by Cassie Wild
I cried out just as he slammed his mouth down over mine, swallowing down the rest of my broken moan.
Against my lips then, as the orgasm wracked me, he whispered, “Daria …”
Twenty-Two
Brooks
Morning came too early.
It was something of a surprise I managed to sleep as well as I did, but even though I have a solid six hours in me, I didn’t want to get out of the bed.
The reason for my reluctance chose that moment to arch and stretch, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
Carefully, I rolled onto my side and studied her in the dim light. I’d left the curtains open a few inches and now filtered sunlight slanted in, reminding me that I needed to get up and get moving, get Daria moving.
I should have spent last night planning what I would do to make this mess all go away. Instead, I’d spent it fucking her.
My cock stirred and I admitted silently that I didn’t regret a second of it.
I had made a few preparations, though, and that put us on a timetable.
Rolling away from Daria, I sat up and rubbed at bleary eyes.
She shifted in the sheets behind me and I glanced back to see if I’d woken her.
But she still slept on soundly.
I got up and moved over to the in-room coffee maker. I needed caffeine in the worst way.
Once the little machine was bubbling and hissing away, I started to dress.
Daria woke up just as I was dragging my pants up over my hips. She glanced around, a look of confusion on her face. It faded as she met my eyes and I watched her cheeks color.
“Regrets?” I asked.
“No,” she said, her voice husky. She looked around, although I suspected it was more out of a need to escape my gaze than anything else. “What are we going to do now?”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for her to look at me.
“Now, we are going to get you someplace safe. I’ll take care of things once that’s done.”
I watched her throat work as she swallowed and resisted the urge to reach out, push my hand through the disheveled, sexy tumble of her hair.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she asked in an uneasy voice. “I don’t even know what all I’ve gotten into. Hell. Isabel’s family—her dad, her brothers, they are mafia.” Her gaze flicked back to me for just an instant.
I hardened myself against the speculation I saw in her eyes.
“And you,” she added roughly. “How did I get involved in this?”
“Just bad luck,” I said gently. Rising, I held out a hand. “We need to get moving. I arranged for breakfast to be delivered. We don’t have much time.”
She allowed me to pull her to her feet but when I went to tug her in for a hug, she resisted, eyes nervously roaming the room.
“What are we going to do?” she asked again.
Realizing that she needed some sort of answer, I blew out a breath. “I’m going to put you on a plane to an island my family owns. It’s private. Secluded. Safe.”
“I can’t go flying away to some island,” she said weakly. “I’m due back in New York City in a few days. I can’t miss any more class. I could get deported if something happens and the instructor decides to remove me from the school. I’m only here on an education visa!”
“I’ll figure it out.” I moved in closer and she went still. As I dropped my hands down on her shoulders, I reminded myself of everything she’d been through in the past ten hours. I needed to be careful or I was going to push her over the edge.
She drew in a breath, then nodded. “Okay. So, I’m going to an island for a few days.” Her face twisted up in a grimace as she added, “I really do hate to fly.”
“It won’t be so bad,” I said, trying to assure her. “I’m putting you on my private plane. No waiting lines, no rude passengers in the seat next to you. It will be fine.”
But instead of looking interested, her eyes widened. “A … private plane?”
“Yes.” I went on to detail the plane but I hadn’t said more than a few words before I caught sight of her face. She was naturally pale, but now she looked sheet-white. “What is it, Daria? What’s wrong?”
“I …” She swallowed, then looked away. “It’s nothing. Really.”
She twisted her fingers into knots as she spoke and I covered her hands with one of mine. “That look on your face isn’t nothing. What’s wrong? I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
“You can’t help anyway,” she said, sounding tried. “I just … I don’t like small spaces where I feel like I can’t escape. It’s one of the reasons I don’t enjoy flying but at least jets are large. A private plane …”
Her voice drifted off and then I understood. “You’re claustrophobic.”
She darted a look at me. “In a way, I guess, yes, I am. Elevators and bathrooms don’t bother me. But being in a plane makes me feel … trapped. And it’s not like I’m not already freaking out over everything that’s happened.” She summoned up a tight smile, then shrugged. “But I’ll be okay. Really.”
I made a few calls while she was showering.
She was going to need clothes for her trip to the island, so I made arrangements for that as well as a few other small details.
I was finishing up the last call when she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the wrinkled, white silk shirt she’d worn the night before.
“I’m having some clothes delivered to the airport. You’ll have other things to wear for the next few days,” I told her. Gesturing to the table now set with our breakfast, I asked, “Are you hungry?”
She dropped down into one of the seats and studied the options, before scooping some eggs and a couple of pieces of melon onto her plate.
“You should eat more than that,” I told her as she cut into a bite of melon.
Something that might have been amusement flickered in her eyes. “If I want to fit into my leotard when I return to class, I need to watch what I eat, very carefully.”
