Page 3 of Austin
Nadia
I can’t helpbut gaze at Austin’s amazing ass as we walk up the steps to his private jet.
My legs are so wobbly I feel like I’m a newborn giraffe. The drive over here was exhilarating, and not just because we tore through the streets in a one-of-a-kind sports car. But because I was crammed in that car with a man next to me who oozes masculine sexuality like it’s going out of fashion.
Just one morning with this man and I’m a total wreck. My panties are already soaked. I should have brought a spare pair. Pretty soon my juices will be running down my leg, and that’s definitely not the professional persona I want to be portraying. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my mind on the job with him around.
“What do you think?” He grins as I step onto the plane.
“I’ve seen better,” I lie.
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of mirth on his face. “Where?”
I push past him without making eye contact. All I want to do is sit down and get my laptop out and start doing disaster control. “Around,” I say as I head towards a large, comfortable chair at the back of the plane.
Austin follows me. I can feel the presence of his body behind me and see his huge, hulking shadow flicker on the walls in my peripheral vision.
I try to ignore him. But it’s easier said than done.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going wherever you tell me to go.” I put my bag on one seat and sit down on the other. When I look up, Austin is standing above me. My eyes are directly in line with his groin and it’s impossible not to notice the impressive package bulging in front of me. “But right now, it’s not thewherethat’s important,” I say. “It’s thewhat.”
“Oh really.” He sits on the arm of a chair and scratches his perfectly symmetrical, stubble-clad jaw.
An air hostess tries to welcome us, but Austin waves her away with a flick of his hand.
I look towards the restrooms. Maybe there’s a towel in there. The wetness in my panties is getting beyond ridiculous.
“And what is it that you’re going to do?” he asks.
“My job.”
I pull out my laptop and pretend to start working. Really, I’m just opening up tabs on my browser and clicking things in the hope that he’ll get the hint and go away. As far away from me as humanly possible.
But, instead, he keeps sitting across from me. His eyes glued on my face.
Then, as if by magic, an unopened bottle of chilled champagne appears in his hands. The sound of the cork popping makes me jump. He manages to catch the overspill in a champagne flute.
“Care for a glass?”
“I really don’t think that’s appropriate,” I say. “Not while I’m working.”
“What about if I order you to have a drink with me? Or would that be against the rules?”
I bite my lip. “Areyou ordering me to have a drink with you?” I ask.
“Yes,” he smiles, pouring out another glass.
“Well, I guess I don’t have much of a choice.”
“No,” he passes me a glass of champagne, “you don’t.”
He takes me by the hand and guides me out of my chair. Our bodies are impossibly close in the tight, narrow airplane aisle. I look into his awesome azure eyes and my stomach clenches.
“A toast,” he says. “To a very long, and very successful relationship.”
“Yes,” I gulp, “and to your daughter. May her recent troubles soon be a thing of the past.”
