by Brock, V. L.
“But you have no luggage, sweetie. You can’t just––”
“Jessie,” I interject, “how many times have we fantasized about getting up and leaving everything behind. I told him about needing to pack, but he was insistent.”
The connection goes quiet for a brief moment. Then I hear Jessie’s weighted sigh echo on the opposite end of the line. “Where is he taking you?” she omits the squeaky, schoolgirl shrieking and regains her usual, placid tone.
“New York.”
“New York?!” she screeches yet again. “Well, no wonder he said there’s no need to pack.”
“Samantha, they are calling our flight,” Hayden whispers from over my left shoulder.
“Okay,” I nod at him, before focusing back on Jessie. “Listen, Jess. They’re calling us. I will ring you in the morning.”
“Have fun, love you.”
“Love you, too.” I place the receiver back on its stand. Hanging my head, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This feels so surreal. Is this wrong? I shake my head in vain as I recognize the impulsiveness of our actions, which sends solid doubts through my mind.
I can’t believe we are doing this…New York?
The querying thoughts of our hasty decision are quelled by erotic, steamy, muscle clenching, body quivering conceptions, of the given opportunity to recover the passion and intimacy that we have lacked as a couple. Back in the office, Hayden’s eyes had glinted with such intense, well-defined desire that I could sense the pooling between my thighs as a result of that single, penetrating gaze, the way he slithered his hand and grasped the peak of my inner thigh as we drove back to his apartment to change, and book our flight. The combination of both my reflections has my muscles tighten and the familiar throbbing, engorging sensation below my navel begins to manifest.
My reverie is broken by strong, familiar arms snaking around my middle. I sink into his embrace, tilting my head back to rest on his chest. My chest heaves as my breathing hitches. The abstinence we have undergone lately is prolific, my body and my hormones unable to withstand it any longer. I need him: his touch, his taste, the closeness, I need it desperately. I hunger for him like the sexually staved woman that I am.
My body screams for his touch to descend lower, to place a form of pressure between my legs. To hitch up my mid-thigh, denim skirt and sink into my panties and relieve me of my frustrations. Altering my weight from one leg to the other, I press myself into his front and allow the small of my back to brush against his crotch.
I feel him begin to swell beneath me.
“Miss Kennedy,” he growls in my ear, his husky voice journeying along the incessant vibrations through my body. “We need to get on that plane…come.”
Come? That single word makes my legs buckle beneath me as it is purred against my ear. My traitorous body reveals with every harsh breath, every diminutive writhe that is warranted against his towering form, the affect he has upon me.
Reluctantly pulling myself out of his powerful encirclement, I twist to face him. His stance, his profile…the way the V of his chest is exposed as the top two buttons of his navy shirt remains undone, his dark jeans hangs from his hips in that delicious way that screams sex, and commandeers any rational thought in my head. The glint of the silver chain around his neck draws my attention.
I push up onto the balls of my feet and place a sultry, wet kiss on his neck while I bask in both the prickliness of his stubble against my cheek and the virile sound emitted from his throat. I watch his eyes darken dangerously with ravenous intent as I draw myself away from his body. Heated instantly under his sexual scrutiny, so heated that my lips crack and wither, I run my tongue across them while reveling in the knowledge of his passionate desires…I feel powerful, and a form of female triumph as I entice him through each and every look and deed.
I grin up at him salaciously.
“You are a tease, Mr. Wentworth.”
Three hours into our estimated five and a half hour flight and my frustrations are mounting. My body can’t tolerate any more sexual depravity. The tension that began at my sex now backtracks to claim my hips, stomach and my lower back. My muscles constrict and ache beyond any strength they have ever endured. I am aching––aching to be used as a toy for his pleasure, aching to alleviate some of the discomfort that Hayden is purposely provoking, inflaming me with one hundred degrees of unadulterated carnality.
My nerve endings sizzle and ignite when he sets a powerful hand upon the bare flesh of my crossed knee. I turn to face him and gasp instantaneously as my eyes fall onto the smouldering expression in his already intense eyes. He sweeps his glorious tongue over his lips in a prolonged yet irresistible fashion. I gasp again, and an indistinct sound that only we can hear escapes from my throat.
