My thundering pulse echoes in my ears as the engines roar to life—I’m not sure which is louder. As Marsha walks to the rear of the plane, I question my sanity.
Did I really just agree to mile-high sex?
With my boss—the owner of the company where I work?
In a company plane?
Before I can make sense of my reality or remember the concept of ground rules, Duncan turns my way and covers my hand with his. “Kimbra, no promises about anything beyond this weekend. But for this weekend—the next four days—I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. I’m ready to see if my imagination has even been close when it comes to what’s under your skirt.”
“Pretend.” The word is barely audible over my internal mayhem.
We lurch in our seats as the plane begins to taxi. Duncan’s large hand comes off mine and splays over my thigh. “We’re leaving pretend in New York. It’s time to build a bouquet.”
I LAY THE pink rose on the seat opposite me as I consider its meaning.
Did she intend it the way I’m taking it? Is that pink rose her acceptance of my invitation?
Are we about to seal her membership in the mile-high club?
Am I about to have the woman I’ve long fantasized about?
The questions continue as my anticipation reaches epic levels. I’m trying to recall all of the suave things I should say. This isn’t my first rodeo, though it feels that way. I’ve done similar things before, yet I suddenly have no memories. My brain seems unable to function. Synapses misfire or no longer take place. I surmise that it’s due to the sudden lack of circulation. My blood is obviously rushing elsewhere. As my dick hardens at record speed, advanced communication, or even discussing the weather, seems currently outside my capability.
I can’t recall the last time I’ve been this excited to be with a woman.
Maybe this has to do with what Kimbra said the other night at Gaston’s. She’d said that easiest isn’t always best. God knows that getting her—us—to this point hasn’t been easy. The reality is that I’ve had easy. Easy kneels at my feet in a public bathroom. Easy spreads her legs with merely a grin. Kimbra has been anything but easy.
With the plane moving, I turn and take in her presence. After all this time, she’s so close. Her soft skin, the scent of her sweet perfume, and even the lyrical sound of her voice as she talks about the rose, have all brought us to this pivotal moment. This isn’t a rash move. Three years have led to now.
I can’t contain my smile as I run my gaze over her sexy form. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, I want to experience everything that is Kimbra Jones.
With her head lying back against the seat, her long auburn hair is pulled back, allowing her sensual neck to be on display. It takes all my restraint not to reach out and caress the sensitive skin. My gaze moves lower and my mouth goes dry at the swell of her breasts.
How many times have I fantasized about them?
Now they’re here, moving against her blouse with each of her breaths. I imagine her panting as they rise and fall in rapid succession. I imagine stripping each layer of clothing until her tits are exposed to my whims. Lower yet, I take in her gray skirt with the trim waist and imagine the prize beneath. My sweep of her sexy body continues with her long shapely legs. They’re bare and smooth with toned calves that narrow at her ankle and on to her high heels. Today, they’re black. Immediately, I recall the red ones, the ones responsible for where we are today.
There is absolutely nothing about this woman I would change.
Kimbra Jones is fucking perfect. It’s not just her beauty but everything about her. My dick continues to grow, painfully straining within the confines of my boxer briefs as her small whimper—the one she let out as I surprised her with a kiss in the elevator—replays in my mind. I remember how her tits moved with exaggerated breaths against my chest and her lips opened to the persistence of my tongue. Warm and sweet, she tasted like spearmint and sunshine.
I wasn’t lying when I said I’d imagined what is under her skirt. You could call it daydreams or even night dreams. The mystery has been forefront in my mind for the last three days. Every waking minute and even those while asleep have been plagued by a chronic case of blue balls.
The truth is, my musings didn’t begin three days ago. They started much sooner. Kimbra Jones has been a recurring quandary ever since the first day she came into my office nearly three years ago. She’s professional and hard as nails when the job requires, yet sweet as sugar when it doesn’t. There’s no doubt her body caught my attention, but there’s more than that. She’s quick-witted and smart. She can be playful or serious. She’s challenging and accommodating, a dichotomy of the women I usually date.
