“With you, baby, I can’t be anything else.”
Riding on a private plane with naughty “Biker Chick” emblazoned un-
derwear hidden under my clothes is enough to send me into a frenzy of
excitement. “Look!” I shriek and bounce in my cushy leather seat. “I can
see the Golden Gate Bridge…and the ocean.” I sip my champagne and
smile at the flight attendant who must be wondering how she landed
a job with a drop-dead gorgeous passenger and his overexcited puppy.
“Santa Cruz…Monterey…Ventana…” I rattle off the names of the
major cities and parks along the coast proudly demonstrating just why
I got an A in geography.
No, I chastise myself. Do not embarrass Max. Try to appear cul-
tured and sophisticated. Classy.
I take a chocolate covered strawberry from the plate and nibble
at the tip. So delicious. The chocolate breaks off and falls on my new
yoga pants. No problem. Biker-style polyester cleans easily. At least
that’s what Angel told me this morning in her deep, gravelly voice as she
detached her heavily muscled arms from around Max’s waist. For some
reason, I didn’t feel jealous this time.
I dab at the chocolate and check my stretchy, pink tank top for
similar disasters. Safe. As is my Harley-Davidson hoodie. I am so glad
Eve was out of town. The mean-looking Tweety Bird wearing a Harley-
Davidson skull cap and leather vest printed on my bra and panties,
would probably have given her a heart attack.
“We’ll have some more champagne please, Linda,” Max says, his
voice all smooth and mellow.
Luscious Linda, the well-endowed flight attendant giggles. She
manages to tear her eyes off my man and disappears into the tiny galley.
“She has a last name. It’s on her nametag. You should really call
her Miss Slutzsky. Linda is too familiar, unless you know her very well.
Maybe you do. Maybe that’s why you used your sexy come hither voice
when you were talking to her and gave her the ‘I’m going to devour you
with my eyes’ look.”
Max laughs and then hums a few bars of the Black Crows’
“Jealous Again.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I ram the rest of the strawberry in
my mouth.
“Do you know why I sent her for more champagne?” Max tongues
my earlobe and then nibbles around the shell until my body shivers with
pure unadulterated lust.
“You’re thirsty?” I push him away. “Or you like leading women on?”
“Only one woman.” Max removes his napkin and tosses it over
my lap.
“Linda Slutzsky?”
“You.” He slides his hand under the napkin and down the front of
my yoga pants, not stopping until his fingers are secured behind Tweety
Bird’s head.
“Max,” I shriek. My legs jerk up, hitting the tray table. With the
kind of coordination only seen in a circus, Max saves the tray with his
free hand, while simultaneously stroking behind Tweety Bird’s fluffy
bottom with the other. His fingers push aside the panties and slide
between my folds.
The curtain slides open with a loud rattle. Max continues to stroke.
I draw in the deepest, most ragged breath and try to imagine I do not
have a man’s hand down my pants in a ritzy private airplane.
Ms. Slutzsky looks at Max. Then she looks at me. My cheeks flame.
My lungs burn for air. How twisted is this?
“I think we’ll pass on the champagne for now, Linda. Makayla is
feeling a little lightheaded.” Max graces her with his award-winning
smile. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
Linda’s smile does not reach her eyes. “I’ll be in the galley.” She
yanks the curtain closed.
My breath leaves me with a whoosh. “She knew what you were
doing. She’ll think I’m a—” I can’t say it. I can only call myself a slut in
my head. “Minx,” I blurt out.
Max chuckles. “You are a minx. My little minx. And the only thing
she should be thinking about is whether we need more champagne.” He
presses a finger inside me and groans. “You’re so wet, baby. I think my
little minx likes a bit of danger served with her sex.”
“Don’t talk like that. It does things to me.”
“What things?” Max slides a second finger through my folds and
my insides melt.
“Naughty things.”
“Tell me naughty things,” Max whispers in my ear.
My hips rock in time to the gentle thrust of his fingers, rubbing
my sensitive nub against the heel of his palm. The sensation is so deli-
cious my head falls back on the seat, and I grip the armrests so hard my
knuckles turn white.
“I can’t…talk…when you are doing that.”
“Then I’ll stop.”
“Nooooooo. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Max withdraws his fingers and pushes back our table trays. “I
have to stop. Hot, wet Makayla moaning and writhing with naughty
things on the tip of her tongue is more than any man could bear.” He
motions me out of my seat and I follow him down the aisle to a small,
partially enclosed, seating area containing two leather loungers. Max
settles himself on the lounger nearest the window and undoes his fly.
His erection springs free—hard, heavy, and swiftly sheathed before I
can even catch my breath.
“Max.” I look at him aghast and check over my shoulder for
Luscious Linda. “What are you doing?”
