Captain Charming (Tales of 1001 Flights)

by Alice May Ball

  “Goddamn right it did,” I grin.

  “Actually, you know what? That story struck me as a little pointed. I wouldn’t call it a love story.”

  I’m curious why she thinks that. “What are you talking about? It’s all about love.”

  “For him, maybe. But if it was love, you know, the real deal… she wouldn’t have disappeared on him,” this gorgeous girl contends.

  I make a face. “Eh,” I say. “It’s about love. She kept coming back, after all. And she did say she was going to decide if she believed in love — which, at the end, she did.”

  “Oh God, look at us,” Alexa laughs abruptly. “Discussing a story you popped in your head one night because you were horny, as if it’s a Scorsese movie.”

  “Goddamn,” I join in the laughter. “Don’t put my story down like that. I mean, what did you expect, I’d tell you the plot of The Notebook?”

  She looks at me. “Have you read it?”

  “Naw, I don’t think that’s really my style.”

  Alexa goes silent for a while. I just relax, wrapping my arms around her in a gentle but secure way. Don’t want her feeling trapped. But don’t want her feeling like I’m going all sensitive on her, either.

  She eventually turns around to face me. “Maybe it was a love story. Maybe I need to mull on it a little bit more.”

  “It’s just a story,” I shrug.

  “Well… when you put it that way, you make it sound like it’s meaningless, which it isn’t. It’s definitely got something to it. Hey, you know… let’s make that your next challenge. Call me when you’ve figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?”

  She hops off from the bed, somehow managing to evade my grip. “When you figure out if it’s a love story you want.”

  I’m speechless as she dresses. “Wait a sec. Round two?”

  “This was round two, Jagger,” she says, with a definitive edge to her words.

  “Fine. Round three, then. Night’s still young, gorgeous,” I attempt to persuade her.

  She smiles at me instead, slipping her bra on, then her dress, as I continue to just stare at her from bed, propping myself up a little with my elbows. “I mean, you know the rules. No reason for me to stay after we’ve had… you know, we’ve done our thing.”

  I was a hundred percent sure I had rocked her world tonight. To see her leaving is honestly throwing me off a little. I slowly decide to agree with her, as my mouth starts to dry. “One and done, two and, uh, won.”

  My cock is hardening ferociously so, lying back in bed to watch her leave means I have to look at her past my full-mast cock. It’s in the way, like the sights on a rifle.

  Alexa slips me a soft, “bye,” as she slides out of the door, which I don’t even completely register. Now I’m the one in a daze.

  A minute passes after she leaves, and I find myself expecting — shit, maybe hoping — that she’d come back.

  Why? Why does it matter to me so much?

  “Goddamn fuck,” I grunt. I realize the truth. I want to see her again.

  I want to keep seeing her.

  ELEVEN

  HE THOUGHT OF moving out is giving me more stress than anything else I’ve had to deal with in a long, long time. Sure, finding a place can’t be too hard, but there’s just so much to it that even thinking about it makes me really anxious.

  Deposits, building fees, having landlords scrutinize me as a source of money to squeeze, holding my breath while agents pause awkwardly when they ask what I’m doing for work, when I have to tell them that right now I’m, ahem, in between jobs.

  The weird way I ended things with Jagger also doesn’t help. It didn’t feel like me doing that — honestly, that whole thing was my alter ego.

  Glamorous Alexa.

  Sashaying in a dress and heels, riding a guy cowgirl, shaking and rocking on his rock hard rail until we both come. And then, leaving, never intending to hear from him again.

  Maybe that was the story. Or maybe I’m just wary of everyone right now.

  Either way, I’m probably right to have done all of that. With Helen and Ben coming back this week, I’ve got to start getting things moving ASAP, or else I’m going to have no home, no job, and no clue what to do in the immediate aftermath.

  Sonya is my only real source of solace but even she’s been too busy lately.

  And Jagger. There are times when I feel like calling him up. Many time, if I’m honest. The man doesn’t like to text. He’s all about hearing your voice. It’s a cute, almost archaic point of view, but it’s one that definitely also has the negative effect of making me feel like it stops me from contacting him.

  Just send me an iMessage, gosh.

  But I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t thinking about him. I’ve been thinking about him. A lot. I told him to call me, because I didn’t want to make it sound like I was distancing myself from this, but that really seems to be what I’ve done.

  In hindsight, I freaked out again. I’m not used to getting the attention of a man so impressively confident and in control as Jagger, not to mention handsome as hell, too. And so impressively endowed.

  And when he cuddled me, everything felt so perfect. A voice in my head instantly whispered that this is too good to be true.