Slowly, I move my hand higher over her thigh. As I do, her blue eyes flash quickly my way, earning me a small grin from her sexy lips. The fabric of her skirt is the barrier separating me from what I’ve wanted. Perhaps that’s part of her allure, the reason I seized the opportunity she presented. Ever since that fateful afternoon when I first gazed into her stunning eyes, she’s always been respectful and courteous.
There are other women at Buchanan and Willis who have blatantly thrown the company handbook out the window with their overt suggestions and come-ons. Not once has Kimbra been that way. Her integrity and brains are what have propelled her to star in many of my fantasies as much as her beauty.
As the plane lifts off the ground, I move my fingers higher.
“O-oh,” she gasps as her eyes flutter closed.
Is it my touch or the way the plane is ascending?
I’m dying to know what she’s thinking, if she’s certain about this weekend, and if she intended the pink rose the way I interpreted it. I want all of her, not just her body, but her thoughts and mind.
It doesn’t take long before the plane levels. When it does, I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. It’s time to seize the opportunity she presented to me as her plus-one. When I turn and zero my gaze on Kimbra, she’s looking out the window, still holding the red rose between her fingertips.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I lean toward her and unbuckle hers. When her blue eyes meet mine, I lay it on the line. I’ve never been a man who pussyfooted around when it came to sex. I’ve known what I wanted and I’ve taken it—seized it. Never forcibly, but it was never denied me. Yet with Kimbra, it’s different. I don’t want this weekend to ruin our work relationship. Fuck! For the first time that I can remember, I want both.
Standing, I take her red rose and place it on the seat next to the pink one.
Towering above, I lean down with my hands on the armrests and our faces close. “It’s time to start that bouquet.”
Her lips thin as she swallows.
“Since we left pretend in New York, why don’t we think of this weekend as a fantasy.”
“A fantasy?”
“Yes, my fantasy. One I’ve thought about, one that has turned me from hard to steel as I beat off in my bed or shower.”
Kimbra gasps.
“Maybe it’s only been me. Maybe you’ve never thought about having me inside you? Maybe you haven’t fantasized as I have?”
Again, her breasts heave as a new layer of red blotches forms above the scooped neckline of her blouse and migrates up her neck. Her pink tongue darts to her lip.
Still she doesn’t look away; our eyes stay glued to one another’s.
“Tell me, Kimbra, is my fucking your tight, warm pussy only my fantasy?”
“D-Duncan…”
As I trail my finger from the sensitive skin behind her ear to the edge of her blouse, her long lashes flutter.
“Yes or no?”
She moves her head from side to side before her eyes lower.
The loss of her blue gaze leaves me lonely and wanting. I lift her chin with one hand and ask, “So you’ve imagined it too?”
“Yes.” Her answer is soft, but it’s all I need.
“Have you touched yourself and imagined me like I’v
e imagined you?”
“Duncan.”
“This chemistry is too intense to be only one-sided. Tell me.”
“I-I,” she stutters. “I’ve imagined you.”
“And.”
“I’ve touched myself.”
My smile grows as I reach for her hand. “Come with me, Kimbra. No one’s going to believe that we’ve been together for five months if we don’t do something about this sexual tension, if you don’t get that membership, and our bouquet doesn’t earn another flower.” She stands. “You understand what I’m saying?”
She squares her shoulders. “Yes.”
“The thing is… I believe the mile-high club rules state that it takes multiple sessions to be considered a lifetime member.”
As her breathing deepens, I reach for the zipper on the side of her skirt and tug. The gray material falls to the floor.
Sucking in a breath, I scan her gorgeous curves. Holy hell! Her panties aren’t really panties but a small triangle of light blue lace with skimpy strings, one going up her ass. I take off my jacket and loosen my tie as she stands still, watching my every move.
I reach for her blouse. “Lift your arms, Miss Jones. I need to see your tits.”