“Guess.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“Up here, minx,” Max pats his lap. “Come and whisper naughty
things in my ear.”
“But…Linda…and the pilot and copilot—”
“Are busy flying the airplane.” Max reaches over and slides my yoga
pants and Biker Chick panties over my hips, then eases them down to
my ankles. “I’m going to fly you.”
“Let me take them off.” I bend down to slide them over my shoes,
but Max grabs my hand.
“Leave them where they are.”
“But I won’t be able to move very much.”
Max tugs me onto his lap, positioning my knees on either side of
his hips. “Good. I want to be able to last out the flight.” He slides the
straps of my tank top over my shoulders and undoes the clasp of my bra,
sliding them both down to my waist. Cool air brushes over my skin and
my nipples harden.
“I don’t feel very sophisticated right now,” I complain, while he
palms my breasts. “Look how easy it was for you to get into my pants.”
He trails kisses down my throat. “I don’t want sophisticated,” he
murmurs. “I want minx.”
“I want to be like the women I saw you with on the Internet—the
models and society girls who know all the right things to say.”
“I don’t want to hear the right things.” He lifts my hips and posi-
tions me just over the tip of his erection. “I want to hear minx things.”
He pulls me down and thrusts deep inside me. The dual sensations
overload my brain.
“Oh. My. God.” He fills me so completely, so deliciously, I don’t
want to move.
back down again. My tongue hits the back of my throat and I choke out
an elegant, “Gah.”
“Tell me what you want and I’ll give you a present.”
“I thought you just gave me the present.” I wiggle on top of him,
delighted when he groans.
Max tucks his hand into his pocket and pulls out a shiny, silver box.
“This is almost as good.”
I stop wiggling. “Open it.”
His lips curve into a sinister smile and he taps his ear. “Naughty things.”
I lick my lips and then rattle off a few of the French phrases Giselle
taught me on my way out of the spa. The look of shock on Max’s face is
almost worth the hefty tip I gave her.
“Well, if that’s what you want, baby.”
My eyes widen. “What? What do I want?”
“These.” He flicks the lid off the box and pulls out two tweezer-like
silver objects with silver chains and beads attached.
I frown. “What are they?”
“Nipple clamps.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Some things are not meant to be
squeezed too hard.”
Max bends down to draw my nipple in his mouth, licking and
sucking it into a hard peak. He slides the tweezers over my nipple and
tightens them with a little ring.
Mind numbing, burning, searing pain shoots through me. I cry out
and Max covers my mouth in a soft kiss.
“Take it off. Take it off.” I pull away and reach for the dangly chain.
Max grasps my wrists and restrains them behind me with one hand.
“Give it a chance, baby. It won’t hurt for long.” He sucks and teases
my other nipple and releases my wrists to slide the other clip over the
hardened peak. Another zing. Another burn.
“No Max.” I shake my breasts, trying to dislodge his torture devices,
and the little chains tug gently. The pain blurs into searing, fiery plea-
sure. My sex clenches around Max’s erection, and he groans.
A bell rings. The seatbelt sign flashes on. Ms. Slutzsky addresses us
by name over the PA system and requests that we return to our seats and
fasten our seat belts because of minor turbulence.
Max pulls out his seat belt and fastens it around both of us. He lifts
my hips and slides deeper inside me. Although slightly constrained by
my Tweety Bird thong foot restraints, and the seat belt around my back,
I manage to gain some leverage and move up and down. Max hisses in a
breath. The plane shakes and veers slightly to the left. So do my breasts.
The nipple clamps tug as I sway, sending jolts of erotic pleasure straight
to my core. My heart pounds. My hands fist Max’s thick, soft hair. So
dangerous. So exciting. So arousing.
“You are one goddamned hot little minx,” Max rasps. He tugs the
little chains and fire zings through my veins—a confusing mix of plea-
sure and almost pain. He slides my moisture up and around my sweet
spot over and over until I am hovering over the edge of a cliff so high I
can’t see the ground. My nipples throb, my sex aches, and my body is
coiled tight.
“What are you doing to me?” I moan.
“Go, baby. Fly for me,” he whispers. He swipes his finger over my
swollen nub. And I fly apart. My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal
wave. Max stiffens and groans, and I take him with me in a blaze of
slutty glory.
Chapter 22
I Wasn't Afraid
A limo drops us off at the Speedaway Exotic Car Racetrack, located
at an abandoned airfield about an hour outside Fontana. We are greeted
by the owners, Crash and Dirty Dan, both allegedly bikers. However,
with their short, cropped brown hair, matching blue and white cover-
alls, mirrored aviator sunglasses, and perfect smiles, they look more like
male models. Maybe I should tell Amanda to join a motorcycle club.
They walk us over to a tall, chain-link fence and show us the track.
