by Sierra Rose
“Just at the airport?”
“Anywhere really. Especially the airport, though. I mean, do they even change those gloves? The government is notorious for cutting corners, so these could be used gloves.”
“You’re not a source of comfort right now. What did the vows say about for better and for worse?”
“How about for stubborn and for barefoot?”
“I realize I’d had a few drinks, but I don’t recall Elvis saying a damn thing about how it was okay to say I told you so to your barefoot wife in a public airport. That seems like you’re not exactly cleaving only unto me…” she teased.
“I cleaved to you at six this morning. You were there,” he said with an arch of his eyebrow. It was the sexy smolder. Even when he used it wryly, like now, it was devastating beyond the telling of it. Her lady bits clenched happily in response.
“It’s been hours. I need more cleaving and less giving me crap about the flight.”
“Well, we could’ve cleaved in flight on the private jet.”
“I don’t think it’s ‘cleaved.’ I think it’s cloven as in cloven hoof.”
“Now there’s an image I could live without.”
“Hey, just don’t look at my fresh pedi when you say that,” she said as she proceeded through the metal detector.
The TSA agent had her step aside and did a pass with the sensor wand because she’d set off the metal detector.
“It’s the underwire in my bra,” Marj told the woman, “this happens every time I fly,” she said hopping that the agent would give her a nod or smile of commiseration. They were both women, both had to suffer the indignity of the underwire…it would be a great moment for sisterhood and empathy. Nothing. The woman gave her not one friendly gesture or sound. She just kept on waving the pointy wand at Marj.
“That will be all, ma’am,” the woman said gruffly.
Brandon waited for her with the carryon bags. He flashed her a smile. “You look so radiant today.”
“I’m beyond happy,” she said, linking her arm with his.
“I like to think I have something to do with that.”
“You definitely have something to do with it. This kind of…satisfaction comes when you find that kind of special magic in your life.”
“So it’s not the immense wealth? Or the American Express black card? Or maybe it’s the boring award dinners you have to attend.”
“It’s the hot guy,” she said flippantly and kissed him full on the mouth right there at the airline gate. He looped an arm around her hips and kissed her back with passion, not at all bothered by the idea that people were looking. She felt all tingly from his kiss, from the heat of his hand on the small of her back. The fact was, this was bound to be one long and frustrating flight. Why had she insisted on flying commercial again? The great deal on seats? Because nothing was more rewarding than a bargain airline ticket—unless it was mile-high sex with her hot husband in the comfort of a private Lear, obviously.
She opened her tablet and looked at the latest fashion magazine, trying to ignore the hum of desire that she was forcing onto the back burner until they could arrive in Mexico and make it to their paradisiacal hotel.
“This resort had better have the biggest, fluffiest bed…” she muttered aloud.
“I’d settle for a couch,” he said, alluding to their first hook-up, the night they were married in Las Vegas.
“Our wedding night was fierce but not exactly the epitome of romance, Brandon. We can do better,” she protested.
“That’s the fighting spirit I know and love. That’s the drunk woman who swore she would never let the Wicked Queen win,” he said.
“I’m not the most charming drunk, but I’m glad you were able to overlook that.”
“You came right out and offered to rescue me. It seemed stupid not to take you up on the offer. Besides, I only had a few days left before I would’ve had to experience disinheritance and cast myself on the dismal job market.”
“Not a lot of demand for suddenly broke rich boys? I hear that you ski beautifully, and I have seen you make plenty of lengthy phone calls. All I could recommend you for personally would be the life of a gigolo, however. You’re great in the sack, and that’s a skill not to be underestimated.”
“That is so sexist, Marj. If I said that about you, you would shame me thoroughly. So why would it be flattering to say that to a man?” He smirked. “It’s an insult. It’s objectifying—”
“Fine, all right, I went too far. I do that. I’m sorry. You have many business skills, and you’re a decisive executive, and you multitask wonderfully,” she said, barely suppressing an eye-roll.
