by KC Decker
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks as he takes my hand. He probably can sense that I’m shutting down. Between my misstep at work and my parents, this conversation is going nowhere good.
“No, because it’s too late to adopt me,” I try using humor, but it doesn’t really deflect anything.
“I mean to help salvage your big account?”
“Let’s just see where the shit lands, and go from there,” I say. The truth is, I’ve been avoiding everything that has to do with work. I haven’t so much as checked my email, let alone followed up with the bobbled client.
“It’s going to be weird acclimating to our real lives again. I’m not sure how I’m going to kiss you goodbye and then only see you here and there when we have time,” he says.
His words sit like hot coals in my stomach, and I have no real response. The truth is that I’m going to miss him. I don’t even know what type of relationship he wants with me. Are we talking once a week we see each other? Texts and little else? How do I go from 24/7 where we are now, to a few dates peppered into our busy lives? Is that all he wants?
He must read something into my silence because he tips my chin up, so I meet his eyes. “We have spent just about every moment together for the past four days. I only mean we won’t be together like that once we get home.” His explanation immediately makes me feel better about the relationship he wants with me.
“Yeah, and just when I’ve finally gotten used to you showboating your morning wood.”
“Right, and I’ve finally grown accustomed to your odd choices in sleepwear and complete refusal to use a pillow.”
I smile wistfully and lean my head on his shoulder. Being a late flight, the captain has dimmed the lights, and that, coupled with the hum of the engines, should lull me to sleep or at least relax me.
However, the surprisingly loud, open-mouthed breathing in the row next to us is rather distracting. The woman must be used to her husband’s emphatic sleep habits though because she is conked out right next to him.
“Are you bummed the convention is over?” I ask.
“I won’t miss having to work during all that chaos. I’m only bummed we left off where we did,” he says with an unreadable smile on his lips. Does he mean, now that we are getting along? Or very specifically, with his dick in my mouth? Before thinking better of it, I slide my palm up the inside of his thigh. He looks down at my hand and then back at my face.
“Do you mean…where we left off…here?” I ask as I flutter my fingers against the crotch of his jeans. I feel his penis twitch behind the denim and am reminded of the unrequited state of his dick.
“…or here?” I ask while tapping my lips with one finger.
He doesn’t answer me; he just palms my ear and lands his mouth solidly against mine. When he pulls back a fraction, he says, “You can’t possibly expect me to answer that.” I flutter my fingers again and feel his dick start to stiffen against his thigh.
“You better stop, things are about to get uncomfortable inside my jeans.”
“Take off your sweatshirt,” I tell him. He looks around before taking it off. I can see him calculate the risk, and then decide to take it. He drops the discarded clothing lightly on his lap, while I unclasp his seatbelt and start popping open the buttons on his jeans.
After I get his fly open, I’m not really sure where to go from here. His half-hard dick is pretty trapped down the leg of his pants. Evidently, he is used to such adjustments because he skillfully hoists the thing to freedom.
This turn of events is certainly a contrast from our flight to California, where he debated whether or not our seats should even be together, but a lot can happen in four days.
I loosen my own seatbelt to a ridiculous degree so I can turn toward him even more and also somewhat put my back to the aisle. When I take his shaft in my hand it feels unnaturally warm—kind of like me right now.
I assume a dry hand won’t feel all that good, so I focus entirely on his glans. After he spits out some pre-cum, I may adjust my technique, but for now, just the head.
When I flicker the tip of my thumb against his frenulum, he closes his eyes and drops his head back against the seat. His skin feels like the softest satin, but he is bulging hard now that I’ve begun to work his cock.
The process of an in-flight hand job is a little different because I really need to limit the amount of movement beneath his sweatshirt. The system that seems to work the best is wrapping my hand around him just beneath his coronal ridge and shallowly bumping over it. While my hand thumps up and back, my thumb alternates between swiping over his glans, and shimmying against his f-spot.
His breaths are starting to come faster, so it’s no surprise when pre-cum oozes out and lubes up the whole process. By now, I’ve decided to mostly ignore his shaft and only employ a full stroke after nervously glancing around at my compromising surroundings.
It’s quiet and seems like every passenger is engrossed in a book or movie, or asleep—including the noisy sleepers across the aisle. Plus, not one single person has ventured to the back of the plane to use the restroom.
Gavin’s head is still tipped back but now and then he will open his eyes, presumably to also assess our surroundings. The notable difference to his handsome face is the squared-off and bulging jaw that has resulted from clenching his teeth. He hasn’t made a sound, and that must be why.
Now, it’s me who takes the calculated risk. I unclasp my loosened seatbelt entirely, scooch back as much as I can into the open seat, and move aside the sweatshirt.
Gavin opens his eyes when I remove the protective covering, but he doesn’t fully lift his head until the tip of his dick is in my mouth. He tenses up for a few wild seconds while looking around, but he must come to the same conclusion I did about the other passengers because he relaxes into the seat again.
