Page 8 of Mile High Coach

This is why people say you should date older men. The skill, the knowledge, the steady, sure way that he moves against me. There’s no uncertainty in his hand placement, no awkward fumbling.

When I feel the quiet, gentle vibration of his zipper against my ass, it occurs to me for a second that this might be a chance to make a baby without the thousands of dollars in egg retrieval and implantation. There are people all over the world conceiving in this exact way—why shouldn’t I?

But I can’t. First, I don’t know this man, and second, I may be desperate, and breaking the airline’s rules, but I’m not going to compromise my ethics. That would not be a good first parenting move.

“Do you have a condom?” I whisper the words so quietly, so imperceptibly, that at first I’m not sure if he’s going to hear me.

A second later, I feel the soft crinkle of the condom wrapper against my ass, and for some reason, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. Holding it under the blanket to muffle the sound, he rips it open, and I hear, rather than see, him rolling it over himself.

Nestling our bodies together, he runs a hand from my hip to my knee, then pulls my hair away from my neck and presses a kiss there, making chills scatter over my back.

“Ready?” he whispers.

This isn’t like me. This is my last chance to abandon this entire thing—go back to my seat, my little life back in coach. Avoid acting reckless just because I’m feeling wild.

But, then again, who’s going to know? I’ll relieve some tension, have some fun, and return to my life anyway. I can keep this little secret just for myself.

“Willow?” he asks, his lips rasping against my skin, sending another jolt of electricity through me. “Do you want this?”

I nod into the pillow, already arching my back against him, not wasting any more time.

Chapter 4

Harrison

Iwas expecting Knockout—Willow—to come find me at my seat.

But, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t expecting her to actually do this, to go through with something reckless and wild. There’s something about her, some uptight, tense aspect to her, that had me thinking she might go for a make-out, maybe even some groping, but not this.

She’s surprising in a lot of ways, like how she reaches back now, tangling her fingers in my hair and tugging lightly as I push into her.

Knockout is tight, and she pushes her ass up against me, angling to pull me in deeper. I bite my tongue to keep from making a sound, and when she lets out a low, mewling noise into the pillow, I reach around her, putting my hand over her mouth, muffling her next word.

“Oh.”

Some women might not like it—but she runs her tongue along my fingers, and it drives me fucking wild.

From here I can see the curve of her cheek, the brush of her hair falling against her part and onto the pillow, fanning out in a way that screams intimacy. What you see when you tumble intobed with a person, and what you see when you wake up the next morning.

I’m a talker during sex, so trying to stay quiet in this airplane pod is a particular challenge for me. I clamp my hand on her hip and hold her, keeping her right where I want her, taking it long and slow, drawing out the pressure and friction until she’s writhing against me, begging for more. If we were somewhere else, this might be the kind of sex where you pick her up and set her on the counter. The kind of sex where you’ve barely got your clothes off before you’re at it.

But here, on the plane, being quiet—it takes things immediately to a new level. Something silent and conspiratorial passes between us. We are already on the same team.

Someone walks by in the hallway and I freeze, my cock buried inside her, throbbing against the tight walls of her pussy. You’d think something like this—the threat of a flight attendant just outside the wall—might kill the mood, but I just grow harder, my body responding to the adrenaline.

When they walk away, I give an experimental thrust, driving into her, and she opens her mouth but swallows the sound, biting down against my hand instead.

To my ears, it’s practically silent, so instead of slowing down, I keep going, sliding my hand down from her hip and between her legs, where she’s dripping for me.

If I could talk right now, I’d say that. I’d whisper,Good girl, andTake it for me, and I’d pepper her neck with kisses between words, then bite gently, testing her to see how much she could take.

There’s something about this woman, like a tight tangle of cords that I just can’t wait to unravel and sort through. I want to see her come apart. I want to hold every little piece of her in my hands.

I want to get her off this fucking plane and somewhere she can be loud. I want to hear the sound of my name on her lips.

But I’ll settle for this, driving into her once more as we both reach the height of orgasm. I empty into the condom, and she makes little gasping sounds against my hand, her head dropping back so far I’m tempted to take her by the throat and kiss her.

When her body finally stops shaking, I move slowly, pulling out and tying off the condom. Moving my hand under the blanket, I open a package of wipes that you get in your pod, and hand her a few so she can clean up. I’m watching as she does, a new hunger already growing in me.

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