Sex Drive

by Susan Lyons

  So should he, but hell, this opportunity—this woman—was too good to pass up. “Don’t want to disillusion Carmen. She’ll figure our marriage is doomed to failure.”

  “Oh gosh, I’m so worried about Carmen’s opinion.”

  He chuckled. “Besides, remember the ‘all work’ thing? Isn’t the prof allowed some time off to play?”

  “Well…” Her cheeks were pink again. “Dare I ask what you had in mind?”

  “I think you just did.” He gave her his full-wattage smile. “Whatever we feel like. A little more talk. Maybe…” With his index finger he smoothed hair away from her temple. “A kiss, right about here.” Then he touched her nose. “Another, here.” And, finally, her lips. “And definitely one here.”

  “You’re—” Her voice came out croaky. She cleared her throat. “You’re giving me warning you intend to kiss me?”

  “Let’s say hope rather than intend.” He studied her face, which reflected a mix of embarrassment, uncertainty, and arousal. The physical signals—flushed cheeks, gleaming eyes, beaded nipples—said she was turned on. But would she get over her hang-ups and acknowledge her desires? “Figure that might be more fun than grading exams?”

  Humor sparkled. “Undoubtedly. But…” She ducked her head. “Maybe you shouldn’t have asked. Maybe you should have just gone ahead.”

  “No. I want you to opt in.”

  Slowly she raised her head and gazed into his eyes. “To what, exactly, Day?”

  “Three kisses. Temple, nose, lips. And then we’ll see.”

  Those enticing lips curved. “That doesn’t sound too awful.”

  “If it is, we stop there.”

  The curve deepened. “And if it turns out to be enjoyable?”

  “Then it’s your turn. You pick the next three things. Kisses or anything else you want.”

  She sucked in a breath, and he wondered what she was imagining. Something that made her cheeks flame again, and that could only be good as far as he was concerned.

  Before he could ask, Carmen stopped beside them. “More chocolate?” She’d lost some of her attitude, he was glad to see.

  When he and Theresa both turned down the offer, with thanks, Carmen went on. “We’ll be settling in for the night. Do you have everything you need? Pillows, blankets, water? You know how the video screen works? There’s a movie guide in the side seat pocket.”

  Theresa said, “Could I get a bottle of water, please?”

  “Make it two,” Damien said.

  “Of course.”

  When Carmen had gone, Theresa said, “I don’t believe it. She’s acting more civil.”

  “Yeah, well, I apologized.”

  “Apologized?” She studied him with some surprise. “Hmm. That’s kind of sweet.”

  Sweet. He rolled his eyes. Then he made a trip to the loo, taking the toiletries kit so he could shave and brush his teeth.

  When he came back, he noticed that the older gent across the aisle seemed to be dozing, sleep mask covering his eyes. Beside him, his wife was taking out her own sleep mask and earplugs. “Have a good night,” she said softly. Was that a twinkle in her eye?

  “You, too.”

  Throughout the business-class cabin, there were a couple people with computers out, another couple reading, and a few who were focused on their video screens. But, for the most part, people were settling down to sleep. Rustlings and hushed voices died away.

  Damien got pillows and blankets out of the overhead bin as a female voice came over the loudspeaker, advising them the cabin lights would now be dimmed and instructing them where to find the individual seat lights. “We wish you a pleasant night, and to minimize disturbance we’ll avoid walking through the cabin unless we need to. If there’s something you’d like, please press the call button or come up to the galley and we’ll be pleased to help you.”

  A moment later, the main lights went off. Now the cabin was illuminated only by faint lights on the floor marking the aisles, a glow where the galley and lavatories were located, and the occasional seep-over around a cocoon chair where a passenger had turned on the seat light.

  He leaned toward Theresa. “I can hardly see you,” he murmured. “How’m I going to find that temple, for the first kiss?”

  5

  I could—probably should—have avoided Day. I should have curled into the cocoon of my seat, turned on a light, got started on that wedding project plan.