The runways have been resurfaced and joined to form a giant oval. At
various points, straight stretches of pavement run for miles into the
horizon, marked only by hay bales and orange netting. Skid marks in-
dicate where drivers have gone off the track and spun out into the grass.
At least there are no trees or buildings for anyone to hit.
We tour through massive warehouses filled with a mouthwatering
array of exotic cars, from Lamborghinis to Porsches, and Ferraris to
Audis. I walk around the Aston Martin, James Bond’s vehicle of choice,
and imagine myself behind the wheel.
“What are you driving today?” Dirty Dan asks, coming up
behind me.
“If I had a choice, it would be this.” I stroke the hood of the Aston
Martin. “But I don’t think Max will agree.
Dirty Dan gives me a wink. “I’ve always wanted to see a pretty girl
behind the wheel. How about I get you prepped and ready to go? Max’s
clients aren’t due for another half hour, which gives us plenty of time to
run through the short course we inflict on all our drivers for insurance
purposes. With that face and your training and safety certificates in your
hand, he won’t be able to say no.”
He holds out a hand, and his cheeky grin is all the encouragement
I need to follow him to the main clubhouse.
By the time we’re done, an hour later, Max’s clients have arrived
and are in the process of setting up their equipment. Max explains they
have developed a system to remotely control the vehicles so racetracks
and driving schools can operate without an instructor in the vehicle. I
join everyone on a shady viewing platform overlooking the track while
Crash suits up and climbs into an Audi R8.
At a signal from one of the clients, Crash hits the gas and the Audi
roars around the track. The clients stop and start his vehicle, and then
make it perform a dizzying array of tricks. When Crash pulls up in front
of us, everyone cheers.
“Might be worth the investment they are seeking after all,”
Max muses.
We spend the rest of the afternoon watching Crash and Dirty Dan
test the system on different vehicles. Max’s eyes light up when it passes
the final test in my Aston Martin. He excuses himself to talk to his
clients, and Dirty Dan climbs up to the viewing platform and tosses me
the keys, a helmet, and a pair of coveralls.
“Try it out,” he says with a wink.
My mouth waters. Me…in an Aston Martin going as fast as I want.
The temptation is almost too much, but I’ve learned my lesson about
Max’s overprotectiveness. “I’d better ask Max. He has strong views on
things he thinks might be dangerous.” I say the right words. I will do the
right thing. But in the end, if he says no, I’m going anyway.
I catch Max between conversations. “Is it okay if I take the Aston
Martin for a spin? Dirty Dan gave me the safety lecture. I have my
certificate.” I hold up the white and gold embossed paper with my name
printed neatly in the center. To my dismay, Max doesn’t even glance
at it.
“No.”
“I’m a good driver. Ste
ve had me take the same driving course as the
police cadets. I promise I’ll be careful.”
He shakes his head. “It’s a new technology. I came here because
Crash and Dirty Dan are experts. They can handle any emergency.”
“But it worked perfectly on every test,” I complain.
“No.”
“I’ll go with her,” Dirty Dan interjects. “If the system fails, I’ll be
there to take over. It will be no different from any member of the public
going out on the track.”
I throw my arms around Max, tilt back my head and bat my eyelashes.
I am not above all-out begging to get behind the wheel. “Pleeeeeeeeeease.”
A smile ghosts his lips. He looks from Dirty Dan to me and back
to Dirty Dan. His jaw tightens. “One hundred miles an hour. Tops.”
“Come on, Max! It has a top speed of two twenty. You can’t expect
me to get in a car like that and not—”
“One hundred or nothing.”
“Fine,” I sulk. He won’t be able to do anything once I get behind
the wheel.
Max grunts and looks at Dirty Dan. “No risky maneuvers. Just a
few laps around the oval, and keep an eye on her. She’s hard to control.”
“She’s standing right here.” I wave my hands in his face. “You don’t
have to talk about her as if she doesn’t understand what’s going on.”
Dirty Dan snorts a laugh and leads me down to the vehicle. A thrill
runs through me when I slide into the form-fitting bucket seat and
breathe in the new car smell of polish and leather. The gray interior is
all curved lines and soft angles. The high-tech dash looks like something
out of a spaceship. Dirty Dan helps me adjust the seat and runs through
the instrument panel, but all I really care about is the speedometer.
We pull on our helmets and Dirty Dan points out a few more features.
“It will do zero to sixty in 4.7 seconds, and we’ve put in paddle shifters
because most people don’t know how to operate a manual transmission.”
“I do.”
Dirty Dan grins. “Why am I not surprised?”
My hands shake as I turn the key and start the engine; I glance at
the window and wave to Max. Even from here I can see the tension in
his body. Poor Max. He thinks he is tense now. In sixty seconds, I’ll
show him tense.
“Ready to go?”
I nod and hit the accelerator. The vehicle roars to life and I am
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