by Ann Steele
So, maybe she isn’t a sub, she is submissive, the rest is just experience.
"Mary," I buzzed through to my PA. "Make sure my plane is ready to fly. I need it tomorrow and please book me a double room in Panama. Any hotel, as long it's five star."
"Yes, sir. Is it just the one room?"
"Yes."
So, I accidentally forgot to book Abigail a room? It's not like I plan on her spending much time in her room. She'll be too busy riding my nine and a half inches to sleep anyway. I leaned back in my chair, adjusting my underwear. I'll pack my soft flogger and some padded handcuffs. She might not have been used by a Dom before and I don't want to scare her off until I've had my fun.
Chapter Three – Abigail
A red wheeled case rested on my bed. I packed carefully. Killian was up to something, I felt it in my bones, the last thing I want is to encourage his advances but I'm also travelling in a professional capacity, I need to dress smart. I tossed aside my slightly sheer blouses, he likes those too much. I settled on power suits, praying he wasn't one of those kinky men who gets off women in suits. Since we will probably be going to dinner, I threw in a knee length dress too, making sure it wasn't one with a low neckline. When you're a modest D cup, clothing options are limited.
I sank to the bed, waiting for the cab Killian promised would pick me up. If tries shit on, he's done. I have no time or patience for shitty men right now. I'm still trying to get rid of the last one. My cell phone buzzed. Lance's name popped up the screen. Three times he's called today to 'chat'. No doubt his fiancé has realized what a dribbling cock wobble her new beau is and kicked him to the curb, so now he's back harassing me with his cheating tail between his legs. Heaven forbid the cock lodger must get a job and place of his own. Oh, the horror would be far too much to bear. And why would he when he can come running back to me? Well, not this time. I hit reject call, sending his call straight to voicemail. The message box pinged a second later. Nope, not even reading it. I have no interest in Lance's apology, he went too far this time, selling my car to buy his bit on the side an engagement ring after telling me he wasn't the marrying type.
A horn blared outside, I dove from the bed, peeking through the bedroom curtains. A black stretch limo sat on my drive. My eyes rolled so hard. Predictable much, Killian? If he's in the back offering me champagne, I swear I will punch him in his stupid, perfectly chiselled face. I grabbed my case, rolling it behind me until I reached the stairs. It bounced off my shins three times before I made it to the bottom. Killian's suited, hat wearing driver rushed to me, relieving me of the offending case. If Killian really wanted to impress me, he should've dragged his sorry ass out of his limo and came to my door. The driver threw my case into the front, opening the passenger door for me.
I glanced inside, and you have got to be freaking kidding me....
Chapter Four – Killian
"Good morning Miss Koch, looking lovely as ever," I said, thrusting a glass of Moet and Chandon towards her. The corners of her lips curled, her nostrils flared. My dick almost burst from my pants. Women are so fucking hot when they get mad, at least Abigail Koch is. I wouldn't know about other women. Other women don't get mad at me, especially not when I turn up outside their scruffy apartment blocks in a limo, brandishing champagne, not that I make a habit of doing this. I don't need to. If I ask a woman to fuck me, her clothes fall off and panties vanish, and she ends up underneath me before she's uttered a word.
Maybe that's why Abigail is enchanting me so much. She's making me chase her. It's exciting, it's challenging and her rage is making it all the hotter. Her cheeks flushed an adorable pink, she threw herself into the limo, slamming the door so hard the limo driver visibly cringed.
"Thank you," she snarled waving the champagne flute away, "but we are here to work. I contacted Scarlet Red yesterday evening." She pulled a laptop from her bag, opening it to a message screen. "I've arranged to meet her this afternoon. The itinerary says we land at 15 hundred hours. Google maps estimates she lives a fifty-seven-minute drive away from our hotel and the hotel is a seventeen-minute drive from the airport, so..."
"We're getting a chopper to the hotel and to Scarlet's," I interrupted her.
