by R. J. Lewis
Instead, her jaw drops. “You fucker.”
I nod, heatedly looking down at that open mouth. “Oh, I’m definitely a fucker. A very good one too, and I like my woman untied, unharmed and completely within her right to touch me as much as her little heart desires. Because there’s nothing more of a turn on than a woman’s nails running down my spine while I talk dirty to her.”
She’s utterly shocked by my bold words. She tries to smile, but the situation’s too intense. She swallows instead and eyes my mouth with a look so full of lust it completely overwhelms her timidness.
“And you’re wondering right now what I’d do to you,” I murmur to her, eyeing the way her lips tremble. “Envisioning what I’d taste like. I’m more than happy to give you permission.”
“No chance,” she lets out, but her voice is weak and unconvincing.
“You think I’m turned off by the chase? I live for a good challenge.”
“And is that all I am? A challenge you want to conquer?”
“I’ve never encountered an unconquerable woman yet, beauty. I’m afraid your time is numbered. Start counting down the hours because I’m going to have those tanned legs open one way or another.”
She cocks a brow. “How are you so sure?”
“When I want something, I get it.” I look her over again, noticing how flushed and tense she is. “And I want you. You are so fucking beautiful, I’m going cross eyed.”
She swallows hard. “It’s not going to happen, Aidan.”
I chuckle, feeling sorry for her. “Ivy, it’s done. It’s a reality you’re going to just have to accept.”
“I don’t do flings. I’m not that kind of girl.” The sincerity in her is believable. She’s telling the truth, but I already knew that. And the interesting part is, I don’t mind. When you see a good thing, you know it from a mile away. You’d be a fool to walk away, too.
And she’s a good thing. One I can enjoy time and time again to get what I want. To give her what she wants too.
“Who says I want a fling?”
She looks at me incredulously. “You’re trying to pick up a stranger in Economy class. Somehow I don’t think you’re the committed type.”
“But you’re not a stranger. I’ve met every kind of person under the sun, so I know what I’m looking at. You’re inexperienced and you swear your beautiful little tits off. You try to be closed off and unreadable, but you carry every emotion on your sleeve, even though you think you’re doing a good job hiding under that tough alter ego. It’s not working on me, Ivy.”
I watch the wheels spin inside that little mind as she thinks for several moments. She’s fighting conflict of some kind. Her hand goes to close, but when they squeeze around mine, she startles and looks down, as though she’s forgotten we’ve been holding hands these last few minutes.
“What frightens you the most,” I ask, “the fact you want me, or what might happen to you after you have me?”
She frowns. “I don’t want to want you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a smug bastard.”
“No,” I disagree, still on a whisper. “You don’t want me because once you have a taste of me, you’ll never walk away. I would ruin you, and you would beg for that destruction. I guarantee it.”
Her eyes widen, and when I rub my thumb tenderly along her wrist, I can feel her pulse quickening. I know she believes me.
“I don’t do flings,” she reiterates in a harder voice. “I don’t get fucked by strangers.”
“I’d be no stranger to you when you’re screaming my name and begging for more. If you were mine, I’d fuck you in ways you can’t imagine.”
“I’m not yours.”
I smirk. “Not yet. Count down the hours, Ivy. It’s coming.”
“No, Aidan, it’s not.”
“Envision me between those legs, licking you up and down until your pussy’s exploding in my mouth. Envision that and tell me no again.”
When she has that glazed look in her eyes, I know she is. And when she doesn’t say another word, I nod.
“That’s what I thought.”
Four
Aidan
The anticipation is brutal. I watch her like a hawk, undressing her in my mind in a million different ways. The more I look at her, the more perfect she is. Those lips… Jesus, fuck, those lips were made for my cock. Those eyes… Jesus, they were made to look down at me while I suck her cunt ‘til it’s exploding in my mouth.
I’m internally groaning as I ravage her with my gaze. It’s a mission getting my cock to calm down. It’s hard as granite, and it doesn’t help I keep telling her the things I’m going to do to her. It’s a given at this point she’ll be accompanying me to my place the second we land and get out of these shitty seats. I never want to see people ever again.
It hasn’t occurred to me until near the end of the flight that we may as well have had an audience this whole time. I catch some glances, of men looking back to stare in Ivy’s direction. She doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in her own world where I’m probably licking her out – although I know I’d knock that fantasy to smithereens.
I glare at the men, feeling an urge to curse at them, even though they’re not doing anything wrong. Any man would appreciate a good-looking girl. I just wish they’d stop fucking her with their eyes.
Well, I’ll be fucking her for real, I want to tell them. And the images I form in my head have me unusually excited for it. She’s not the usual I go for, and I think that’s what’s getting to me the most. I want something different. She’s the perfect kind of different, and I’m going to give her the hottest night of her life before we’re equally spent and satisfied.
I can’t think of anything else.
We land and everyone files out, luggage in hand. Ivy’s right behind me. Her body trembles with every step and it’s not from the weather. The summer heat is a one-of-a-kind scorcher. The second we step off the plane you can feel the air thicken with humidity, and as I fall back to walk side by side with her, I see her trembles only worsen.