  It’d be silly to let myself be seduced by a charmer, and I wasn’t known for doing silly things. But, oh God, he’d got me so turned on with that dessert sharing. Not to mention what he’d said about a woman like me deserving to be appreciated slowly and thoroughly, and made to feel beautiful and sexy.

  No man had ever made me feel that way. No wonder I’d never had much of a sex drive when no guy had ever revved me up this way.

  Of course it was only a line. But the reality was, I wasn’t the kind of woman guys normally tossed their lines at. When was the last time a man had flirted with me even a little? When was the last time I’d had fun talking to a man, not about sociological studies but simply engaging in male/female teasing banter?

  Banter? Wait a minute, I didn’t do banter. The banter gene had been omitted from my makeup. Except, with this man I kind of, sort of, had been bantering. Not entirely clumsily. I’d made him laugh more than once.

  Not only that, I’d aroused him. The way he’d aroused me.

  “When a person can’t see,” Day said softly, “he has to rely on touch.” Fingers grazed my chin, then soft lips brushed my temple.

  So much for moving away. Instead, I held still, my skin tingling where his mouth brushed along my hairline, pressing soft kisses. Then he was moving across my cheek toward my nose.

  He’d broken his promise. He’d said—or had he merely implied?—he’d kiss me three times only. Temple, nose, mouth. Instead, he was weaving a daisy chain of kisses, working his way ever so slowly across my skin. A puff of breath, soft lips, a hint of warm dampness. Each sent a tremor racing through me, straight to my sex, which was pulsing with need.

  The kisses were closed-mouthed, almost innocent. How could they be such a turn-on? But then, my reaction to this man hadn’t made sense from the very beginning.

  As an academic, I believed in objectivity. I didn’t hedge or rationalize. And, to be totally objective about it, Day turned me on in a major way. No doubt he had that effect on many women but, for me, the experience was fresh.

  Oh, my. He was kissing my nose, letting me feel the moist underside of his lips, teasing my flesh with the tip of his tongue. The nose was not an erogenous zone, I reminded myself. But my body wasn’t listening to me, it was responding to Day. My nipples were hard, yearning for his mouth to give them the same treatment he was bestowing on my nose. And my sex was swollen, damp, achy.

  Why was this happening? With Jeffrey, arousal hadn’t been there in the beginning. It had grown as he wooed me for a few weeks with intellectual discourse, red wine, and kisses.

  And speaking of kisses…Day’s lips had reached mine.

  He gave me one quick peck, then moved away. I waited to see where he’d kiss next, how he’d kiss next. But nothing happened.

  “Day?” I whispered.

  “That’s my three. Now it’s your turn.”

  I knew what I wanted. Why shouldn’t I take it? “I don’t think that last one qualified as a kiss. Finish what you started.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I get my three.”

  My eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and I saw the flash of his smile as he moved toward me. “Thank God.”

  He made me feel desirable. As a woman. Period. Not as a kid genius, not as a top-rated teacher and grad student advisor, not as a brilliant researcher and colleague. As an attractive, sexy woman. I could kiss him for that. And I did.

  We started slowly, learning the shape of each other’s lips. He nibbled my lower lip the way he’d done my nose, sucking it in, teasing it with his tongue,
sending darts of pleasure rippling through me.

  I did the same thing back, and he sighed with pleasure.

  I’d thought I knew how to kiss, but I soon realized I’d barely passed my GED. Now Day was taking me to university and I’d be willing to bet, before he was done, I’d have my PhD.

  In the past I’d thought kisses were pleasant, but nothing special. Kind of a practical means to an end. A “hi, it’s you, this is nice, okay now let’s get on to something a little more arousing” kind of thing. Not a treat to be savored slowly, deliciously, like a chocolate mousse-covered ripe strawberry.

  We were still nibbling and licking around the edges, like we were tasting the chocolate. We hadn’t even got to the fruit and my head was spinning, my chest flushed, my thighs clenched.

  I’d enjoyed making love with Jeffrey, but now I suspected my experience with him was another GED-type thing. If Day was as good at sex as he was at kissing…

  He had one hand on the armrest of my semireclined seat, bracing himself. The other stroked through my hair, caressed the planes and curves of my face.