He flashed her his gorgeous smile. “And if I were a gigolo, assuming I’m not so deeply offended as never to speak to you again—but just hypothetically, what do you think my hourly rate should be?” he asked archly, and she bit down on her lip.
“Hmmmm….let me see. I’d say, easily three hundred dollars,” she said, and she giggled as Brandon looked obviously pleased with himself.
“That, at least, is gratifying. That if you insist as viewing me as a sex object with no other talents or agency of my own, at least, you regard those skills highly.”
“Oh, I regard them very highly! It’s sort of…hard not thinking too much about those skills here in the plane.”
“You mean the crowded passenger compartment of a fully booked commercial jet? I see the problem. And I intend to make you suffer for it,” he said with a wicked grin. “Remember that time that I came up behind you and kissed your neck and then bent you over the dining room table? You left scratch marks on the wood,” he said, and the answering shiver of recollection rippled across her skin. She remembered the wood yielding to the pressure of her hands as she braced herself against the onslaught of his thrusts. The pale half-moons carved into the shiny surface of the highly polished mahogany table, evidence of their debauchery. Even the word debauchery seemed to make it even more unbearably warm inside the airplane.
The fabric of her seat was scratchy to her highly sensitized skin, and she reached for Brandon’s hand across the shared plastic armrest. She needed that skin on skin contact with him, even in the smallest measure, to relieve the fury of passion burning inside her. His wide palms, his delightfully ominous thick wrists, his strong fingers encompassing hers—she bit her lip. Marj could shut her eyes and practically feel his palms tracing along her bare hips, spreading her thighs and rubbing between them, tantalizing in the closest brush against tender flesh before drawing back teasingly. The electric prickles of excitement chased along her skin at the mere memory of his touch.
“You seem tense. Here, let me rub your shoulders,” he offered mischievously.
Marj shifted obediently in her seat, perhaps beyond the powers of speech anyway. She turned her back toward him and felt his big hands settle on her shoulders, kneading his muscular fingers into her tense spots. She chewed her lip and let her eyes drop shut. She felt needy and desperate, and any touch from him just inflamed her further.
Even as he was supposed to be releasing pent-up tension from her muscles with his coaxing, insinuating massage, she knew that he was firing her up for his own amusement. To torment her for insisting they save money on the flight or to get her overwrought with anticipation for their honeymoon or both. She was ready to claw his shirt open and put her mouth to his chest. She shrugged his hands away and returned to the magazine, swiping pages on her tablet without really seeing them, her eyes glazed with lust.
“You can always just rest,” he suggested, drawing her against him, so her head was against his shoulder, the wretched plastic armrest gouging her in the rib cage. When she wriggled away and sat up in frustration, the backs of his fingers brushed the side of her breast and she felt it down to her toes. Her nipples were so hard that the lace of her bra scraped them uncomfortably. Her face and chest were flushed, and there was a roaring in her ears, her vision bright with arousal. She leaned over to whisper in his ear.
&nbs
p; “Bathroom. Now,” she ordered, biting his earlobe lightly for emphasis.
His grin widened as he shot her a devilish look.
Chapter 3
The idea of joining The Mile High Club intrigued Marj. “Just remember. You’re there to get in, get out.”
He squeezed her hand. “This will be a fun memory to add to my sexual scrapbook.”
“So skip all your usual moves…”
“Just get down to business?”
“Yeah, it’s just a quickie.”
“I’m in! But we’ll have to plan this.”
“And rob the moment of some spontaneity?”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “I want to earn my wings by not getting busted.”
She smiled. “C’mon. The danger of being caught makes it exciting.”
“It’s like a heist or bank robbery. It’s a tricky endeavor that requires stealthy planning to pull it off.”
“You do that,” she said, winking. “I say we just head there now.”
He grinned.
“Decisions. Decisions. So do you want to keep reading your edition of SkyMall? Or do you want to join The Mile High Club? Just remember, great risk comes with great reward.”
