by Ann Steele
"No thanks," I sneered as he offered me his hand, "I can manage. I doubt you'd support my weight anyway. I'm not 126 pounds of soft curves, I'm 270 pounds of solid muscle." I pulled myself into the plane, powering up with my steel thighs. My weakened muscles wavered under my 228lb frame, probably less now I've lived on nothing but salted peanuts and coffee for days. My pants hung from my jutting hips. Abigail rolled her eyes at me, her head bobbing side to side.
"He didn't need to touch you," I snapped, belting her into her seat. Well, it's true, he didn't need to. I seethed in the seat beside her confused by my sudden possessive streak. I've talked women into orgies for Christ's sake. Sharing is caring, so they say. I'm happy to share women and be shared by them. But not Abigail, not yet. No-one will lay a finger on her until I've sated my need for her. And when she is shared, it will be me doing the sharing. With another women, preferably a red-head. I wonder what Katya looks like? Her name is hot.
Abigail turned her eyes to the window, watching the ocean zip beneath us. Her face lit up when we flew over a pod of frolicking dolphins, crashing through the surf off the coast of Hawaii.
"Look," she grinned, grabbing my hand, directing my gaze to a dolphin back-flipping into a swelling wave. The airport lingered on the horizon. An ambulance waited at the side of the runway. Abi kept her eyes on the dolphins as we landed. Paramedics raced to the plane.
"Help the lady first," I said, brushing them aside as they tried to help me from the plane, "she has cut to her forehead."
They whisked into the waiting ambulance, rushing us to the nearest ER. After being fed and watered, we were given a clean bill of health. Abi asked for a phone, calling the mysterious Katya and then her parents. Tears streamed her cheeks.
"Yeah, mom, I love you too. No, I'm safe, totally fine. I know, I know but it didn't, Killian saved us. Yes, he is. He was amazing, like Tarzan. Okay, okay, I'll see you soon. Love you. Bye."
She handed the phone to me. I shook my head. Who would I call? My mom died when I was a baby, my dad is an abusive jackass who I haven't spoken to in years and if my PA doesn't know to have a limo waiting for me at JFK Airport, she doesn't deserve to keep her job. I'm already pissed she didn't call a search party before Katya Sutton did. The inept woman is literally all I have in terms of people who know the ins and outs of my daily life. I've half a mind to send her on one those Godawful training events in the middle of nowhere as vengeance for her ineptitude.
Abi gave the phone back to the nurse, pursing her lips at me.
"Do you want to stay in Hawaii, rest for the night?"
Abi shook her head, "no, I just want to go home."
"Okay," I agreed, beckoning for the phone the nurse held. I tapped in the number for my PA.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Were you planning on reporting me missing at all?"
"You're missing, sir?" She said, sounding genuinely baffled, "I thought you were in Panama. You're not due back until later today."
"No, I'm not in Panama, my plane crashed into the ocean. I could have died."
"Oh, my God. Is Miss Koch okay, sir?"
She's so fired, as soon as I get hold of my lawyer and work out if it's legal to fire a PA for not caring about your welfare. With no family to speak of, the accident fresh in my mind, I need someone in my life who cares enough to notice I'm missing, like Abi has Katya and her parents. A competent PA is perfect for the role, since it's their job to know where I am and what I want at all times.
"Yes, Abigail is fine. We're in Hawaii, I need you to book us on the first available first-class flight to New York. NOW!"
Yes, sir, right away."
She called back less than three minutes later, letting me know we had a flight later in the evening. Our clothes soaked in seawater, I offered to take Abigail shopping. It took a while to get her to agree but she eventually relented admitting she would feel better in fresh, clean clothes after a shower. We shopped from stalls along the beach front, at Abi's instance. I've had enough sand to last me a lifetime but if Abi wants to show off her stunning curves in a revealing, shoddily made sundress, I won't stand in her way. She picked something off the first stall we found, a thigh skimming canary yellow cotton dress and a pair of silver flip flops. I thrust my black Amex at the rotund woman serving.
"I'm sorry, sir, we only take cash."