“Are you okay, beautiful? You look a little…uncomfortable,” he hums perceptively.
My eyes well up in dissatisfaction as my needs as a woman are thwarted. My respiring is unhinged and the irrepressible trembling of my body as I contest with my urges is tiring. I tense my thighs and draw my legs closer into my body, endeavoring to place a minuscule of pressure in the desired area.
I close my eyes and hang my head.
“I can’t…I can’t…” I breathe whilst frantically flailing my head.
“Can’t what, Samantha?”
I open my eyes and will myself to peek up. His hand travels from my right knee up the length of my thigh, adjusting so his fingertips catch the inner flesh. I’m an amassed of sensual tingles and desirous sparks when I see him scrape his teeth across his lower lip, and my rational mind absconds, leaving me with only one thought.
“Can’t…what?” he mouths again. And my attention centers on the formation of his mouth as he enunciates each word clearly. The alluring gleam in his eye becoming more and more distinctive with every torturous issuing he executes on my body.
Swiftly uncrossing my legs, I push myself up out of the comfort of the first-class seat. I situate my hands on each side of Hayden’s chair and lean in closely.
“Give it three minutes…then come and find me.”
He furrows his brow with amused perplexity. I glimpse over to the cubicle of the restroom and gaze back at the handsome man who screams sexual energy beneath me. I arch my eyebrow suggestively. Hayden’s grin deepens and his eyes blacken.
“Seriously…three minutes, exactly.” I inch closer and whisper in his ear, “If you’re not there…I’m going solo.” His jaw drops open, shocked at my verbalized intentions. “I mean it, with or without you, Hayden.”
Shimmying my way out of my white cotton panties, I stash them into the front pocket of my denim skirt before inspecting myself in the vanity mirror above the washbasin. Fisting my hands into my hair, I puff up my roots to add a little extra volume, when I detect the cubicle door opening in the reflection. I pivot around with the grace of a prima ballerina.
Hayden steps inside the stall, closing and locking the door behind him and not once does he avert his eyes away from me. I take a step closer. Clutching at his shirt, I wrench him into my body and seal my mouth over his, kissing him fervently––my mouth has been starved of him for, too long. He opens his mouth and grants my tongue entrance to caress and play with his. Stretching onto the balls of my feet, my breasts press against his firm chest and I envision the carved, defined lines and muscles that are concealed beneath his shirt.
He pulls away from my mouth. Panting he murmurs, “Samantha,” but I press my index finger against his lips, instantly silencing him.
I search his eyes, his smouldering and conflicted eyes and shake my head. “Don’t say a word. I need you, Hayden,” I release his shirt from my grip, fisting my hands into his thick, silky, floppy hair. “I need you now.”
I’m panting and wanton. The conflict that was in his eyes only a second ago now completely dissipated, only hunger and greed stares back at me. And what a heady combination it is when it’s Hayden Wentworth displaying it.
He frees a feral sound which ex
ceeds in making my sex swell and dampen as he lunges toward me. His mouth fixes with mine, his tongue delves into my mouth, and pushing so deep I feel the tip of it reaching the back of my throat. His right hand holds me at the nape of my neck, as the other smoothes, gropes and explores the length of my body.
“I’ve missed these hands,” I breathe against his lips.
“I’ve missed this body,” he pulls away and examines my eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he says pointedly, and then his lips claim me anew.
We are a blend of lips and hands, with Hayden kneading my breasts with pleasurable force at the same time as my own hands roam down his body and squeeze the decadent bulge filling his jeans, overfilling my hand.
I prop my right leg up onto the closed seat of the lavatory, and his hand reaches under the tiny piece of material that hides my feminine secrets. As his touch strikes at the aching, throbbing, southern part of my anatomy, I thrust my hips further, welcoming his touch and my guttural whimper of appreciation travels inside his mouth.