Her organisation skills impressed me. She'd planned every second of our impromptu trip. There's just one problem. I have other plans, plans which involve Abigail tied to my bed. Still after the rocky start with her insisting Scarlet is exactly what White Label needs, her commitment to detail is reassuring and if I'm honest, the thing with Scarlet is my fault. We got off to a terrible start. Our first meeting was diabolic I was too busy studying her perfect tits to give her any guidance. In future, I will do better. As much as I love Abigail's tits, I love money more. Richest self-made billionaire in America is not the title I want. I want to be the richest man, period.
We pulled up alongside my plane, Abigail slammed her laptop closed. She spent the drive re-planning her redundant itinerary taking into account the reduced travel time. She didn't take in account the time she will spend riding my dick. The driver opened Abigail's door, she dove from the limo like was worried I'd eat her. I followed. She glanced at the plane and then at me.
"This is our plane?" She said, raising her eyebrows.
"Yes," I grinned. Pilots are like goddamn Viagra to women. It's the whole reason I learned to fly. Don a uniform and a hat and they beg you to fuck them, three at a time sometimes.
"Where is the pilot?" She inched away from the plane, wringing her hands, licking her lips.
"You're looking at him, baby." I tried not to be too smug.
"You?" She narrowed her eyes on me, not appearing remotely impressed. My usual tricks clearly aren't enough to sway the challenging Miss Koch. "Are you even sober today?"
Miaow. One-nil to Abigail. Her words stung because they were deserved. The first time she met me I was still half-drunk from the night before, the second time I was throwing champagne at her. I've allowed myself to become more playboy, less business man. I guess that's why the women I attract are nothing like Abigail.
"Yes, I am sober, and I've put in over a thousand flight hours. You will not find a pilot safer or more trained than me, Miss Koch, I promise you."
She tilted her head, inhaling.
"Okay," she finally agreed. "I trust you."
"Thank you," I said, sincerely. She let me help her into the plane. Her cute nostrils flared again when I leaned over her to strap her in. I talked over the plane with the staff, ensuring they'd done all their checks and my bird was safe to fly. One can never too be careful when they're hottest thing in the music business. It's surprisingly easy to make enemies in my line of work and I have a string of people just waiting for me to keel over, so they can take my title as King of manufactured pop music. I ran through the list the engineer gave me, double checking everything.
"The plane is in tip-top condition," I told Abigail, hopping into the pilot's seat, "and the weather is on our side. You can knock three minutes of our travel, we should make it into the airport early."
"Excellent," she smiled. Her hand wrapped tight around the door handle, her knuckles glowed white. I revved the engine. Take off went smoothly, as always. Getting the plane in the air is my favorite part. It's so freeing being up in the air, soaring above everything and everyone, nothing on the horizon but clear blue sky. As we flew towards South America, Abigail relaxed, quizzing me on the different lights and controls. When she's not mad, she's still cute. I wonder how she's managed to get to the ripe old of twenty-five without some lucky man snapping her and making her his wife.
"Um, should be that flashing like that? Didn't you say that had something to do with the engine?" She pointed to the engine failure light. It blinked an angry, dangerous red. My pulse picked up a few notches.
"No, it shouldn't be but it's no big drama. I'll restart the engine. The dash will go dark for a few seconds but don't panic. We'll stay airborne, you don't need an engine to fly."
But i
t helps.
I wasn't panicking. I'd gone over this a million times when I was learning, practicing for everything and anything that could possibly go wrong. The last thing a budding pilot wants is to find themselves at 5000 feet and realize they don't know how to recover a stalled engine or deal with jammed landing gear. I flicked the keys in the ignition. My controls went dark but we had enough speed to glide for a few meters. Abigail's fingers squeezed tighter around the door handle. The vein in her neck pulsed.
I twisted the engine key. Nada, nothing. The controls remained dark. The fuel gauge read low. My stomach knotted, beads of sweat tickled my upper lip.
"We're still good," I promised Abigail. She held her breath, closing her eyes.
The plane started losing speed.
Shit.
"I'm going to pull the plane into a nosedive, Abi," I told her, trying to keep the panic from my voice, "but we're still good. We're losing speed. If we dive a few hundred meters, we'll pick up enough speed to glide."
"Glide to where?" She asked, opening her eyes wide, scanning the horizon. Ocean surrounded the tiny plane.