"I'll get it," Abi offered, reaching into her bag. "And I'll take the blue shirt and board shorts for my friend."
I cringed, but with no Armani in sight and no cash, what choice did I have?
"As soon as we get back to New York, I'll pay you back," I told Abigail, tentatively taking the grey, plastic bag containing my hideous new outfit from her. With any luck, there'll be no photographers waiting for us at JFK.
Muriel, my useless PA booked us into a five-star suite a fifteen-minute drive from the airport so we could freshen up before our flight. Abi sunk to the bed, massaging her calf muscles.
"Let me," I dropped my knees, taking her slender but nicely shaped leg in my hands, kneading at the tension in her muscles, she flopped to her back on the bed, groaning. I slipped my hands further up her leg, drifting towards her tight, wet cunt. She clapped her legs together, leaning up on her elbows.
"Not now, Killian. I'm hot, tired and gross. I need a shower, it's why we booked this hotel isn't it?
"Yeah," I smiled. We also booked it for the double, walk in shower. Shower sex never did much for me it's not as hot in real life as it is in the movies, but sex with Abigail is sex with Abigail. I'll take it any way I can get it. "I'll join you." I raced her to the shower, shedding my worn, dirty cotton pants on route.
"Really, Killian?" She huffed.
"What?" I raised my hands in feigned innocence, "I only want to wash you and myself. It's a big enough shower, I've seen you naked before, what's the issue."
She sighed, wriggling her shapely hips out of her tight pencil skirt. All the blood from my brain rushed to my dick. He craved Abigail the way an addict craves their next hit. I turned the dial on the shower. Streams of hot water hit me from all sides> Abigail peeked into the shower, eyes wide impressed by the high-tech shower. 'Wait until you see the one in my en-suite, at home,' I almost said, catching myself just in time. Women don't get into my bedroom, that's my space. There's a massive bed in the dungeon if they feel like snoozing once I've worn them out. Abi stepped under the gush of water, tipping her head back to soak her long, wavy hair, exposing her neck. I grabbed a natural sea sponge from the shelf in the corner, squeezing a generous dollop of luxury hotel shower gel on to it. The bottle claimed it smelled of fresh linen, whatever fresh linen smells like. It doesn't smell of the Egyptian cotton sheets my house keeper covers my bed with every day. She didn't report me missing either. I must make more effort with my staff. If Abigail hadn't been with me, I might have taken weeks for anyone to check up on me. I kneaded the sponge in my fist, building up a good lather. Abigail shook her fingers though her hair, head still back, shaking the water through her thick mane. I reached out, touching the sponge to her neck, steadying her with an arm around her waist.
"Killian," she said, an edge of warning in her voice.
"I'm washing you," I said, training circles on her flat stomach with the sponge. As she relaxed in my arms, leaning her weight against my solid frame, I moved the sponge higher, blessing her splendid tits with attention. Her lips parted, her eyes closed, she rested her head on my shoulder. At 5"8, with legs up to her armpits, the curvy brunette is the perfect height for my 6"6 frame, her head reaching to my shoulder, her shoulders at chest height, so she tucks into me perfectly. My thumb slipped from the sponge, grazing her nipple. She moaned, inhaling softly, I took it as permission to go further, leaning down to suck her nipple into my mouth, kicking her legs, resting her ass against my crotch. My erection slipped between her ass cheeks, seeking the welcoming heat of her tight cunt.
She didn't resist me, she didn't jolt away. I lifted her from the floor, bendi
ng my knees to seat her on my thighs, parting her pussy lips with my cock. She whined, letting me slip inside her. Her wet hair draped over my shoulder, clinging to my back. She sighed grabbing my hand, guiding it to her clit, leading my fingertips around her clit in tiny circles, just grazing the edge of her hooded clit. She moaned, trembling in my lap, I wrapped my arm around her waist, rocking her back and forth on my cock. Her tight walls gripped my cock, her hand flew to my neck, wrapping around me as she steadied herself, grinding on my lap, getting herself off with my hand.