  I ran my own hands through his hair, finding it thick and soft, a little springy as if it had a mind of its own. It curled down his neck and I stroked under it, along his hairline, into the soft, hidden skin of his nape.

  As we kissed, his breath drifted across my face, scented of minty toothpaste and chocolate. I wanted to taste the inside of his mouth, and by now it was most definitely my turn to choose what we did. I gripped his head between my hands to hold him steady, then thrust my tongue between his lips. He parted for me, I dipped inside, and yes, he tasted as good as he smelled. My after-dinner chocolate mint to suck on and relish.

  He angled his head, giving me better access, and danced the tip of his tongue around mine. Then he took his turn at invading my mouth, making a leisurely sensual exploration.

  My lips felt flushed and tingling, soft and damp, as his tongue thrust between them. Mirroring the act of intercourse.

  And speaking of lips, that other set was swollen and damp, and could really have used some stimulation other than the tight press of cotton between my thighs.

  His hand didn’t go there, though. Instead, he inched down one shoulder of my sweater and bent to press kisses on the bare skin he’d revealed, working down the V-neckline to the cleavage that now showed. His tongue followed that cleft, then he kissed along the top line of my bra.

  I caught my breath, nipples hard and aching.

  “There’s a better way,” he murmured.

  Of course there was, but it required privacy and a bed. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Take off your bra.”

  “But…” I wanted this man’s hands, his lips, on my breasts, but what if someone saw us? I peered past him, seeing virtually nothing but an occasional glow of light many seats away. And, if anyone did happen to walk down the aisle, Day’s body would block their view of me.

  Wriggling in the seat, I straightened so I could reach up under the back of my sweater and undo my bra clasp. Then I pulled one shoulder strap out the armhole of my top and down over my arm and hand, then used the other shoulder strap to pull the whole bra out the other armhole.

  I probably looked no different than I had before, but I felt different. Wanton and sensual, my nipples rubbing against the woven fabric of my top. This was the closest I’d ever come to being braless in public.

  “Put that somewhere you won’t lose it,” Day suggested.

  I tucked the bra into my purse, then took one of the blankets he’d stuffed between our seats. When he shook it out and draped it over me, I felt bolder and leaned back in my seat, shamelessly thrusting my chest toward him.

  He didn’t waste time accepting my offer. He slid his hands under the bottom hem of my top, brushing the bare skin above the waistband of my pants and making me tremble. Then he cupped my breasts. And didn’t move. Just held them, letting them settle into his big hands as if they were designed to fit there.

  I could see him fairly well now. His eyes were closed and he smiled, not that sexy grin but a slower, closed-mouth smile that looked to me like perfect satisfaction. “Oh, now, that’s good,” he murmured.

  It was, and I could hardly complain about him seeming so thrilled to merely hold my breasts, but I really wanted him to touch my nipples. “It’s good, but it could be better.”

  His eyes opened, squinting at the corners with humor. “I thought it was you gals who were supposed to want the slow foreplay?”

  “If you go any slower, I’m going to die of frustration.”

  “Can’t have that. So, Theresa, what would you like?” He cupped my breasts more tightly, making them even rounder and more sensitive. Then he ran his thumbs around my puckered areolae, circling in a light caress.

  His actions made the sweater brush back and forth across my nipples. Stimulation, but not what they craved. It had been so long since a man had touched my body intimately. Yes, I knew I could live without sex, but now that I was seminaked in the darkness with a hot guy, I wanted everything he could give me. A whimper escaped my lips.

  Day’s mouth immediately covered mine, and I realized what I’d done. If we were going to fool around and escape detection, we had to keep quiet.

  “Sorry,” I murmured against his lips.

  He sucked on my lower lip. Then, finally, his hands were focusing on my nipples, squeezing them gently, rolling them, his fingers doing to them very much what his lips were doing to mine.

  And oh my, did it feel wonderful.