“I need you, Hayden,” I rasp pulling away from his lips. And in my state of unconcealed urgency, fumble with his belt buckle and zipper. I push my pelvis up to meet the heel of his hand appealing to his fingers, silently urging them to sink inside me. My motion is granted and Hayden forces one finger inside, pushing past the tightness of my walls, before adding another.
It’s been so long that even now, with only two of his skilful fingers inside me, circling me and prepping me to accommodate his glorious cock, that I sense that familiar fullness, that invasion you reap when you are penetrated by something exquisite.
I free his erection from the denim material and his Calvin Klein shorts and he angles himself beneath me. I feel his tip just piercing into my hollowness, followed by the delightful, satisfying feeling as he impales me slowly. I grasp at the edge of the washbasin behind me with my left hand, while my right arm coils around Hayden’s neck. Tipping my head back while he works against my body, I gasp as I indulge in the much needed firmness and plethora of his body inside me.
He propels into me with fervor and vigor. “I’m getting close, Sam.” I gaze up into his deep, passionate eyes. He brushes his tongue against his lips, and parts them again. “You got to hurry up, baby.”
My right arm falls from around his neck and I reach down to where our bodies are connected and form frantic circular motions over my swollen clit. The combination of Hayden penetrating me and clitoral stimulation is sensation overload. And my legs soon weaken with every precise, rapid execution of both cock and fingertips. The tightness of my core is so intense.
“Hayden, hold me,” I pant heavily, and his hands bore into the flesh of my ass as he supports my weight.
With lunging hips, vigorous strokes and strenuous breaths, I let go and embrace my relief as I come hard around his cock, my body quivering and vibrating as I spiral downward with the pull of every muscle that constricts with delectable force. My walls clench and pulsate around him. He thrusts once more, then stills. His fingertips tighten at my thighs while he begins his rather loud release.
Surprised at the unsuspected intensity falling from his lips and resounding around the cubicle, I raise my hand and cover his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound of his vocalized climax. His eyes are screwed shut as he releases his generous volume.
“Holy fuck,” he pants, his face interred at the crook of my neck. “That was…” I feel him roll his brow over my left shoulder as we strive to regulate our labored breaths.
“Amazing,” I finish off his sentence on a harsh, outward exhalation.
He nods his head.
Pulling away from my shoulder, he holds my face between the heats of his hands and I’m captivated by his warm, ardent smile and the affection which teems in his eyes. He brushes his thumbs over the arch of my cheekbones and seals his mouth around mine, bestowing tender, lasting kisses on my lips. Supporting his forehead against mine, Hayden, as always, leaves me wanting more when he pulls away from my mouth. I never want to encounter another day where I fail to have his mouth or body on mine in any way, shape or form.
Hayden’s thumbs continue to caress my cheekbones in smooth, repetitive, stroking motions.
“That was a first,” I whisper.
Hayden sniggers and smiles as he pulls out of me, and adjusts his pants. “I’m glad we could experience a first, together.” He pulls up his fly and strokes the back of his knuckles down the side of my face. His mouth uplifts into a loving beam with a nuance of relief and contentment. “Put your panties back on...” he orders, and I am shocked by the shyness that floods over me with his words. I sink my teeth into my lip as I blush, and grin profusely. “I’ll meet you outside.”
As he sets his hand on the door handle, I set my hand on his forearm. He whips his head around to face me, his hand still resting on the cold metal as he regards me with bated breath.
He may have relieved the ache that I held, but I still hunger for him, for his love, his touch, his penetrating scrutiny. I am an addict and he is my fix. At times, the love I hold for this man is overwhelming…absolute. After the highs and lows the last few weeks, I can’t even deliberate the chance of ever losing him. Yet, I was convinced that I was losing him––that he was slipping from me.
This substantial change in his attitude since this morning makes me realize that, patience really is a virtue.
“I know…me, too, beautiful,” he answers my unspoken sentiment. I drop my hand from his arm and allow him to leave, before the kind, overly made-up air hostess’ suspicions rise.