She scrabbled with the seatbelt until it unbuckled and made her way, wobbling coltishly down the long extremely narrow aisle to the bathroom.
Consummating your love in an airplane bathroom is no easy task. The bathroom was as stupidly tiny as the aisle was narrow. She looked around, trying to figure out the logistics. Even if she just convinced him to slide his fingers inside her panties for a few minutes, just to get relief, even with the faucet wedged against her ass, it would be worth it.
There was something hot and forbidden about getting it on in the confines of the airplane toilet, with its aggressive lemon-scented air freshener and filmy mirror. She heard the scratching at the folding door, and she admitted him hastily. Immediately, she set to work on his belt buckle.
Brandon put his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking in so lusciously that it was all she could do to subdue a moan. She wanted him so badly. Marj had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Brandon Cates at that moment. The fact that he was already her husband was surreal and delightful. Not that she would have cared if he were someone else’s husband at this point.
Dipping his head, Brandon sucked her neck as she unfastened his trousers. She felt his erection jutting into her hand, and she was gratified, thrilled that she could inspire him that way, that he wanted her just as much as she needed him. She helped him hike up her skirt until it was bunched around her waist. He tried to pull her lacy blue panties down, but there wasn’t enough room to remove anything in the narrow, closet-like space. So he raised an eyebrow and jerked her panties off, ripping them at the seams. It turned her on to hear the fabric rip in his strong hands. He tucked them in his pocket and set his hand against her wet, swollen cleft.
In seconds, she was rocking against his clever fingers and panting. Still, she wanted more. Marj hooked one leg around his hips, and he lifted her by the thighs, her legs wrapped around him tightly as he entered her and thrust. He backed her up to the narrow wall space between the sink and toilet and he pumped into her swiftly, effectively. Her passage was slick and ready, every part of her clinging, clamping around him possessively. She kissed him fiercely, threw her head back as her climax took her, biting hard on her lip to keep from crying out. He finished in her with a pounding fury as the final tremors of her orgasm subsided. He leaned his forehead against hers and they caught their breath, disentangling themselves reluctantly from one another.
As he straightened his clothes, she kissed him again, her heart still pounding. She loved him, and the fact that he’d just made love to her in an uncomfortable and fairly disgusting location was testament to how much he cared for her in return. Brandon was not a man to go slumming, to abandon his fastidious upbringing for no reason. He was used to only the finest of everything in the world. So for a man like that to screw her in a public toilet was pretty damn romantic, as far as Marj was concerned.
She was trembling, her hands clutching his sleeves. She had the strangest urge to stay there forever, in that airplane bathroom with her husband. She furrowed her brow and leaned her head against his chest.
“Is it wrong that I never want to leave here?” she asked.
“Wrong? I’m not sure. Weird and appalling, yes,” he said, kissing the top of her head indulgently.
“Promise me we’ll have the best time ever on this trip and nothing will ruin it,” she demanded.
“I don’t think it’s practical to say such a thing. There could be a hurricane or—or locusts or an outbreak of dysentery from the water supply, like if the filter malfunctioned.”
“You are just a ray of sunshine, Brandon Cates,” she said, “I’m going back to my seat.”
He released her from his arms and watched her fumble with the bi-fold door and brave the curious gazes of the passengers seated back in the bowels of the plane. He counted to twenty and followed her out, as if everyone wouldn’t know what they’d been up to anyway. He joined her at their seats and watched in some amusement as the flight attendant tried to explain to him why he couldn’t have an actual bottle of water, only a small plastic cup filled with water from the communal bottle. He had looked at Marj pointedly, and she sighed.
It was then that Marj noticed that the flight attendant looked identical to the secretary Brandon had. It wasn’t her. But her looks were identical. Was the Wicked Queen at it yet again? She’d do anything to get us to argue and breakup. Or was Marj just being paranoid?
Brandon noticed it too, and Marj told him her suspicions.
“Please stop looking at her,” Marj said.
