Flying High (19 page)

Linda's legs were pushed apart and Terri's warm breath flowed over her pussy. Her hips lifted up, anxious to feel the woman's mouth. Terri obliged with a light flick of the tongue across her hole. She moaned and her legs fell farther apart.

“That's it, sweetheart. Let her pleasure you.”

Linda moved her arms to see a strange hand caressing her. Marjorie had turned around and was watching with unabashed curiosity. Linda glanced down at Terri; all she could see was the top of the woman's streaked hair. It was odd looking down and knowing that the person sending shocks through her body was female.

Terri made good on her promise. In a few short minutes, Linda lay clutching Marjorie's hand, while she begged for release.

“Oh my god.” Terri's tongue pressed against her clit and she came with a loud moan.

“Was I right?” Sue stood behind Terri and massaged her shoulders.

Linda nodded, too weak to do much else. “She's great.”

Terri climbed on Linda and kissed her on the mouth. After a moment's hesitation, Linda kissed her back. Linda allowed herself to explore the other woman's body, the soft curves of her back and shoulders, her round cheeks. Everything was so different from Eric's muscles.

Sue bent over Terri. Her pants were gone; instead a purple dildo jutted from her pelvis. She wound one hand in Terri's hair and pulled her back toward her. Linda watched the passion between the two, the delight in their touch, and suddenly missed her husband. Eric wasn't a bad guy when it came down to it, just a tad bit irresponsible at times. But he always tried to be good to her and put up with her crap, which she had been dishing out more than normal lately.

She looked past the couple for her husband. Eric was sitting in the same seat, but now their stewardess sat on his lap, skirt hiked around her waist. Her hips swiveled, driven by the rhythm of his fingers plunging into her.

All her loving thoughts flew out of her mind as she watched the girl bounce and squeal. If she wasn't mistaken, he had wanted to watch. He never said anything about entertaining some shrieking floozy.

He caught her watching him. “I love you,” he mouthed.

She glowered, but blew him a kiss and turned back to Terri. Sue pressed her back onto Linda's body and pushed the dildo into her.

Linda gripped Terri's body and clutched her tightly as Sue thrust. Every pump went through Linda, and as Terri came, Linda felt the spasms reverberate through her body.

Sue lifted Terri off Linda and cradled her limp body in the
aisle. The stewardess had moved on to another man, leaving Eric alone. His hand rubbed his erection; he hadn't come either. Linda decided to make her move before someone else did.

“Hey, Eric.” She shook her foot at him. “Need some help?”

He jumped up and dropped his pants. Linda got a quick glimpse of his throbbing cock before he climbed on top of her.

He paused—the head of his penis pressed against her hole. “You sure?”

“Come on.” She groaned as he slid inside her. “After all, when in Rome…”

 

Cheryl pulled into the gate and hit the intercom button. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Miami. For those of you continuing on with us, the bus will be waiting outside of the baggage claim. Everyone else, enjoy your time in Florida.”

Aubrey hopped in Cheryl's lap and grabbed the mike. “Take your time getting to the bus; we might be a bit late.” They heard a loud cheer from the cabin.

“She's so naughty, isn't she?” Cheryl giggled and disconnected. “I didn't think I was going to make it all six hours.”

Aubrey kissed her. “A few more minutes and we're free to fuck as we please.” They opened the door to watch the passengers deplane. The new couple walked down the aisle, holding hands.

Krista winked at the man and wished them a safe trip. “Good-bye Eric, Linda. I hope you fly with us again.”

Eric looked at Linda, who smiled slowly. “Count on it.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Cindy Harris?”

I jolted at hearing my name—my maiden name—spoken by a deep male voice as I settled into my seat. The plane was crowded, I was trying to avoid hitting anyone in the head with my overstuffed carry-on, and the last thing I needed was to spend an eight-hour flight to London chatting it up with an old high school chum.

Then I looked at him and was taken back fifteen years, to my senior year in high school and my first true love.

His face had changed, though I supposed mine had, as well. I knew my hair was different—longer and darker than the short blonde cut I'd had back then—but he had recognized me immediately while I wasn't sure I would have picked him out of a crowd.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten me,” he said with that old familiar smirk.

I found myself smiling in response. “Max Viannetti. Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

We were interrupted by the flight attendant coming by to make sure our tray tables were up and our seats were in the upright position. After she passed by, I shook my head. “This is surreal. I haven't seen you since—”

“Prom.”

I winced. Yeah, I'd kind of forgotten that our sweet love affair had ended on a sour note.

“Water under the bridge,” he said, his voice unlike what I remembered, but the tilt of his head as familiar as my own reflection. “How are you?”

I hesitated, then closed my eyes wearily. “Loaded question. I'm supposed to say ‘fine,' right?”

He laughed. “It's a long flight. I think you can say more than ‘fine.'”

I felt the prick of embarrassing and inappropriate tears behind my eyelids. I knew my eyes were glistening brightly when I looked at him and his concerned expression told me I wasn't doing a good job of faking joy.

“Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to—”

I waved him off. “No, I'm just tired. It's been a long month. I just got divorced.”

The word was bitter and hot on my tongue, though I'd had more than a year to get used to it. Blurting it out to a man I hadn't seen in fifteen years and had parted ways with under less than the best of circumstances just reinforced how utterly worn out I was these days.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, and sounded sincere. “Been there, done that, myself. It's miserable, even when it's necessary.”

I nodded. That summed it up. “Anyway, I'm off to London for a much-needed holiday. How about you?”

“Wedding,” he said with a grimace. “My best friend from law school.”

“I didn't know you were an attorney.” I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. Max had once been an integral part of my everyday life. I had loved him, once; probably still did in that way that young love never really dies.