“You can’t get by on a couple of bites of egg and fruit,” I argued.
“I can, will and have. It’s part of the job.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and folded her hands around it, hunching forward in a way that made me think she was cold.
She was white-knuckling the cup, though, and I speculated it wasn’t the room temperature affecting her, but her nerves.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told her. I wasn’t going to allow it not to be.
She darted a look at me, a tentative smile on her lips. But it didn’t reach her eyes and I wasn’t sure if she believed me.
That was okay.
She would.
In time.
We got to the airport, a privately owned, small enterprise outside of Miami. I messaged the crew to let them know I had arrived and to ask how much longer before they were ready.
The response came back almost immediately.
Less than an hour, sir. We’re waiting on the pilot. The clothing you requested has been delivered.
I dropped the phone into the cup holder and turned to study Daria. She was staring outside, her face slightly averted. Her eyes weren’t resting on any one thing and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was feeling.
It was a new sensation for me, the curiosity I had for this woman. Not just the curiosity, though. The unsettling possessiveness, the need for protection I felt toward her. All of it defied the norm for me and I wasn’t sure how to handle any of it.
I shoved the thoughts away. I didn’t have time for them right now, anyway.
I covered her hand with mine.
She turned her big, blue-grey eyes my way.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She managed a weak shrug, then went back to staring out the window at whatever had caught her attention. Her eyes had a target this time and she nodded toward my private plane. It was smaller than some, but luxuriously appointed. “Is that the plane?”
I nodded.
She swallowed and
her mouth tightened just the slightest bit.
If I could have used my dad’s plane, I would have. It was almost twice the size. But it was back in Philadelphia and even if I had wanted to wait—and I didn’t—my father would have been notified and I wasn’t about to face those questions.
I was already on a thin edge with what I was doing now.
I leaned past Daria and flipped open the glove compartment. There was an unlabeled orange pill bottle inside and I pulled it out. It was another item I’d requested and I’d been pleased to find it already in the car when we left the hotel this morning.
I had a friend in the area that I reached out to, requesting the medication. I’d only made the call a few hours ago, shortly after Daria admitted her fears about flying.
While I was reluctant to let anybody know where I was, I was even more reluctant to let Daria deal with her nerves and fears alone.
Especially since she’d have to board that plane, and fly off, without me.
I offered the bottle. “It’s up to you, but there are pills in here that can help you rest. If you want, you can sleep the entire flight, not worry about anything.”
She started to shake her head, but then she grabbed the bottle and I watched her slip it into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Thank you.”
Brushing her hair back from her face, I waited for her to look back at me. Once she did, I said quietly, “I’m not coming with you, Daria.”
She sucked in a breath. “Why not?”
“Because I’m doing what I can to keep you safe and I can’t fix anything unless I stay here and work on it.” Catching one heavy, silken lock between my thumb and forefinger, I stroked it as I stared into her eyes. That fear was back, gut-deep, searing, and I wanted to say the hell with it. We could climb on that plane, together. Within a few calls, I could have any number of options set up. A new life for Daria, away from this, where nobody would ever find her.
For a moment, I was tempted beyond all belief—to do just that, and go with her. Get away from all the shit that came with my family.
But reason prevailed and I pushed the fanciful thoughts aside.
My life was with my family.
Daria’s life was in New York City, where she was studying ballet. She wouldn’t be happy on the run with me.
She licked her lips, then lowered her eyes to the hands she had clutched in her lap. “I’m scared,” she said softly.
“I know.” Leaning in, I kissed her, patiently, waiting for her to respond.
It didn’t take long.
She turned toward me, twisting in the seat and reaching up to lay her palm on my cheek.
“We’ve got some time to kill,” I whispered, pulling back and meeting her eyes. “Any idea how we can do that?”
A rush of pink settled on her cheeks. “Maybe.”
I eased away from her and pushed the seat farther back. Twisting until I could face her more completely, I rubbed my thumb over her lower lip.
“Unbutton your blouse,” I said. “I want to see your tits.”
Her mouth parted on a shocked gasp.
I didn’t say anything, just waited to see if she’d do it.
She blushed an even rosier shade as she reached up and slowly began to free the buttons on her wrinkled silk blouse.
“Now the bra.” I loved front clasp bras, even more than normal in that moment as she fumbled the catch open and freed her delicate, small breasts.
Her nipples were an even darker shade of pink than her cheeks and as I stared at her, her blush spread down her neck to her breasts.
“I’m small,” she whispered, the words coming in short bursts.
“You’re delicate. Lovely.” Lifting my gaze back to hers, I beckoned. “Come here.”
She eyed me hesitantly. I patted my lap. “Come here.”
She fumbled and wiggled her way into my lap.
I adjusted her, moving her until I had her how I wanted her, her legs draped over the console, leaning against the driver’s door with my left arm supporting her.