Cognizant of how it will look if I start bobbing up and down, I stick with my original plan. I turn my head so Gavin can see the side of my face, and then start rubbing the tip of my tongue against the little V on the underside of his head.
After many minutes of me tonguing his f-spot, circling the ridge of his head, and occasionally sucking on the tip, Gavin squeezes his hand into a fist. This action serves two purposes. It aggressively pulls a handful of my hair, and it indicates the fact that he is about to come—which I’m already well aware of.
I close my mouth around him, bump my lips twice more over his coronal ridge, and then he comes violently in my mouth. I can feel his strain to keep quiet every bit as much as I can feel the warm cum spurting from his cock. As much as I hate swallowing cum, there are not really any other options short of whitewashing the tray table in front of us.
After his penis has finished contracting and he has emptied himself down my throat, he finally loosens his grip on my hair. His eyes are closed again, and his head is tipped toward the ceiling of the plane.
I attempt to put him back into his jeans, but he stops me by placing the wadded-up sweatshirt on his lap with one hand and helping me to sit up with the other. He still hasn’t changed his position or his expression, but he adjusts his arm so he can hold me snugly against his shoulder and chest.
I can feel this heart beating wildly beneath his shirt, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Gradually the pounding in his chest slows to a normal rhythm, and just when I think he must have fallen asleep, he tips his head and speaks into my hair.
“That was outstanding.”
I wrap my unpinned arm around his abdomen and relax against him. I don’t want this trip to end. Not ever. I don’t want to go back to my empty loft and demanding career, I want to stay tucked against Gavin forever.
“Ballsy, but outstanding,” he chuckles. I can feel the rumble of his laugh against my cheek. I should be laughing too, but I’m not. I’m way too busy thinking about the airport goodbye that’s getting closer by the second. That, and wondering how long it will be before I can see him again.
Chapter 25
&nbs
p; We walked through the airport hand in hand like an actual couple but had both been a little quiet. The late hour and long day on the horizon hadn’t been the only reason for the somber tone. It seems we had both been anticipating our imminent goodbyes.
Gavin had broken the silence with talk of logistics when he asked me if I parked or Ubered. Then, upon finding out we were both parked in the short-term parking lot, he walked me safely to my car.
Now we are standing in the parking lot and the moment has arrived. He leans against my driver’s side door, preventing me from too hasty of a departure, as if that is really an issue.
“Come here,” he says quietly, and then opens his arms for me to walk into them. When my face is tucked into the crook of his neck, he hugs me tighter and then says, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
I answer him by kissing his neck, then migrating to his mouth for a surprisingly long, sensual kiss. After a while, he pulls his head back.
“Is that a yes? I want to take you somewhere nice to thank you for helping me—at the risk of fire-bombing your pristine career path.” His joking manner comes perhaps a little too soon for me to laugh about, so I answer simply.
“Yes.”
“Good, now go home and get some sleep,” he says, but instead of moving away from my door, he palms the back of my head and pulls me into another lengthy kiss.
When he finally decides it’s time to go, he steps aside, opens the back door, and puts my suitcase in for me. Then he opens mine so I can get in.
“Goodnight, Alabama. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 26
Work is a shitshow, just as I anticipated it would be. It’s going to take me a week to climb out from all the rubble and get caught up. The old me would stay very late every night until I’m able to flawlessly come out on top. That’s the old me, the new me has a date with Gavin tonight.
The old me would probably wait until I got home this evening to finally return all of my friend’s texts—but I’m not going to do that either. I can’t concentrate on work anyway; I might as well let everyone know how my weekend went.
Arden’s was easy, she only asked how it went. I responded that I would tell her on Friday, which is our standing happy hour group date. I’m going to bring Gavin, that should answer any lingering questions.
Ivy wanted some juicy details, so I texted her the selfie with Gavin’s tongue in my ear, and told her she was right, no sex, but that I know all about his piercings now. I already know what she is going to say when she reads it. First, she is going to do a little internal squeal, then she is going to text back, tell me, tell me, tell me. Side note: I was wrong, she texted back, tell me everything, but I still know I was right about the squeal.
Miles will require more time, so I’ll wait until I leave for lunch, and then call him the old-fashioned way. My phone is still in my hand, and the dopy smile is still on my face when my boss pokes his head in my office.
“We need to talk about Boeing.”
“Right, about that,”
***
After a grueling morning, and a very uncomfortable sit-down with my boss, I’m finally heading out for a bite to eat…at 2:45. I don’t want to rock the boat any more than I already have, so I’m going to keep it to thirty minutes. That will get Miles out of the way, and maybe a muffin in my empty stomach.
He picks up right away, “Is it bad? It must be bad if you are calling me. What did you do? How could you have fucked up again so soon?”
“Number one, screw you for re-packing my bag.”
“And two?” he asks with a smile in his voice, and I know he is already patting himself on the back.
“Number two, thanks for re-packing my bag.”
“Cut to the chase. Is he any good in bed?”
“I wouldn’t know, Miles, because he is a perfect gentleman.”