“I'm not,” he said. “I teach law. Decided early on I preferred theory to practice.”

“Smart man.”

Somehow, I had missed the fact that we had taxied and taken off. Me, who hated flying and got nauseous on takeoff and landing, had missed the worst part. I smiled at Max.

“I'm glad I ran into you. It's nice to catch up.”

And catch up, we did. For the next two hours, through our rather unappetizing dinner, we talked—about law school for him and design school for me, his failed marriage and mine, mutual friends from high school who had drifted in and out of each of our lives—we talked about everything but the past.

As I nestled into my seat with a blanket over my lap and an airline pillow jammed against the headrest, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep postdinner, Max raised the armrest between us. I jumped at the touch of his hand on my thigh, a sense of the unfamiliar colliding with some very intense memories. His soft chuckle made me relax.

“I was a jerk back then,” he said softly, the first reference to our history he'd made since we'd started talking. “An arrogant jackass who thought I was entitled to score on prom night, if no other time.”

I felt my face flush hotly. It wasn't something I wanted to rehash. I'd been a good girl in high school—a good girl who didn't believe in premarital sex. That had only lasted until the second semester of freshman year at Georgetown when I
succumbed to what I believed was love and had a lackluster experience. I had spent a long time regretting saying no to Max so many nights and losing him because of it. It really wasn't something I wanted to talk about.

I turned my head toward the aisle. “S'okay,” I mumbled. “I was a goody-goody who thought I was saving myself for something better.”

“We had some fun though,” he said, his voice stirring something inside me. “Didn't we?”

Memories of fevered nights of long make-out sessions and roaming hands—his
and
mine—flitted through my brain. I nodded. “Yeah, we did.” He fell silent then and, like the rest of the plane, we slept.

I awoke from an erotic dream, disoriented for a moment until the loud, steady hum of the plane became real again. What was also real was the big, warm hand resting on my thigh. I glanced at Max, sound asleep and sprawled in his seat—as sprawled as anyone can get in an airplane seat—his face in sleep slack and peaceful, hints of the youth I once knew in the lock of hair slipping boyishly down his forehead.

I don't know what made me reach out and touch his mouth, but one moment I was watching him sleep and the next I was brushing my index finger over his full lips—lips that had driven me out of my mind when I was too inexperienced to know what I had been missing. Still caught in the web of my sex dream, I contemplated what that mouth could do to me now. I shivered at the thought.

Memory and fantasy were so intertwined in my tired brain that I didn't realize Max was awake and watching me until his lips parted. The quick lick of his tongue against the tip of my finger made me jerk back in surprise.

“I—I'm—I was dreaming,” I stammered.

“About me, I hope.” His drowsy expression held a hint of lust. Just a hint—as if he had been dreaming, too—but it was enough to make me press my thighs together. “Want to tell me about it?”

I shook my head. “I don't really remember what it was about. Just…that it was about sex and need—I needed something…”

“So it was about me.”

I didn't take offense at his comment. The scenario probably had been related to Max, but even my dreaming self couldn't conjure up what it would be like to sleep with Max because it had never happened.

“Yeah, probably.”

He shifted so that his mouth was very close to my ear. “You know what's funny? I bitched about not being able to fuck you but you're the only woman I ever dream about like that.”

I looked at him, trying to sniff out the mockery. He looked utterly sincere. “Really?”

His hand stroked my thigh and I jerked against him as if he were stroking my bare pussy. The past was so close to the surface, I knew exactly what his fingers would feel like on my skin. But there was a blanket and skirt between me and those fingers.

“Yeah,” he said, staring at me so intently I felt like he could see my thoughts. “Really.”

The plane was quiet except for the hum of the engine; everyone around us was asleep and only a couple of overhead lights illuminated night owls several rows away. The flight attendants were nowhere to be seen, no doubt catching up on the gossip before having to serve the next round of beverages. I felt something like anticipation thrumming in my veins—anticipation and a long-dormant desire. I hadn't known what to do with it when I was in high school, but I knew now.

I took Max's hand off the blanket that covered my lap. The flicker of disappointment on his face immediately turned to one of interest when I lifted the blanket and returned his hand to my thigh. I felt him reach down to toy with the hem of my skirt, at last touching bare skin. I sighed and closed my eyes.

“Remember all those nights on your parents' couch?” he whispered. “That dance we did every time? Touching, pulling back—all that teasing.”

“I wasn't teasing,” I said. “I was trying to be good.”

He slid my skirt up an inch. If this had been high school, I would have let him go just to midthigh, then I would have pushed him away and sent him home. Now it was all I could do not to beg him to fuck me right there on the plane.

“You
were
good. The girl most likely to be good.” He shook his head. “And I was the poor, love-struck fool who thought I could corrupt you.”

“I'm not that girl anymore.” I reached under the blanket and jerked my skirt up until his entire hand rested on my bare skin. “And I'm not sure what I'm most likely to do, but I know what I want to do.”

He curved his hand around my thigh, high enough that I could feel the barest touch against the edge of my panties. I squirmed, tilting my hips as much as the seat belt would allow—which wasn't much—and looked at him.

“What are you doing?” he said, but it was not an admonishment. “We'll get arrested and be banned from the airline for life.”

I sighed. “Oh, c'mon, Mr. Law Professor, don't be a prude.”

“Believe me, I'm not feeling very prudish,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I just can't do to you what I want to do.”

“That never stopped you from trying.”

That was all it took. Max shifted toward me and slid his
hand over my panty-covered crotch. The heat was so intense I whimpered. Though the noise of the plane drowned out the sound, he looked at me sternly.

“Hush, or I'll stop.”