  Beware becoming complacent.

  So instead, I focus entirely on the two urgent hunts, to get a job and get myself into a new place. All that does, though is make me sigh.

  Haven’t even been eating too well, either. Takeout Chinese when I can make myself bother. Otherwise, just a sip of water and whatever I can find in Helen’s freezer.

  Yeah. I’m heading through a slump.

  So it’s safe to say that when my phone rings next, I’m instantly displeased. “Fucking Helen,” I complain, not wanting to have to deal with her right now.

  Not in the middle of the afternoon I should be spending out on her building’s rooftop pool, rather than staying indoors, making sure I haven’t accidentally forgotten anything of mine — because knowing Helen, she’d go all finders keepers on my stuff.

  But the ringing doesn’t stop, so I almost have to drag myself to my phone.

  It’s Jagger.

  Uh oh. Has he actually figured everything out, now? Does he have a plan? Because I don’t.

  “Hey,” I say, trying at once to sound cool and detached, but in reality coming off very differently. I can’t help it — everything about this alpha male makes me very much interested. Mentally and physically.

  “Let me take you out.”

  “Excuse me?” I say, doing everything to suppress the smile that’s rushing to my face. I know he can’t see me, but I don’t want to sound like I’m smiling, either.

  “Out. To a park or something. Or a restaurant.”

  “So you can fuck me in a park?” I say, skeptical. “Or under the table in a restaurant?” there’s a catch in my voice, “Or were you thinking of a knee trembler in the bathrooms?” I can’t keep the edge of a groan from snaking up. I have to clear my throat. “Public sex is a fantasy of mine that I think should safely be kept to fantasy status only.”

  “No, not so we can fuck in public. Jesus, do you want to get me arrested?” Oh, now my concentration’s really coming unhinged. “I mean we could, you know, have a day out together. Just enjoy each other’s company.” He waited. I didn’t say anything. “People do that. We could, you know, walk or something. You got a dog? We could walk your dog.”

  This is all too sweet. “I don’t have a dog. Aw, but you’ve got me wishing I had one. I don’t get it. You want to take me out… like, on a date?”

  “Yes, like on a date. Exactly like on a date,” he explains. There’s frustration in his voice. I’m amused by it. He’s definitely the kind of man who never has to explain himself — especially because he’s the kind of man who never seeks dates when sex will jump in his lap so easily.

  “So you’d like to take me on a date,” I repeat. “I’m being repetitive, I know. I just want to give
the idea some time. To let it sink in.”

  “Goddamn,” Jagger says with a laugh, finding the humor in this at last. “Is it really so hard to imagine me wanting to take you out on a date? I mean, you can just say no if you’re not interested.”

  “Oh, I’m interested,” I reply. Too quickly, damnit. Sat here in the apartment I have to leave. Leave this pretty place for an apartment I haven’t got. To start a job. That I also haven’t got.

  I’m more than interested. Even knowing that it could just be a distraction. “Okay, then. You can say no if you don’t want to see me. But I did ask.”

  “No need to focus on me saying no, Captain,” I say, grinning the whole time. I position myself in front of one of Helen’s many full-length mirrors, so I can capture my reaction right now. “Because I’m saying yes. A date, that sounds fine. Where? When?”

  “Uh,” Jagger answers, and I realize he wasn’t actually expecting me to say yes. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.” After we hang up, I look at my clothes in the closet. My books on the shelf.

  Note to self: I really have to do that second round of dry-cleaning as soon as possible. Especially since I’m going to borrow yet another dress from my stepsister.

  Hey, if she didn’t want me wearing them, she should’ve decided not to grow up in exactly my size.

  “Oh, this is perfect,” I muse as I check my reflection. With the nighttime New York backdrop, it sparkles in the window, outside the restaurant Jagger set for our date. Date. A little cloud of butterflies lifts off in my stomach.

  I’ve been dressing to impress these last few rendezvouses, but tonight is a different level entirely. I’m going out on a date with him. I have to present the very best version of me. It’s imperative.

  Past my reflection, through the restaurant’s plate glass I see him, perched on a stool at the bar. Perfectly nonchalant. His back is to the window.

  I slip inside and I’m behind him before he’s seen me. “Hi, handsome,” I greet him, laying my hand on his shoulder. I plant a kiss on the side of his face.

  Jagger reaches for my hand, pulling me close to him once more. It feels like it’s bee too long. This time, his kiss lands on my lips. I’m immediately blushing, as usual. The sheer force of his attraction can still surprise me.

  “Gosh,” I whisper.