I flop into my seat and outstretch my legs; reveling in the extra space as I cross them at the ankles. No wonder they have so much legroom in first class, with how tight they pack passengers who fly in coach.
I tip my head back against the backrest. Hayden covers my right hand with his left. Feeling sated and composed, I roll my head against the rest and face him. His fingertips rub gently over my knuckles, and soon a burning sensation radiates from the chafing surface.
“Can I get you anything, sir, ma’am?” the blond, heavily made-up flight attendant asks, intruding on us as we delight in our afterglow.
“No, thank you,” he replies, his rich, chocolate eyes continuing to bore into me.
“Very well, sir.” She ambles down the walkway.
“Excuse me, Miss,” I call back after her. She turns on her heel and approaches our places for the second time. “Actually, could I get a roast beef sandwich and a mineral water please?”
She nods her head once like she is acknowledging the Queen of Sheba, and I can’t suppress my inner chuckle as she scurries back down the walkway.
“What?” I snicker at Hayden, his eyes wide with overt amusement. He flashes his all white, American boy smile and shakes his head in what I can only fathom as fascination.
“Oh, Samantha…you never fail to amuse me.”
“Amuse?” I furrow my brow. “Isn’t it supposed to be amaze?”
Hayden throws his head back in cathartic mirth. “I think amuse is a more significant in this case.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, Hayden Wentworth, we just worked up an appetite.” I pout frivolous at my lover beside of me. The lover who was hiding somewhere, trapped behind an array of diverse thoughts and frustrations. The man I fell for, my lover…my Hayden.
I regret not considering the temperatures for New York at this time of year. I would have at least worn a pair of denim pants and a turtleneck, instead of a denim skirt and a camisole. I snicker to myself as I consider our passionate frenzy on the plane. I never thought I would become a member of the mile-high club. Hayden’s perfect, softly spoken words soon follow, I’m glad we could experience a first together; it makes my heart swell twice the size and beat twice as fast.
I have been burrowing my way into Hayden’s side for nearly forty minutes as the cab transports us from JFK to Fifth Avenue in an attempt to share some of his body heat. Hayden rhythmically massages his fingertips through my hair, massag
ing my scalp with each tender stroke.
“Hmm,” I keen with appreciation. Struggling to keep my eyelids open as his touch soothes me into a near-comatose state.
“We’re here, beautiful,” Hayden mutters in my ear, removing his left arm from around my shoulders. I hadn’t even notice that we had stopped. I boost myself up and rub my hands down my face in a feeble attempt to regain full consciousness.
After tipping the driver, he exits the cab, and rounds the vehicle to hold my door open. “After you, milady,” he teases and offers his right hand to aid me out.
Hanging my purse over my shoulder, I shake my head and grasp his hand. “You are crazy,” I chuckle.
He pulls me further onto the sidewalk and slams the door behind me. “I’m crazy in love, my love,” he croons drawing my body flush against his in a tight, protective embrace. His hands glide down my back as he leans in to kiss me. But I place my hands on each of his pectorals, in a futile attempt to push him away and struggle playfully out of his grasp.
But my guffawing weakens my body and as a result, my arms lack the strength to push him away.
“Our love must be a kind, of blind love,” he warbles as he rests his hands on my backside, and sways us back and forth on the street.
“Hayden, please…” I look around at the bystanders meandering along the avenue. “People are watching.”
“I can’t see anyone, but you,” he continues vociferously and I feel my face flame with my blush. The embarrassment is too much, yet I cannot stop smiling or laughing.
I attempt to squirm out of his grasp again, but each time, his grip on my body becomes tighter and tighter. His hands wander here, there and everywhere, using my body as his own personal, private playground.
“Hayden, PLEASE!” I try to sound stern, but his carefree air is excessive and a joy to bask in. My ribs ache from my side-splitting laughter, my makeup is probably all streaky from the tears that roll down my face. The New Yorkers across the sidewalk stand and observe, while the humiliation of my handsome, alluring lover––although a slightly unconvincing vocalist––serenading me on Fifth Avenue, begins to lessen.