A smile breaks across her face, lifting her cheeks. “No, Mr. Willis, not until I remove your shirt.”
No?
I can’t remember the last time a woman said that word.
If I was hard before, I’m a fucking stone now. Instead of answering, I nod. She smiles and pulls my necktie from its knot. Then, button by button, she opens my shirt. With each second she spends, paying special attention to my cufflinks—why the fuck do I wear those things?—I become more and more uncomfortable. If she takes much longer, I’ll explode.
By the time my chest is bare, my cock is crying with need.
Next she lifts her arms and I raise her blue blouse. Her bra is the same light blue color, matching the small triangle of lace covering her pussy. The lace cups barely cover her big tits as they overflow with mountainous globes. The sight of her in nothing but blue lacy underwear and heels is erotic as hell. Another time I’ll allow myself to enjoy the view, but now I want it all gone.
Before I can undo her bra, Kimbra reaches for my belt, the button on my pants, and the zipper. Her forwardness surprises and excites me. For some reason, I’d expected her to be more tentative, but damn, this is so much hotter.
Kicking off my pants and shoes, I stand in my socks and boxer briefs, my erection peeking from the waistband, too large to stay contained.
I shudder as Kimbra hisses and runs her hand over the length of my penis. She stills near the crown, rubbing her thumb over the dewy tip.
Suddenly the plane pitches and Kimbra squeals. I pull her close as we steady our stance. With my lips at her ear, I say, “There are so many things I want to do to you.”
“I want you to.” Her thumb continues to rub over the crown of my dick. “I want it all.”
Reaching for her bra, I unsnap the clasp and free her fucking huge tits. With one arm holding her steady, I pull the straps loose. They’re everything I imagined and more. A small moan escapes her lips as I cup one, enjoying its weight in the palm of my hand. My head dips and I suck the other. Instantly, her deep pink nipple beads as I pull it tighter between my teeth.
I’ve dreamed of this moment.
Fuck. I want all of her.
Taking her hand, I lead her toward the couch along the side of the cabin. Instead of laying her down, after a quick kiss, I spin her around until she’s facing the couch and direct her hands to the back. Her breasts heave, hanging heavy, gorged with anticipation. As I step back, I run my hand over her firm, round ass, appreciating each and every curve. Latching my thumbs under the side strings, I tug, removing the small triangle of lace.
To my excitement as I spread her legs, the air fills with more of her whimpers and on her thighs is the evidence that she’s as ready for this as I am.
Dipping my hand between her folds, my finger purposely strokes all the way from her clit to her tight, puckered hole. Her body quakes as she rewards me with more whimpers and moans. Taking my finger to my lips, I hum, noisily slurping her essence, coating my tongue with her sweetness.
I lean over her, nip the soft skin of her ear, and whisper, “You taste fucking fantastic. Tonight, in your bedroom, I plan on burying my face in your pussy. I plan on making you scream my name so that your entire family knows that you’re not only dating, but coming apart right under their roof.”
“D-Duncan,” she stutters.
“Yeah, beautiful, you can scream my name. But right now, if I don’t put my cock inside you, I’m going to come all over your ass, and while I like the idea of that too, first I need to know what it’s like to be inside of you.”
Her head falls forward.
“Tell me, beautiful. Do you want that? Do you want me inside you?”
“Yes.”
I love the desperation in her voice.
She turns and gives me a million-dollar smile. “Five months is a long time to wait.”
Motherfucker. It’s been three years since she walked through the door of Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals, into my office, and into my life.
I bite the inside of my cheek, using all my restraint, as I reach for the silver packet from the inside pocket of my jacket, rip it open, and sheath myself. I barely succeed when a growl rumbles from my throat. I reach for her hips as my balls tighten and I run the crown of my hard shaft along her folds, aligning myself to the place I’ve dreamt of being.