“I’m not drooling. I just think the resemblance is uncanny. It’s like the Wicked Queen is trying to rub salt in the wound.”
“I get that. But staring at her… Listen, you need to stop, Mr. My Secretary Is Dangerously Hot and Sexually Harassing Me,” she said. “Because it’s making me feel a tiny bit uncomfortable. Especially after what we just did. You should only be thinking about your loving wife.”
Brandon tore his eyes away from the stewardess. “That’s too long to be a reasonable nickname, and she didn’t exactly harass me.”
“We’re going to pretend that you didn’t exactly just defend her,” Marj said a little waspishly. It peeved her to think how close she’d come to losing him.
“I’m not defending her, although if I were, at least, I never kissed her, like you kissed that guy at the club.”
What the hell? Why would he lash out like that?
“I was upset and confused about us, and I said I was sorry. It’s not like I saw him day after day at work and never told you,” she hissed in a low voice.
“This is not the place to discuss our private business.”
“Let me guess, we could have fought in seclusion if we’d taken your private jet,” she burst out.
“I’m trying to get passed the fact that you kissed somebody else, but it’s pretty damn hard.”
“I told you I was sorry. And I am Brandon. I feel awful about it.”
“And I feel bad about the secretary escapade.”
“It just hurts because there are feelings involved.”
“This is why we should’ve actually dated before getting married. But we got married first, and now, we’re trying to get to know each other. And maybe we both suck at it. We’re both are crazy about each other, and the spark, the chemistry, well, it’s definitely there. But is that enough to work?”
She looked away. Was he giving up? Marj plugged the earbuds into her phone and tuned him out. It hurt too much to think that he might not want to be in this for the long haul. Maybe they should just call it quits after he gets his full inheritance.
They didn’t talk for a few minutes.
He kissed her hand and gave her that look she couldn’t resist.
“We just got played,” he said. “I’m sure she was a pl
ant from the Wicked Queen herself. How can we work on this relationship with her always trying to sabotage it? She knew it would remind us of what had happened. She wanted to stir up trouble. And we played right into her hands.”
“Brandon,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. I can’t enjoy the rest of my flight if you’re mad at me. We just had the best time. We’re card-carrying members of The Mile High Club at 30,000 feet.” She giggled, and he continued with a huge smile. “Having sex in the air is the stuff of legends.”
“I can’t deny that.”
“Marj, you’re my angel, my life, and my entire world. You’re my everything.”
She gazed up at him and smiled.
“You’re the one that I want, the one that I need,” he said with heartfelt emotion. “Even if I wanted, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He touched her face. “I refuse to let people we hardly know come in between us. The guy you kissed at the club and my old secretary can eat shit. They’re history. I think we should only concentrate on us…and on our future.”
She kissed his lips. “Oh, baby. You’re right.”
He grinned as she smiled.
By the time they touched down in Mexico, she couldn’t wait to get off the plane. She realized she was just stressed and tired and had unresolved feelings about the whole secretary situation. They walked to baggage claim and he checked his emails while they waited for their luggage. Brandon wrestled her huge wheelie suitcase off the turnstile and dragged it over to where she stood.
Brandon lifted his own suitcase off the carousel and turned toward the taxi lane. They smiled and held hands like newlyweds. They rode in a cab to the resort. The palm trees, the cobalt desert sky were unlike anything she’d ever seen. So lush and desolate at the same time, so beautiful. She took his hand and looked over at him. He kissed her cheek.
The entrance to the resort was majestic, flanked with tall torches burning with bright gas flames. The lavish tropical flowers spilled over the edges of copper urns lining their path. They were whisked to a suite, the air cool and scented with frangipani, a refreshing change from the stifling, smelly plane and the stale taxi air. It was like another world, much nicer than the one they’d left. Much, much nicer than the one Marj grew up in, where she rode the lawnmower to the liquor store with her dad, and she had a couple of family members in prison for a long hitch. That trip to Vegas had been a game changer for Marj in more ways than one.