Luke (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 3)

by Becca Fanning

  That thought gave her pause. She’d never felt so drawn to someone before, even men she’d “dated.” Fine, more like a series of one night stands that happened to be with the same person. But this was a whole new kind of feeling for Iyesha. In their brief time together, she felt a need for this man. Not just physically, but something else. Something deeper.

  But what’s the point? He has girls like me lined up. A thrumming sensation spread through her body, her aching pussy still demanding to be relieved. She thought about how he’d promised to fuck her properly later, so maybe there was something else there. If he didn’t care about me, he wouldn’t have been so mindful about my needs. She began rubbing her nub again, increasing the speed and pressure. Her other hand left her abused nipple and joined the other at her sex, dipping a finger inside.

  If I want something bad enough, I just have to work hard to get it. Or, in my case, if I want someone bad enough, I just need to work his shaft hard to get him! She slipped two fingers into herself, plowing her tunnel. She leaned against the wall of the shower, imagining Dragon pinning her up against it while he ravaged her. I’m going to make this man mine. She bit her lower lip as her hands matched rhythms and the beginnings of an orgasm pulsed through her.

  Her legs trembled, and some subconscious part of her brain kicked in to keep her upright as the ecstasy overtook her. Her tender pussy clamped down on her fingers and spasmed. Her fluids ran down her legs, carried away by the hot shower. She looked up and smiled at nothing, her eyes closed and the water cascading down her body. She opened her eyes and noticed a small glass bulb up in the corner of the shower. Is that some kind of jet safety thing? So much of this was alien to Iyesha, but she was resolved to not make a fool of herself anymore.

  Turning off the faucet, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off with one of the towels hanging on the wall. Idly, she checked the towel for a label, wondering if she had something in common with Dragon at a basic needs level. Hey, I know you’re a billionaire but we get our towels from the same big box store. Ain’t that place great? She searched both sides of the towel, but there was no tag. Along one hemmed edge she did see some odd stitching, and at first she took it for sloppy workmanship. Ha! He has shitty towels! Iyesha’s triumph turned to bewilderment when she held the towel closer to her face. The stitching was letters:

  For the Dragon.

  Baruq

  Iyesha looked for a place to hang her wet towel, but didn’t see a towel rack. There was a small door in the wall and she opened it. It was just a small shaft leading down into darkness. She resolved that this must be where the wet towels went, so she stuffed the towel into the opening and shut the door. It popped open and she slammed it shut again with force.

  She put her clothes back on and looked in the mirror. No makeup, but looking pretty good au natural. Iyesha took a deep breath and left the bathroom, turning the light off on her way out.

  Walking back into the bar area, more things caught her eye. The curious glass bubbles were placed intermittently around the ceiling. They must be emergency lights. She wondered where Dragon was. Was he serious about being the pilot of the plane? Iyesha noted that she hadn’t seen any other people on the jet yet, but that was probably because the crew hadn’t come on board yet. She grabbed her purse from on top of the bar where she’d left it. She took a compact from inside and put on a little blush and lipstick. Her Fire Engine Red lips smiled back at her. She put away her makeup and rummaged for her phone before remembering that Dragon’s manager took it.

  With no clue what to do next, she continued her exploration of the plane, this time towards the cockpit. In the hallway past the bar, a large rug hung on the wall behind an enclosure of plexiglass. It looked very old, the ends frayed and twisted with age. It was an old patchwork mosaic, the faded patterns of red and blue barely visible anymore.

  Further down the hall was another room, an office. A large wood desk took up most of the room, the only other occupants being a laptop on the desk and an office chair. Well, it’s nice to see Dragon has a boring side as well. Out the small port window in the office, she saw signal batons being waved. Runway workers were motioning to the plane. We’re about the take off…where’s my seat?

  “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,” Dragon said smoothly through the hidden PA system spread through the jet. “I’d just like to thank you for flying with us today. We’ll be taking off shortly, taking a due southwest heading to Tahiti International Airport. Take your seats and buckle in.”

  Panicking, Iyesha tried to recall if she’d seen any normal plane seats anywhere aboard, but she hadn’t. She ducked into the office and sat behind the desk in the office chair, her hands spread across the desk to brace herself.

  A wicked chuckle came across the PA system. “Girl, get up to the cockpit. This trip is about to pop off,” Dragon said,, his voice cajoling Iyesha.

  Iyesha got up from the desk and went into the hallway, going further down it until coming to the cockpit door. Inside, Dragon sat in the pilot’s chair. The seat next to him was empty.

  He glanced back to look at her. “Take a seat, co-pilot,” he said, gesturing next to himself. His tone was indifferent, but his eyes lingered on her longer than necessary. “We’re behind schedule, but we can make up for some of it.” He turned back to the dials and controls in front of him.

  “Ok!” Iyesha said cheerily. It’s cute that he called me co-pilot. She gingerly stepped into the seat next to Dragon and sat down. Immediately she felt the seat move and reposition itself. From her lower back up through the back of her head, the chair held her and supported her like it was made for her. She looked over at Dragon and could see the thick girth of his cock through his pants, snaking down into one pantleg. Why is he hard again? A coo escaped her lips.