“Horseshit.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“Liar.”
“Well, not like sex-sex.”
“I knew it. You’re a tramp. Now spill.”
***
When I leave the office at the respectable time of 5:05 instead of staying the few expected extra hours, I can feel my boss’ glare on my back, it feels hot and hateful. As he watches his golden child step on the elevator, and out of his life for the evening, I can almost feel his blood pressure rising.
Look, I’ve been a model employee for damn near a decade, I deserve to leave at a reasonable hour one time. I was in my office with coffee in hand at 6:30 this morning. The problem with being the office workhorse is that all the extra work, all the above and beyond, all the going the extra mile—along with all the late nights and personal sacrifices, is that it becomes the expectation, not the excess.
Well, I’m over it. I recently decided to make some room in my life to care about more than my career and my Friday evening drinks with friends.
There. I’m happier already.
Now, I gotta get home and get ready for my date.
Chapter 27
My fingers are actually tingling when I buzz Gavin up. I’m so excited to see him that I actually wonder if there is something wrong with me. I practically stepped over my mountain of work on my way out of the office—and I don’t care. Normally, I wouldn’t even sleep tonight because I would be fretting about everything left unfinished at work.
Now?
Now, I’m going to sleep like a baby.
Preferably after a couple rounds of insanely hot sex, and sleeping like we’re woven together—like we did in LA.
When Gavin walks in, the first thing I notice is his huge smile. The second thing is how sexy he looks all dressed up and polished. It’s not until after a long lascivious kiss that I notice the flowers.
“You brought me flowers?” I ask, touched to the point of breathlessness. No one has ever given me flowers. Well, I guess if you count the corsage Danny Eubanks gave me before prom, I’ve technically been given flowers before. But had I known he was going to try and stick his skinny pecker in me all night, I would have just handed the corsage back to him.
“Of course, this is our first date,” Gavin says, with no small amount of humor in his voice. He sets the lilies on the coffee table and then adds, “I want it to be special.”
I love that he considers this our first date, especially considering how many times we have been naked, or nearly naked together. Never mind how intimate our mouths have been with each other’s body.
“I thought you said you don’t kiss on a first date?”
“That only applies to bad first dates. This first date is going to be one for the record books,” he says as he slides his hands up my thighs and underneath my dress. He discovers pretty quickly that I’m wearing a garter belt, and before I even know what’s happening, he has hoisted me to his hips.
His kiss is smothering in the very best of ways, and gives the impression he has missed me just as much as I have missed him. His hand roams to my essentially bare ass cheek, which precedes a deep, throaty groan.
“Are you trying to derail our first date, Alabama?” he asks as he squeezes my ass. I get the distinct impression he would smack it too, if it weren’t our first date, that is.
“I made reservations at Le Palais, and I had to pull some strings because they are booked out for months. Months, Alabama. And then you go and put on sexy undergarments, and almost make us miss our reservation.” He is slowly shaking his head in admonishment, but he has yet to put me down.
“You can think about my sexy undergarments while we savor our very special, first date dinner at the now over-booked Le Palais,” I say as I squeeze my thighs around his body. The action puts just enough pressure on my clit, to realize it was a bad idea.
“I can promise you I will be thinking about them at the restaurant—about how I will be peeling them off of you later.” His words send a shiver through my body, except this shiver feels searing hot.
***
It took about five and a half seconds to realize why Le Palais
is booked out for months on end. I have never had a meal I would describe as exquisite—until now. Not that I could pronounce a single thing we ate, but each plated arrival was better than the last. And don’t even get me started on the wine.
The company, however, puts the meal to shame. Gavin is sophisticated, he is funny, and he is completely charming. Right now, he looks like he is posing for a full-page cologne ad, and it is melting my panties right off. He’s sexy on a bad day but put him in a suit, and he has enough swagger for ten guys. I would almost skip dessert just to get him home. Almost. We are at Le Palais for heaven’s sake.
“Alabama, show me your panties.”
*record scratch
“Did you just—ask me to show you my panties?” My eyes must be literally bulging from my head. I mean, we are drinking a $400 bottle of wine—in a really fancy restaurant. Gavin even did the whole wine presentation ritual, with the swirling and the smelling. The panty request takes a quick sprint in the opposite direction.
Gavin pulls his phone out of the inside pocket of his suit coat, navigates to the video setting, and then maneuvers it into his lap and under the heavily starched table cloth. Oh my God, he is serious.
“I think the wine is getting to you,” I tease, but if I’m honest, flashing my panties to his camera sounds kind of hot. Absolutely no one would suspect a thing because of the table cloth.
“I think you are getting to me,” he counters.
“I can’t have something like that on your phone. What if you get mad at me and upload it to Instagram? Or worse, Pornhub?” Now, I actually giggle. Perhaps the wine is getting to me.
“Give me your phone then.”
I think about it for a few seconds less than I should, and then fish my phone out of my purse and slide it across the table to him.
“You didn’t unlock it.”