“This heat is oppressive,” I say to her. Making small chat will loosen her up again because she’s nervous as shit. And I’m glad. It tells me she’s not used to men despite that potty mouth. I wonder how inexperienced she is. Something tells me she’s certainly not a virgin, but the way she’s wound up next to me also tells me she’s just not used to men, period.
She pulls tight the strap of her mammoth purse and glances up at me with that red glow in her cheeks. “Not a fan of the heat?”
I look about her face, noticing how uncomfortable she is. “No,” I tell her, choosing not to flirt.
We skip baggage claims and are on route to the exit. My steps are slow, waiting for her to join me on our walk out. She’s been shaken out of our moment in the plane because now she’s awkward and quiet.
“You alright?” I ask her with a small smile.
She nods, eyeing the floor as she walks beside me. Eventually we slow down to a pace that’s hardly walking.
Standing in front of her, I lean down and whisper, “Catch a ride with me. I’ve got a car waiting out front that’ll take us to my place.”
Her blue eyes widen as she looks into mine with indecision. “Aidan, I can’t…”
“Why? All that talk on the plane, you can’t just leave me hanging, Ivy. I know you want to.”
She swallows and shifts from foot to foot. Her eyes leave mine and she’s looking down at the ground now. I lightly brush my fingers along her jawline and her face glows once more at the touch. I can feel her hunger for me, and mixed with my own, it’s palpable and thick. It’s not the kind you can easily walk away from.
“Aidan,” she says, “I can’t be that way with you. You should find someone else.”
Find someone else? She’s intrigued me, and once I have my mind focused on a woman, I can’t just move the fuck on. Hell no. I’m a stubborn man. And there’s something about her. Something raw and real. Something that stirs me alive in
ways I haven’t felt in eons.
I’ve never abandoned a quest before. And right now I’m on a quest to tasting every inch of her. I’m not backing down without good reason.
“Ivy,” I reply, “I already told you. What I want, I get.”
“Well, what you’re getting isn’t what you think.”
“Tell me why.”
She sighs and steps back, clutching that strap of her purse so tight, her hand goes white. Without looking at me, she takes a deep breath and says, “I’m married, Aidan.”
My gaze automatically flickers to her wedding finger. There’s nothing there. “Don’t fuck with me,” I retort.
When I see her eyes glisten, I feel my heart plummet. Ah, fuck. You gotta be kidding me right now. Married? Her? What kind of guy would let her walk around like this alone? No man that yearned for his woman would want this much attention drawn to her without being by her side to keep dickheads like me away.
“Where’s your wedding ring?” I question her, hoping still that she’s fucking with me.
She glances down at her wedding finger and shrugs. “We’re… separated. I went away to be with my mother these last two months.” And then she stops right there. Like she’s explained everything. Like there’s nothing at all that needs to be expanded in that ridiculously short and vague response.
I grit my teeth. “And now you’re, what, back on again? That’s why you’re back here?”
“No.”
“No?”
She hesitates. “It’s…complicated.”
“Right.” I look around the airport. “So, where’s your husband then. He’s here, I take it, waiting on you.”
“No, I’m supposed to catch a taxi.”
My face hardens. “You’re here at night after a six-hour flight, and your guy isn’t waiting on you?” The douchebag alarm is ringing loud and clear and I know nothing about this guy except that he has a ridiculously beautiful wife that doesn’t deserve to take a taxi home.
She looks embarrassed. “It’s not like that. He works early in the mornings.”
“Doing what?”
“He’s a crane operator, and he works ten-hour shifts. It’s a weekday and he’s got work in the morning. There’s no way I wanted him to come out at midnight to pick me up. It was my choice. Not his.”
She’s so adamant defending him, but I’m at a total loss in understanding. So what if the guy worked ten, fifteen, or even twenty hours in the day? The fact remains his unbelievably sweet, unbelievably attractive, and unbelievably down to earth wife has returned, and he’s waiting at home for her?
No, no, something isn’t right at all about this. I stare at her hard, barely able to believe in that rubbish story, but I know she isn’t lying about her marital status.
Married.
Or Separated.
Or Complicated.
Or whatever the fuck you want to call it, it’s all the same to me.
Fuck, I have a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m finally desperately attracted to a girl and she turns out to be legally bound to another dick. Is the universe being cruel to me on purpose? Is it laughing at me yet again?
“Were you ever intending on telling me?” I then ask Ivy in a sharp tone. I can’t help that I’m staring daggers at her face. I’m pissed. “Did you think that we’d just go our separate ways right after the plane landed?”
“I’m sorry,” she says remorsefully. “When I started talking to you, the last thing I expected was the conversation to turn the way it did. I didn’t speak to you out of experience. I don’t… talk to guys much. I’m not that social anymore. I just…I thought we’d talk about normal things, you know? Then it became more, and…God, I don’t know, I fell into it so fast, so selfishly. Because look at you. You’re…you, and… I’m weak.” In a smaller voice, she whispers, “I’m so weak.”
Again, honesty. Half of me wants to just turn around and walk away. I feel like a fool. I’m not sure why I’m still standing here.