  “That’s the reaction I was aiming for,” his grin spreads. That beautiful, cocky grin never fails to make me smile, too. Especially now that our familiarity has allowed me to understand what it means: it’s all about how well he embodies the dominance his life revolves around.

  He lifts a finger and the Maitre d’ appears at Jagger’s shoulder. The small smile that the man gives Jagger with his formal smile makes it look as if he’s known him a long time. Could be that it’s just the kind of professional courtesy Jagger expects in an expensive restaurant. The Maitre d’ guides us courteously to a table.

  “Best table in the house,” I notice. Jagger waves his hand to a chair. I’m impressed. “You’re letting me have the view, too.”

  The restaurant straddles a lake and has an extended balcony. I notice there are no tables on the balcony, but that doesn’t stop diners from going out to admire the view. What’s great about our table is that we don’t have to stand up to see it — and we’re on a platform, so the busybodies trying to take couple selfies with the view don’t obstruct the view from our table.

  “What a pretty sight,” I tell him, smiling wide. “You’re trying to show me that you’ve got a romantic bone in you after all, right?”

  “I’ve definitely got a bone of some sort.”

  “Oh, hush. Not here. Not yet.”

  Looks like I overplayed my hand there, hinting that this date might come with an automatic dessert of more amazing sex. I end up shaking my head at my amateur mistake. “What are we having?”

  “Well, this place serves up some of the best Lebanese in town. I’ll happily do the ordering if you’d like.”

  “Please,” I nod. I’ve never had Lebanese before. I sit up straight as I watch him gesture to a waiter. While he names a delicious array of exotic dishes with names I can’t pronounce, I smooth the front of my dress.

  Tonight it’s Dior. Instead of black or red, I’m wearing a pastel piece that’s almost lilac. It hugs me in all the right ways. Jagger’s going to be eyeing my ass all night. Once once we get out of this restaurant, there will be no stopping him. Or me.

  He summons the wine waiter and names a wine for us, not even looking at the wine list — he’s chosen his favorite vintage. The wine waiter smiles, clearly impressed by Jagger’s choice. He’s back in no time, shows Jagger the bottle for his approval. He holds the bottle fro the base as he pours a sample for Jagger. He swirls it, holds it to the light then sniffs it while the waiter shows me the bottle.

  Jagger tastes the wine, waits a moment, then he nods for the waiter to pour.

  “Just the sort of thing. I was stationed in the Middle East for a little while. The region is the birthplace of wine — even though lots of places have become more religious and conservative, appreciation for wine is still strong.”

  “That’s very interesting,” I nod, liking these little tastes he brings me of his experiences.

  “You’d never guess it, but people are working hard and building wonderful vineyards out there. He paused to say, “That spirit of optimism. That’s hope.” And he raises his glass.

  The food arrives soon enough — flatbreads and spiced rices, with lamb, chicken and fish servings. Delicious dips and sauces. The meat is just so tender that while we allow ourselves some enjoyable quiet to eat, I’m shivering from just how delicious everything is.

  But, of course, my main focus is all on Jagger. Even while I’m enjoying exotic taste sensations and scents, I’m thinking about his mouth. His lips and his teeth. And the taste of him.

  By the time we’re done with dinner, not to mention the fine bottle, I’m convinced that we’ve got a rare chemistry going on. It strikes me that I’m nowhere near being done talking to him or, it seems, he to me. All about my favorite topics and his, it feels as though we have an almost endless amount to talk about.

  We talked about books, the economy, movies and music, even sports. I was surprised by how much I knew. He’s pretty well-read, too. I wasn’t expecting to discover that about him. Intelligence and a love of reading is such a turn on in a man.

  It has definitely had that effect on me.

  “Shall we head off?” he suggests, rising. Dinner was his treat and he’s settled up already.

  “Where to?” I lift an eyebrow. He hasn’t mentioned flying in or out, so I don’t know if he’s got a hotel room. Or does he have his own apartment here when he’s not expecting to fly?

  He places his hand on my bare lower back as he guides us both out. I’m feeling the buzz of the wine, but Jagger is stronger than that. My toes curl inside the soft grip of the tall sandals.

  The warmth of his body was close behind me. His breath fanned my ear as leaned down to say, “I was thinking we could go to your place.” I nearly stumbled. “Let you have home advantage, for once.”

  I pause and purse my lips. Helen has explicitly warned that I’m not allowed to bring anyone home. And even if I’m okay with fucking someone in her dress, I know fucking someone in her home is a line I can’t cross. I don’t want to come off as standoffish here, but that’s a definitely no-go.