  “Pretty nice, ain’t it?” Dragon asked, smiling.

  Shit! Iyesha pulled her eyes off his crotch. Oh, he meant the seat. “Yeah, it’s incredible. Wait, so you’re really the pilot?”

  “Yeah, I fly whenever I can.”

  “But can’t you aff-“ Iyesha began, but cut the word off. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Sure I can afford someone else to fly for me, but I’m the kinda guy who likes to take control.” Dragon checked a gauge on the dashboard in front of him. “Besides, I’ve been flying planes for a long time. Gotta have a hobby.”

  “Well sure, hobbies. I crotchet hats and sell them online,” Iyesha lied. She had a friend who did this, and Iyesha always made fun of her for it. Truth be told she really didn’t have any hobbies to speak of. But once I get back, I’m going to crotchet some shit.

  “Mmmhmm,” Dragon mumbled. “I’m reading good for fuel and oil. How are we on cabin pressure?”

  Iyesha’s heart hammered in her chest. Co-pilot! Co-pilot! Oh God! She tried to remember what she’d put on that resume, but came up blank. It had been so long ago, so many margarita bowls ago. “Umm…cabin pressure…” she said, looking around at the massive amount of gauges and dials in front of her.

  Dragon turned to look at her, impatiently waiting for an answer.

  “Cabin pressure looks…optimal?” Iyesha said, still scanning the gauges in front of her.

  “Optimal?”

  “Yes, optimal. Or maybe, you know, satisfactory?” Iyesha said.

  Dragon brought his hand up to his mouth. “And how about our bilge capacity? About how many knots do you think we’ll do once we’re up in the air?”

  “Oh our bilge capacity is perfect!” Iyesha answered quickly. It had to be on a jet like this, right? “I think we’ll do an average amount of knots by my readings.”

  Dragon erupted in laughter, no longer able to contain himself. “Ahh girl, you are trouble! What am I gonna do with you?”

  Iyesha tried to deal with conflicting amounts of embarrassment and rage. “I’m sorry. I’m not a co-pilot. I think maybe there was a mistake on my resume.”

  “Oh maybe there was a mistake on your resume? That’s some weak shit girl,” Dra
gon said, recomposing himself. “Maxwell probably chose you because you had flight experience.”

  “Did…did I ruin your trip? Like did you need me to fly this thing too?”

  “Yep, we’re fucked. Guess I have to find another attendant. Maybe one that doesn’t lie on her resume,” Dragon said, shaking his head. He sat and stared at Iyesha.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry Mr. Dr- uhh, I mean Dragon. Look, I’m so sorry. I know your time is very valuable and I didn’t mean to ruin your vacation!” Iyesha said, exasperated. And I just blew my fucking chance with him. Iyesha slumped into the conforming chair. No paycheck either, I guess. This didn’t bother her as much as the former thought, which surprised her. She crossed her arms and looked back at Dragon.

  Who was smirking.

  Iyesha sighed. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

  “Girl, fucking with you was what we did back there,” he said, throwing a thumb behind them towards the tail end of the jet, “and what I’m gonna do to you later,” he said, grinning irresistibly at her. “But I was messin’ with you. Technically, by FAA rules, I can’t fly this thing solo. I have to have someone else on board who can fly it. So let me ask you, Iyesha,” he said, emphasizing her name, “Can you assist me in piloting this aircraft?”

  “Yes?”

  “That doesn’t sound like a confident answer, Iyesha Barnes. Try again.”

  “Yes,” she responded, more confidently.

  “This time with a little more passion and maybe I’d believe you.”

  “Yes I can fly this fucking plane!” Iyesha screamed towards the cockpit window at no one in particular.

  “Baller. Now buckle up, it’s time to get going,” Dragon said, leaning across to Iyesha’s side and flicking a switch. Something deep in the plane switched on, and pressurized air blew on Iyesha from a small spout above. Dragon put on a headset that was next to him, a large letter D with two dragon wings emblazoned on the side. “Check, check control tower one. This is USA four-three-nine ready for takeoff.”

  “Reading you loud and clear, USA four-three-nine. Confirming your flight path will be due southwest to Tahiti International Airport, no stops?” a voice crackled over the PA system. Dragon reached for another switch and flicked it, silencing the voice. “Sorry about that,” he said to Iyesha.

  “No that’s fine,” she responded, checking to make sure she was buckled in. Glancing over at Dragon, she saw him flick more switches while going over technical details with the control tower. Flicking another switch brought the engines on.

  Iyesha was no stranger to planes. She’d flown around the country, bouncing between her divorced parents for the holidays when she was younger. Then when she was older, spring breaks in Cancun and Bimini Island. So there was always that thrill when the plane engines spun up. All that power, all those pieces spinning up to launch them up into the air.

  But this was something else. Normal commercial planes were the station wagon to this jet’s European sports car. There was real power in this thing. But it wasn’t brutish: it didn’t shake her or make her uncomfortable at all. This was more like a tiger on a leash. Lithe, sleek and incredibly powerful. The thrum of the engines resonated through her, and she felt it between her legs.

