining his composure. “Like you said, it’s better than being drunk. Landing while faded is fucked up, but we’ll be ok.”

  “Yeah, it should be smooth sai-“ Iyesha began, but some kind of alarm buzzing from the cockpit cut her off. “What’s that?” she asked.