"Abigail, I promise you, we are safe," I lied.
I dipped the nose, the ocean rushed towards us as we free fell. My fists closed around the controls.
"Oh God," Abigail screamed, "Please, I'm not ready to die. I haven't started my new life yet."
"Relax, Abigail," I placed my hand on her tense thigh. I'm the pilot, I got us into this mess, and it’s my duty to keep her calm. "We won't die, not today."
I hope.
I righted the plane. It glided through the sky, just as I hoped it would.
"See," I soothed, "you don't need an engine to glide a plane, and I mean it helps."
And you kinda do need one to land.
"We're okay?"
"Yeah, but we're gonna have to ditch in the ocean. I spotted some land a few miles back, I'll try to get us as close as possible."
"What land?" She studied her map. It looked nothing like where we were. Either my sat-nav is fucked up or she has the wrong map, either way, if I'm wrong about the tiny island I spotted while we were plummeting to our death, we're fucked. My only choice is to land in the ocean and pray we haven't flown so far off course rescue will never find us.
I tried the engine one last time. The fuel tank was empty, so was the reserve tank and the electrics were dead. If I didn't know any better, I'd think someone sabotaged us. Planes don't just dump fuel over the ocean. Against all the odds, I landed the plane smoothly, we bobbed on the ocean, a tiny dot in a massive expanse of clear blue water. Naturally, my plane is white, the same color as seafoam. I mean, I couldn't be sensible and pick a red plane or pink or a polka dotted or any color that would stand out against the blue and white ocean. Abigail threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Almost crashing a plane and killing us both is one way to get a woman I suppose. It's not how I would have chosen to do it but hey, silver linings, right?
My heart pounded, I scanned the flat ocean through the cracked windshield. Water, water and more water met my gaze. At least I didn't spot any ominous grey fins slicing towards us.
Chapter Five – Abigail
Adrenaline pumped through me, ripping my breath away, leaving my body quivering. As it ebbed away, I took of my situation. I'm in the middle of the ocean, in a slowly sinking plane gripping my boss's muscular back like my life depends on it. Killian's heart thumped against my breasts, defying his calm, in control exterior. He's as terrified as I am. I jumped away, Killian kept a hand on my leg, not moving it higher or caressing me just holding it there, like it was grounding me, keeping me safe.
"The island was back that way," he nodded over left shoulder, "there's a life raft in the back of the plane. I'll climb back and get it inflated, once you're in it safely I'll get as many supplies as the raft will take and row us to the island. I won't allow anything to happen to you, Abi, I promise."
He promised he was a safe pilot too and look how that turned out. Sincerity flashed in his emerald eyes. His words brought me comfort. I don't know why, I know how but I trusted. Maybe it's because he stayed so calm on the outside when, on the inside, his heart is racing as fast as mine. He's working hard to keep me calm and get me to land safely. He left me in the front of the plane, my fingers still wrapped around the door handle, like that would save me. As he kicked a side window out, forcing the life raft out of the plane to inflate it, more water rushed in, the plane bobbed lower on the water.
"You okay in there?" Killian asked.
"I think so," I squeaked. He's the one drifting in the ocean, I'm a plane that, thus far, appears to float. A yellow life raft popped open at the side of the plane, Killian yanked my door open, my fingers still gripping the handle tight.
"You need to let go, Abi," Killian said, gently peeling my fingers away. "I will lift you into the life raft. You won't even get wet, I promise."
He's making a lot of promises. I wonder how many of them he can keep. Does he mean them or are they like the empty promises I'm certain he makes to various women every night? With one hand he steadied the life raft, pulling it close to the plane, with the other he grabbed my waist, hoisting me up onto his broad as he transferred me to the life raft. He lied, I got wet. Salty ocean water lapped at my feet, soaking my shoes, one slipped off my foot, sinking into the turquoise depths. Before I could stop him, Killian dove down to retrieve it.
"I think we're on a ledge," he spluttered, surfacing with my soggy court held above his head like a grand trophy. "It's not too deep. I should be able to empty the plane if it sinks. Wait here, I load as many supplies as we can carry."