  He broke the kiss and let go one breast, fiddled with the controls for my chair, and now I was tilting back farther. He eased the blanket aside and peeled my sweater up to reveal my breasts, then his dark head dipped down and he licked around my nipple, using quick brushes of his damp tongue.

  And then he sucked it and I barely managed to stifle a gasp of pleasure. I pressed a hand against my lips, a reminder to stay quiet, and buried my other hand in his hair. As his talented lips and tongue worked my nipple, my hips thrust up, craving the erotic press of his lower body.

  It couldn’t happen, though. The lack of privacy, the design of the seats, didn’t allow for it. Damn.

  I’d never been a woman who climaxed easily and reliably, but now sexual tension was coiled so tight inside me, I was pretty sure I’d come if only…

  His fingers might do it.

  Would he? Did I have the guts to ask?

  He was sucking my other nipple now, his touch so provocative that I pressed my lips against my hand to stop myself from moaning.

  Day lifted his head from my breast and trailed damp kisses down the center of my body. When he reached the waist of my pants, he undid the button, then paused. Maybe he was waiting to see if I’d protest. “You’re such a turn-on,” he murmured huskily. “Lovely bod.” He lifted his head. “Theresa?”

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered.

  Under the blanket, he undid the zipper and slid a hand inside, brushing my bare tummy above the boy-brief panties I wore.

  I shivered, body tightening with anticipation.

  He cupped my mound through the thin cotton. As he’d done with my breast, he just held me for a few moments.

  I let the sense of his firm heat sink through the fabric, through the nest of curls. Felt the way his middle finger curved between my legs over the damp crotch of my panties, resting over my clit, my labia. My sex quivered, hungered, and I wanted to press up against his hand, yet there was something very sexy about this, about not moving. As I concentrated, I became more and more aware. Each sensation was intensifying, anticipation building.

  Now my entire body was trembling with need.

  “Pull your pants down,” he said.

  I gripped the waistband on both sides and lifted up, working the fabric over my hips.

  He took over then, sliding my pants over my hips and thighs until they were bunched below my knees.

  I lay back under the blanket, nervous but almost unbearably excited, like the
hormonal teenager I’d never had the chance to be.

  His finger rubbed the crotch of my panties, brushing my clit.

  I almost came off the seat. Then reality crashed in on me. Was this really me, Professor—Dr.—Fallon? Half-naked under a flimsy airline blanket, in a cabin with maybe fifty other passengers, opening my legs to a total stranger?

  It couldn’t be. I was far too practical. Inhibited. Unsexy.

  “How about these?” he whispered, tugging on the cotton of my panties.

  Oh, how I wanted the touch of his skin against mine. But, “No, I don’t have the nerve.” God, what was I thinking? Did I have the nerve for any of this?

  “S’okay. I’ll manage.”

  He’d manage. I had no doubt a man like Day could manage pretty much anything he wanted to when it came to sex. The amazing thing was, he wanted to “manage” with me.

  He might call me “Prof” from time to time, but he saw me as a woman. Not only that, he wasn’t focused on his own satisfaction, but on giving me pleasure.

  And, damn it, I wanted that enjoyment. Jeffrey had touched me this way, sometimes gone down on me, but it had always been a means to an end, and the end was him inside me, finding his climax. That couldn’t happen here with Day, not in this airplane cabin, and it was so erotic and satisfying to have a man concentrate on pleasuring me.

  As his fingers again stroked me through the saturated crotch of my panties, I gripped the edges of the seat and let my thighs fall open, giving him better access. I felt nerve endings spring to the alert; my whole being was focused on the tantalizing slide of his fingers and the sensations he aroused.

  “Such a sweet pussy,” he murmured.

  Pussy. Of course I knew the word, but I’d never spoken it. Nor had a man said it to me before. A sexy word. A word for a woman who wasn’t inhibited, but sensual and purely female.

  A tight, tingly, achy feeling radiated out from where he touched me, and inside, the tension of arousal coiled tighter. “Oh, God,” I whispered.

  Looking down, all I could see was the navy blanket and his arm, disappearing underneath. So strange, not to be able to see, yet feeling such intense sensations.