Fuck, she's hot. She doesn't moan like a porn star before I touched her or give a fuck how pretty her orgasm face is like some LA women, she just rides the moment, letting herself go. She arched her back, pressing her ass into my stomach, and what a slappable ass it is.
Her cunt clenched my dick, she yelled my name so loud the glass walls of the shower shuddered. My balls tightened. Not wanting to be a father, I pulled out, fisting my cock. Hot, thick ropes of cum landed on Abigail's leg, quickly washed away by water crashing down on us. I kept her on my lap until she came down from her climax, kissing her neck.
****
"Holy wow," Abigail's wide-eyed gaze travelled the first-class seats. "This is like a flying limo," she grinned like a teenager confronted with her favorite pop band. I tugged on the collar of the lurid Hawaiian shirt she picked out for me. In Abigail's color blind eyes, the gaudy hue of blue brings out my eyes. I was surprised they let me board the plane at all in this hot mess. Abi picked the seat by the window, miraculously still enamoured with the ocean. Two minutes after taking off, she snoozed, her head on my shoulder, a slight satisfied smile on her tranquil face.
"Miss," I grabbed the attention of a flight attendant, "could you fetch us two blankets and wake us ten minutes before landing?"
"Of course, Sir."
Chapter Nine – Abigail
"Mom, Dad," my flip flops smacked the shiny tiled floor of the arrivals lounge, slapping off my feet as I raced into the arms of my parents. Katya bounced on the spot behind them. My parents were the last people I expected to see waiting for me. They must've flown all the way from their Florida home when Katya called to tell my fate.
I dove into their arms.
"Oh, baby, you're safe. We were so worried," my mother said, holding me tight.
"I'm safe," I said peering behind me for Killian, "My boss saved us both."
Killian pulled on the hem of his shirt, ducking his head, glancing around the arrivals lounge. He waved, smiling at me.
"I'll get the bags," he mouthed, striding towards the conveyor belt to our luggage. No-one ran to him, no-on called his name. My heart sank, weighing heavy in my chest. He dropped my case at my feet.
"Well," he shrugged, "I kept my promise and you got you home safe. Take the rest of the week off to rest and I'll see you at work, next Monday."
"Is no-one here to meet you?"
"There's a stretch limo waiting outside to take me home. I'd offer you a lift but it looks like you have a ride."
"No-one is here for you?" My voice wavered. He frowned at me, tilting his head like I'd grown a third nipple on my forehead.
"I just told you, my driver is here. He's not allowed to bring the limo inside the airport. Don't be late Monday, we'll have a lot of catching up to do." He swaggered off, winking at a buxom blonde he passed.
"Killian," I called, extracting myself from my mother's death hold. Everyone in the building turned to him, muttering under their breath, wondering if the dark-haired surfer was THE Killian White in disguise. He stopped swaggering, frowning at me.
"Did I take the wrong bag?" He asked, blinking down at his black and white Gucci hold all.
"No, I wanted to invite you home, with me and my parents. My apartment isn't massive, but we should fit in."
He blanched, stepping away.
"Thank you, Miss Koch, but I am certain I will be much more comfortable relaxing in my own house."
"I mean, you shouldn’t be alone. You might be in shock."
"The doctors gave me a clean bill of health and Ingrid will be round in a few hours."
"Ingrid?"
"My house keeper."
"Staff isn't the same as having someone with you, "I sighed, shaking my head.
Someone snapped a cell phone picture of us. Killian glowered at them, yanking on his blue shirt.
"Isn't it?" He asked, seeming genuinely perplexed by my concern.
"No, of course it's not."
"Well, last time I checked Ingrid promised me she was a someone and she will be with me."
"But..."
"I am fine, Abigail. Go home, rest, have fun with your family. I will see you next Monday."
"Okay," I said. He turned on his heel, striding to the door without a care in the world. He's been lonely so long he's forgotten how alone he is. I wondered where his family was. He must have some?
"Abi," My mom said, catching my hand. "We're parked up outside. Let's get you home to bed."