  The plane began to taxi out onto the runway. A runway worker gave the all clear sign and ran out of the jet’s path. Iyesha could see the runway stretched out in front of them, the bright noon sun illuminating everything clearly. She saw Dragon’s hands go to the control wheel in front of him. One dipped down to the throttle next to him and he pushed it.

  Iyesha felt herself shift straight backwards three inches as the jet leapt forward in a smooth, explosive motion. The hangars at the far end of the runway got close at an alarming pace. Instinctively, Iyesha’s hands went out in front of her and she closed her eyes. A chuckle came from her left. She felt herself being pulled downwards as the jet angled up, leaving the runway and airport below.

  Iyesha opened her eyes. The jet had evened out, the tops of clouds down below them, stretching out like endless fields of cotton.

  A hand clasped her shoulder. “We’re gonna have to work on them nerves, girl. It’s a big world out there, but not everything is out to get you. You know?” Dragon said, comforting her.

  “Oh I wasn’t scared,” Iyesha said, embarrassed. “I thought I saw a bird, and was going to shield you from it if it came through the windshield. My training kicked in automatically.” I think that was convincing. It wasn’t.

  “Mmmhmm,” Dragon said, adjusting a few switches in front of him and checking some dials. “Well, we good for another eight hours, then we land. I think you can turn off that training til’ then.”

  “I thought it was like ten and a half hours to Tahiti.”

  “It is if you flying commercial,” he said, looking over at her. “We ain’t flying commercial.”

  “No, we’re definitely not. So, like, whats up with this?” she asked, tapping the logo on his headset.

  “Oh. These…” he said, sighing. “It’s what Maxwell calls brand management. He thinks that some paparazzi is going to snap photos of me in the cockpit, so he thinks I should be wearing my Dragonwings when I fly.”

  “Dragonwings?”

  “Yeah…hey I didn’t come up with the name. It’s a little…” Dragon said, looking down.

  “A little…nerdy?” Iyesha asked, a grin forming.

  “Nah fuck that. I ain’t no nerd! Think I’m sittin’ in a basement with a bunch of twenty-sided dice or some shit?” he said, obviously perturbed.

  “Wait, what?” Iyesha squealed, “Twenty what?”

  “Never mind, just…never mind. I’m hungry. Why don’t you do something useful?” he said dismissively.

  “Umm, ok,” Iyesha said. Guess I found a nerve. Iyesha unbuckled herself and stood up, walking to the back of the cockpit. “What should I make?”

  Dragon’s upraised hand shooing her away was the only response she got.

  Iyesha stood in the jet’s kitchen. No expense was spared in the equipment. She only knew what half of these devices and utensils did, but anything she thought was associated with food was here. Gas range, refrigerator, oven, blenders, mixers, and a large device with copper tubes that looked like a mad scientist’s lab device.

  Iyesha was left with another problem. The shit I make comes out of a box and goes into a microwave. That was the one thing she expected that she didn’t see anywhere: a microwave. She opened the steel door of the refrigerator and was met with ingredients. Bundles of fresh vegetables, fruits and meats. There was even a drawer full of herbs.

  “Goddamn it,” she said. I can’t fuck this up too. I’m supposed to be caring for him, and so far I’ve helped him come into a sink and called him a nerd. Pushing some stuff around, she found a small brown package and unwrapped it. Inside was some pasta, fresh and soft. Ok, I can do spaghetti. I can fucking do spaghetti!

  “I can do spaghetti!” she cheered, thanking her good luck. She put the bundle of pasta on the marble countertop. She went through the cupboards, hoping to find a jar of tomato sauce, but no luck. Ok, I’ll have to improvise. She thought back to the countless mornings she’d lie in bed watching the daytime cooking shows, too lazy to change the channel. But she couldn’t think of any actual recipes. Nothing had stuck. If I could masturbate to those shows, I bet I’d have a damn catalogue of recipes in my head! Frustrated, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  The opening line of one of the cooking shows kept going through her head: keep it fresh and keep it simple. Keep it fresh and keep it simple. The first part was easy, everything around her was fresh. But simple…what could she do with that? She went back to the fridge and looked around. There were tomatoes, but turning those into a sauce would probably be disastrous. She looked at the door of the fridge and saw a few small bottles of oil.

  The first bottle she picked up had a handwritten label that identified it as olive oil from Spain, and that it had been cold pressed a few weeks ago. Th
e other bottle was much smaller. It’s label also identified it as olive oil, but from Portugal. South American olive oil. Maybe it tastes better? It had more writing on it but her mind was made up. She put the smaller bottle on the counter. In another drawer she found a bunch of small bundles of cheese, and she sniffed each one until finding one that smelled like the powder in the green shaker bottle in the grocery store. This must be the parmesan.

  “Keep it fresh, keep it simple,” she said as she put a pan of water on to boil. Once the water reached a nice boil, she dropped the pasta in. Once it was done to her liking, she strained it out and put two small portions on plates. She opened the bottle of oil and poured it over the noodles, noting a fragrant musky odor. Portuguese olives are stinky! Grating a bit of the parmesan cheese over the plates of noodles, she found forks and walked the plates to the cockpit.