My mind and soul want to take this slow, to make our first time special, but my body is on the brink of explosion. As Kimbra wiggles her ass against me, rational thinking disappears. Thrust by thrust I delve inside, her body welcoming me with a warm, slick coating while the walls of her pussy contract like a vise, closing down tighter and tighter. Each inch is sweet torture. Behind my closed eyes stars explode as I drive deeper into her firm haven.
“Fuck!” Kimbra yells as our bodies unite.
She’d said that fuck was her favorite word. Whether it is or not, it sounds magical falling from her lips as her body moves with mine. I open my eyes and watch how perfectly we fit together. In and out. My dick, slick with her juices, and her bright pink pussy are made for one another. Her round ass bounces with each invasion as her fingers blanch and nails bite into the soft leather of the couch.
Harder and faster I thrust. It’s perfect and insufficient. The deeper I plunge, the more I crave. She’s a drug that my body needs. Now that I’m inside her, I never want to leave. I need more.
Kimbra Jones has been my fantasy for three years. Being inside of her is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. In and out, I bury my cock. She pushes back until my balls slap her thighs and we fall into a magical rhythm.
The cabin fills with whimpers, moans, and cuss words as we both climb higher. Higher than any mountain. Higher than any plane. We’re on the top of the fucking world when she tenses. Her arms and legs go rigid and her pussy contracts. A stream of fucks flies from her lips.
As she shatters around me, wave after wave pulls my dick. A sheen of perspiration covers our skin when finally her head falls back to my shoulder. With her auburn hair falling loose against me, she turns her lips toward mine.
She tastes like cool mint warmth. Kisses become nips as our tongues tangle and the pressure inside me builds. When the dam breaks, I come apart, soaring through the sky and riding the wave of the best fucking orgasm of my life.
MY KNEES BUCKLE and elbows lose tension as I fall forward, face-first toward the couch. It’s Duncan’s strong arms that save me from kissing the leather as my body continues to ride out the wave of my second orgasm. That was amazing. No, better than that. Duncan is better than any man. Better than every man, I imagine.
It’s not like I’ve fucked hundreds, not like I have a lot to compare him to; nevertheless, against my short backlist, Duncan comes out way on top. With just one encounter he’s jumped to
number one.
My first sexual experience was in high school and quite honestly, I shouldn’t have to count it. We’d been dating for a few years. The petting had become more advanced when we decided it was time. By the time he got the condom on he’d already come. Still semi-hard, we gave it a go.
I decided that night that all the talk about sex was overrated. Obviously, what the books I found in my mom’s bedside stand described was the definition of fiction.
In college, my second real boyfriend convinced me to give it another try. He was better than my first, but then again, the bar wasn’t set very high.
Timothy was my third and supposed to be my last. We weren’t students but actual adults with careers and a future. Forever was supposed to come next. I thought what I had with him was what sex was supposed to be. I was content to live with that forever until, nearly a year into our relationship, I found him fucking Carla from accounting.
It was then and there that I knew that not only was the sex in books pure fiction but so was the concept of love. My gratification would come from my battery-operated boyfriend because I knew he’d never break my heart. And if he did, I’d ditch him and buy a new B-O-B. Our relationship may not be based on love, but I loved what he could do to me, especially on full power.
But this—whatever just happened—was different. Is different. There were stars—no, fireworks and volcanic eruptions—as Duncan pushed me higher than I’ve ever been. My body is still quaking as I momentarily entertain the idea that if sex can be as good as they say in books that maybe, just maybe, love also exists.
No. This is pretend.
How will I walk away from this weekend?
As Duncan pulls out and my legs quiver, I begin to wonder how I’ll walk, period.
Warm lips find my neck, my shoulder, and my back. “That was—”
“Fucking amazing,” I say, blood rushing from my core to fill my cheeks.
Duncan turns me around so that I’m sitting on the soft couch. After tying the end of the condom and throwing it away, he kneels between my legs. I want to be embarrassed about what just happened, about the fact that my boss is staring at my most private area, the place where he’d just ruined me for every other man.
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