She pulled me outside just in time to see Killian pouring a glass of champagne before his driver closed the door. For someone suffering crippling loneliness, he seemed quite happy.
Chapter Ten – Killian
The door to my house slammed behind me, I dropped my bag, drinking in the cool, filtered air, throwing my head back, letting it all wash over me. The fresh, sterile scent of whatever cleaning fluid Ingrid used on the pale marble floors. The first thing I need to do is get out of these clothes and into something more fitting for a man of my status. I hopped up the stairs three at time. In the master bedroom, freshly laundered and pressed silk pyjamas waited for me. I stripped off the unspeakable outfit Abigail forced me into, kicking it into the corner. Once I have some energy, I will burn them in the fire pit out back. I enjoyed a fresh, invigorating shower, washing away all trace of the last three days. My muscles ached, my shoulders were especially tight. Ant, my masseuse, threatened to quit last time I called him after midnight, so I shall have to subdue my aches and pains the old fashion, with a tall glass of brandy and a couple of pain pills.
In the lounge, my high-tech answer phone flashed, I hit play
"Oh my God, Killian, we saw you on the news. They said your plane is missing. Call us when you get this, people are worried about you," one of the twins mewled into the phone.
"He can't call us if he's missing, dummy," her sister whined in the background.
"Of course, he can."
"If he's missing he hasn't got a phone. Don't you think the police would've just called him if it was that easy?"
"I meant when he’s found, idiot. This is his landline, he won't get the message until he's home."
"Oh."
No-one could accuse the twins of having a working brain cell between them, but they happily submitted to my every sick demand, so I kept them around for entertainment purposes. A few more bed mates left messages of concern. I poured myself a brandy on the rocks, listening to them all even though I wasn’t in the mood for company tonight. My body aches too much to perform for anyone but Abigail with Abi, I don't have to pretend to be this larger than life billionaire, like I do with everyone else. In fact, she despises my alter-ego, only responding when I give her a glimpse of the man behind the money and the swagger.
I reached the final message,
"Killian, its Mike. Call me."
My mood blackened. I can think of a few billion reasons Mike would call me when my mug is plastered all over missing ads on TV and none of them are savory. I hit the recall button, lifting the phone to my ear.
"Y'ello," he slurred into the phone.
"It's me. I got your message. You're still alive then? I was sure you'd have drunk yourself to death by now."
"No, I'm alive and so are you by the sounds of it."
"Yes, I'm very alive, not that you have reason to care about my life status. I have a will and you're not in it."
"You have a will?"
"Yup, a cast i
ron one. You and the step witch won't see a single dime if I die."
"So, who gets it?
"A cat's home."
"You hate cats."
"True. I guess I hate you more, dad."
He hung up. I placed the phone back in the receiver, strolling to the black Italian leather corner sofa with my drink in hand. I grabbed my laptop, checking through a few work emails before cyber stalking Abigail Koch. I wonder what she's doing now. I checked the wall clock, Ingrid won't be here for two hours.
Chapter Eleven – Abigail
"I will look after myself, mom, I promise," I said for the millionth time. She'd stayed for three days, fussing over me, making me soup, combing my hair and worst of all taking my phone away to stop Lance or journalists calling me and stopping me contacting Killian. He was in work, yesterday. I eventually convinced my mother to allow me access to my laptop. I emailed Muriel, his PA, who assured me Killian was at work, in one piece and mentally sound if not a bit odd.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Odd how? What do you mean odd? Is he depressed do you think?
From: [email protected]
To [email protected]
He keeps telling me where is going and when he' is expected back. He never does that unless he wants me to order him transport.
Muriel.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
You understand this is MY email, yes? As in I can access it as easily as Muriel? I am fine, I am not depressed. Please stop discussing my mental health via company email or you will both face disciplinary proceedings.
Thank You.
Killian White.
I slammed the ancient laptop closed, sighing, shaking my head. How can he not be depressed when he's all alone? Why would anyone want to be alone? My mother took my laptop away again after that, deeming it too stressful after my recent trauma. Eventually, they had to return to Florida, so my dad could go back to work.