Wait here? Where did think I was going? I'm stranded in the ocean with the most confusing man in the world. Minutes ago, his only reason for being was getting into my panties and now he's behaving like a movie star hero. He swam to the back of the plane, dragging our luggage from the hold. It's a private plane, a small aircraft with no crew. Supplies are limited to a two litre bottle of water, a bottle of champagne and a few salted snacks. Killian hauled himself into the luminous yellow life raft, grabbing the oars.
I wonder if Bruce Willis here knows how to whittle a stick into a spear and catch fish or make a net like Tom Hanks.
The sun beating down on his back, he shed his shirt. He muscles tensed and flowed like the ocean as he rowed and rowed and rowed, never pausing for breath, not stopping until a tiny island hovered on the horizon.
"It's a little further than it looked from the air," Killian huffed, red faced. Perspiration clung to his body. If Katya could see him now, she'd fuck his brains out, stranded in the ocean or not. I crossed my legs, my gaze roaming his impressive, muscular chest.
"Do you want me to take over?"
"No," he snapped, throwing the oars through water quicker than ever. "I did this, it was my plane, I was flying it, I fix it, and anyway, you're a woman, it's my job to care for you and keep you safe."
Under any other circumstances, his jarring sexism would leave me reeling but for the first time in my life, I was forced to admit I need a man. Or at least, I need a man like Killian, strong, fit and willing. I dare say there are more than a few men who would rely on me to save them if they were stranded in the ocean with me. Single-minded, Killian powered us to the island, his chest heaving, his biceps bulging.
"It's just a little further," he seemed to be talking to himself, spurring himself on. "Only a few more minutes and I can get out and pull us to shore. We're okay, I set the distress alarm on the plane. Someone will find us."
"You can rest, Mr White, I can get us the rest of the way."
"No."
He pushed on, propelling the boat through the rough surf towards the tiny, isolated island. Once we were only a few meters away, he plunged into the freezing water, gripping the side of boat, powering us forward with his thick thighs. He didn't let go or let me out until we were firmly on land. Even then, he gripped my waist, keeping hold of me until
I was safely rested under the shade of a palm tree.
"How are you feeling, Abigail? Are you dizzy? Sick? Injured?"
"I think I'm fine," I said. Now we are off the ocean, reality is sinking in. I'm stranded on an island with Killian White, an island not show on the flight mapped I tracked and printed last night. Either we're off course or no-one knows the island exists. Neither scenario filled me with joy. "How are you, Mr White? You are the one who rowed a boat for three hours."
"My arms ache but it's nothing serious. I've had harder gym workouts," he grinned, flexing his biceps.
And he's back. I was relieved in a way. If he can still flirt and show-off, he must sincerely believe someone will find us. He ambled back to the life raft, pulling it to the trees, using the strings holding on the canopy to hang it between two trees. Blankets he pulled from the plane, he laid out in the sun. But he didn't stop to rest there, he trudged around the island gathering palm leaves and vegetation, building a den under his make-shift shelter. It pains me to admit it but I'm impressed. All the while, his shirt stayed off, I fought to tear my gaze from his statuesque frame. Muscles in places muscles should not be flexed under his glittering skin. I bit my lip, a heat creeping between my legs.
I will not fuck my boss. Not when my boss is Killian White, world famous womanizer, no matter how much I want to, not even if he is the last man on Earth, which right now, he kinda is. At least on this island.
"Your bed, my lady," he grinned, taking my hand, guiding me over the sand to his shelter. I welcomed the cooling shade from the life raft hanging above us. Killian sat by my side, offering me water. His eyes narrowed on my forehead.
"You've cut your head," he said, slipping my frizzy brown hair behind my ear. "Let me clean it?"
It wasn't a question, he didn't wait for a reply, he reached into his jeans, pulling out a handkerchief, soaking it with water from the bottle. It seemed a waste of water to me, but I learned on life raft as he insisted rowing the entire way himself, there's little point pretesting. Killian has appointed himself as my savior and guardian. He will take care of me whether I need him to or not. It's a strangely comforting thought when you're stranded on an unknown island.