I can’t be standing here. I need to go. A married/separated/complicated woman was never on my agenda. No matter how beautiful, real and honest Ivy is, I have no desire to venture into this fuckville. Fuck knows my image can’t be fucked any more than it already is.
“What’s your last name?” I find myself asking.
“Montcalm,” she answers quietly.
Ivy Montcalm. For some reason I log that name away. I guess I want to remember her. I want to remember how different a woman can be, and how alluring that is at the same time. She’s too sexy to forget, and I’m a fool for not wanting to.
My cock is hating me, and my brain will forever be reliving this flight and the sight of her dressed the way she is.
But she stands there…alone…transparent if I wasn’t here talking to her. She looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up.
Separated, she had said. So she's not with him. But then she followed that up by saying things were complicated. What does that even mean? Is she going back to her douchebag husband or not?
But it doesn’t matter. I remind myself. Married is married. Isn’t it?
And yet…she’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts.
It occurs to me I can’t just walk away. I know I’m a dick, but I also know she deserves a little more than to feel used by said dick. Maybe I can make the sting of our departure less painful. Or, secretly, I’m testing my willpower.
“How about we share a ride home then?” I offer, forcing a smile on my face, but it feels contrived and awkward.
She looks at me, her eyes pinned to mine in a way I’m not used to. Taking me in and not my suit or watch or anything else that’s drawn a female’s attention to me before.
“Are you sure?” she asks quietly.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t,” I answer. “I don’t like the thought of you going home in a fucking taxi, Ivy. It…feels wrong to me.”
Even if they're separated, her husband should be here. Fucking hell, her husband should be crawling over miles of broken glass if that’s what it took to be here with her. I glance around the airport, wondering maybe he’ll surprise her, but…there’s nobody looking her way.
Fuck, just imagining her making her way home alone this late bothers me.
How many women like her are standing in a crowd feeling so alone? How many are longing for a little bit of attention, to remember they exist just like the rest of us do?
I can sense her loneliness. If I come any closer, she might sense mine too.
“I don’t know you,” she says.
I resist rolling my fucking eyes. “We talked dirty for how many hours, and you think I’m some axe murderer?”
“It’s not that.”
“You don’t know what to tell your husband when you get back?”
She hesitates. “He won’t ask who gave me a lift.”
“But if he did?”
Now she’s sighing. “He won’t ask. He’d assume it was a taxi.”
“How are you so sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her voice hardens. She’s fucking sure, alright.
“Then I’ll take you home, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“You really don’t have to.”
I look at her hard. “I do.”
“Alright,” she relents, swallowing. She stands there, uncertain, waiting for me to take the lead because she’s nervous as shit. We're tempting each other, aren't we?
She’s doing something wrong.
I’m doing something wrong.
We’re both idiots doing the wrong things, and I don’t think either of us care now.
*
We make our way through the airport and it’s surprisingly not as packed as I thought it would be. I’ve been getting a lot of looks in the last ten minutes, and I can’t decide whether it’s the clothes that’s getting their attention, my exceptionally good looks because I’m an egotistical bastard that has to consider that option, or if they simply recognize me from the cover of business magazines that Ivy has unkn
owingly passed.
Judging by the smiles my way, I’m voting with confidence that it’s my good looks – at least, my pride says so anyway. Fuck knows I need reassurance now that my world has been slightly rocked by this girl and my strange need to taste her.
She notices the looks as well, and she’s peering at me curiously, but she doesn’t ask a thing.
Once we’re outside, I pull my phone out and dial my driver Gaston. “Where are you?” I demand when he picks up. “I’m waiting out front.”
“I’ll be there in a few moments, Mr West,” he responds in his French accent.
I feel Ivy’s stare drilling holes in the side of my head. I ignore it as the black Bentley Mulsanne pulls into a taxi zone in front of us. I motion for her to follow and she does. We load our bags in the trunk and then I open the backdoor for her. Her eyes widen at the gesture, like it’s so unbelievably foreign for a man to be doing something sweet to her. I frown a little as she climbs in. The alarms are ringing again inside my head.
I slide in next to her and the car begins to move. I ask her to give Gaston her address, and she does. Gaston simply nods but doesn’t say anything to me or her, doesn’t even acknowledge I’m with someone. He’s a good driver like that, which is why he goes wherever I go.
“So,” starts Ivy, scrambling to break the silence, “did you hear about those meteor showers that happened last week over Russia? Pretty crazy, huh?” She has that hopeful smile, like this is a chat between two old friends.
“Can’t say I give a fuck,” I reply absently, glancing at her in the dark. “I want to know why you led me on.”
That smile falls from her lips. “I didn’t lead you on.”
“By omitting your relationship status, you led me on.”
“Yeah, well, you never asked.”
I grit my teeth and lean over to her on the leather seat. I feel her bare skin rubbing against my suit as I murmur, “So it’s my fault then? Is that what your pretty little mouth is saying?”
“No, I already explained this, and I already apologized, too. Our conversation led from one thing to another, and before I knew it, you were talking about ways you wanted to… fornicate.”