“I’m going to touch you.”
She nodded and licked her lips.
Then she gasped, a weak whimper escaping her as she pushed herself into my hand. Her nipples were already tight and I wanted to taste her again. But we had too little room, too little time for all the things I wanted to do to her.
I toyed with her breasts, with each nipple, watching her face and cataloging every reaction.
Soon she was whimpering and wiggling in my lap, her hip grinding against my erection.
I slid my hand lower, dipping it between her thighs.
Her eyes widened and she slumped, opening her legs more for me.
I rubbed her through the fabric of her jeans. “Are you wet?”
“I …” A startled look crossed her face.
“Tell me if you’re wet, Daria. I can’t exactly strip you naked right here, can I?”
After a few more seconds of hesitation, she nodded. “I am. I can feel it.”
“Good … let’s make you even wetter.” I added more friction. “Imagine we’re back at the hotel and we’re sitting like this on the bed. You’re naked and I can push my fingers inside that tight, sweet pussy. Does it feel good?”
“Yes …” She moaned, her lashes fluttering down to shield her eyes.
“Does my cock feel good?”
The little game wasn’t what I wanted, but we didn’t have the privacy for anything else. Of course, if I got on the plane with her …
No, Brooks. You’ve got things to do … other than her.
But damn if I wasn’t tempted. If it was for any reason other than making her safe, I’d damn well be getting on that plane.
Since I couldn’t, I’d give her this.
Her thighs were trembling. But the rest of her body had gone taut.
“Feel my cock inside you,” I said, seeking the denim-covered entrance to her body and pressing lightly. “That’s me … filling you. You’re wet as rain around me. You feel damn good.”
She rocked up against my hand, tiny rhythmic movements. Pressing the heel of my palm to her, I ground more firmly against her.
She cried out.
“Is it good, Daria?” I whispered into her ear.
“Yes … so good .” She mumbled something in another language—Russian—but I didn’t understand any of it. I could tell what she meant, though. It was written all over her expressive face.
The windows around us fogged. Her skin dewed with a faint sheen of perspiration. “I want you to come,” I whispered against her ear.
“Brooks!” She shoved her hand down, covering mine as she suddenly tightened her thighs around me.
She came then and I’d swear, I felt the rush of wet even through her jeans and panties.
“That’s it,” I muttered. “That’s it.”
She spent the next twenty minutes finger-combing her hair and trying not to look at me.
I didn’t mind. She was so new at this, it wasn’t surprising that she was self-conscious.
Personally, I’d never been much for virgins. The flavor of sex I preferred tended to be a little too intense for novices. But maybe I’d been wrong. I could see a lot of pleasure in front of us, me teaching her everything I knew, the two of us learning new things together.
Get through this first, I told myself before I started spinning up fantasies as we waited for the pilot to arrive.
I saw him stride out of the hanger, recognizing him immediately.
“The pilot is here,” I said softly. “Let’s get you on board.”
A few minutes later, she was seated in one of the plush leather seats, looking around with big, dazed eyes.
“You’ve got the pills?” I asked her.
She nodded jerkily. “I don’t know if I’ll take them or not.”
“Just remember, you have the option.” I lingered near the exit, not quite ready to leave.
Abruptly, I went to her and bent over, caging in her with my arms as
I pressed my mouth to hers. I broke away and whispered, “I’ll see you soon,” before I headed for the tarmac.
Twenty-Three
Daria
The moment the engine revved up—or whatever plane engines did—I squeezed my eyes, panic breaking out despite my determination to stay calm through this flight.
I fumbled for the pills in my pocket as one of the few crewmembers stepped through the door.
“Can I get you anything before we take off, miss?” she asked politely.
“Water.” It came out in a ragged croak and I cleared my throat to try again. “Water would be great, thank you.”
She dipped her head and left, returning a moment later with a bottle of water and a glass that looked like crystal. Fancy stuff, I thought, dazed.
She poured the water for me and left the rest of the bottle on the small table next to my luxurious, leather seat. “Just ring if you need anything else,” she said, pointing to the phone. “We’ll be taking off shortly.”
I nodded as she turned away. Once she was gone, I downed one of the pills. I rarely took medicine, unless I needed some over-the-counter anti-inflammatory after a hard practice or an injury. Thankfully, those had been few and far between.
My tolerance for medication was non-existent.
We hadn’t even taken off when my head started doing a slow spiral. My fingers felt tingly. I swallowed, my throat somehow incredibly dry despite the fact that I’d guzzled half the glass of water when I took the pills.
I felt nice and … floaty. The worry that had been gnawing at me throughout the morning and all of last night fell away, becoming more and more distant.
Brooks was taking care of things.
I didn’t need to worry about anything, did I?
That was the last thought in my head before I slipped into darkness.
Soft sunlight filtered in through an open set of doors, the white, gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze.
I smelled the ocean.