Читать книгу Flying - Меган Харт - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

Some trips are focused, pinpointed. Specific. Stella arrives, finds what she’s looking for and leaves a day or two later. Sometimes she comes home disappointed—Stella might have broad standards and eclectic taste in men, but when it comes to flying she does have standards, nevertheless.

On some trips, like this one to Minnesota, flying is simply a bonus. The Mall of America is a short shuttle ride from both the airport and the luxurious casino hotel where she’s booked a king-size room. She’s planned a weekend of shopping. Good food in fancy restaurants. Even a little gambling.

Normally, Stella travels carry-on only, but this time she has checked an empty suitcase that she will fill with all of her holiday shopping. The twenty-five-dollar checked-bag fee is worth it, when you consider what she’d have to pay to ship all of her purchases. She spends hours and hundreds of dollars, visiting every store at her leisure and losing herself in the comparison of gifts. Finding the perfect thing for her parents, sister, brother-in-law, nieces and nephews. Coworkers. She even picks up a gift for Jeff and Cynthia, not because she wants to, particularly, but because Cynthia always sends her something and it’s begun to feel as though the expectation of receiving one in turn is easier to fulfill than dealing with the unspoken resentment.

For Tristan, she falters. He has so much already. Though Stella vowed to herself she would never play the game of tug-of-war with Jeff about which parent is the “cooler” one, they have both gone overboard with the gifts since the divorce. Tristan owns every device, every video game system with all the accessories, sometimes in duplicate so he has one in each house and doesn’t have to suffer the loss of his toys. There’ve been musical instruments and lessons. Sports equipment. Trips.

But what, she wonders as she goes from store to store to store, would her son really like? The problem is, Stella really doesn’t know. The sandwich she threw in the trash haunts her, and she second-guesses herself, picking things up and putting them down. She comes away with very little, telling herself there’s still time, but she knows too well how that’s not always true.

The trip isn’t totally without self-indulgence. In the fancy lingerie shop, she springs for a pretty merry widow corset set in a deep wine color. It gives her magnificent cleavage. Paired with matching panties and sheer stockings, her sexiest heels, she’s going to shine like a diamond.

In her hotel room Stella packs away all her purchases in the empty suitcase and lays out her clothes for the night. The new lingerie looks even better in the hotel room’s far more flattering light than it did in the dressing room. She straightens her back, squares her shoulders. Juts a hip. She knows how to showcase what she has now in a way she never did until a few years ago. Then again, until a few years ago, Stella favored high-waisted cotton granny panties and full-coverage bras, and the last time she’d worn sexy lingerie had been the first night of her honeymoon. And that had been no more than a silky nightgown with spaghetti straps.

Jeff had always said he didn’t see the point in spending so much money on something you were only going to take off right away, and Stella had believed he meant it. Of course, later, when she’d stumbled on his browser history and saw the kinds of porn he’d been watching, she could only chuckle a little at how all the women in his favorite videos had worn garter belts and stockings, crotchless panties, bras with the nipples cut out. By then there was no way Stella would’ve kissed him on the mouth, much less sucked his cock, and lingerie was out of the question.

No, she hadn’t begun wearing sexy scanties for men, even if most of the ones she found did seem to like her choices. Stella began wearing these scraps of silk and satin for herself. When she wears something pretty, even under her rattiest jeans or T-shirt, it reminds her that her body still works. She breathes, she laughs and sighs; she has orgasms.

She’s alive.

In front of the full-length mirror, she smooths the satin over her belly and cups her breasts for a moment, lifting them. Her nipples tighten as she watches herself. She tries on a smile, slow and seductive. She turns to look over her shoulder at her ass, which will never be her favorite feature but looks pretty good in the wispy panties. The best part of this outfit is that there’s no hint of it beneath her regular clothes, but it’s almost guaranteed to be an eyeball popper when she gets undressed.

Stella draws in a breath, hands flat on her belly. Her ribs twinge a little as they expand against the corset’s metal bones, but it’s not laced so tight that she feels faint. She runs her hands up her sides, pressing lightly, waiting for the pain that never seems to go away, though there’s no reason for her to ache. Then she slides a hand between her legs, stroking lightly. Her clit pulses. Pushing her fingers inside her panties, Stella finds slick heat. Anticipation is the best aphrodisiac.

She’s packed a couple choices, but decides on a simple black dress of clinging fabric. Long sleeves and a demure neckline are offset by the thigh-high slit that will give a tantalizing peek at the tops of her stockings if she crosses her legs just right. Her jewelry is simple to match—a pair of silver hoops in her ears, a matching bracelet of hammered metal and a silver herringbone chain at her throat. She pulls her hair into a careful French knot, sprays on a hint of perfume and she’s ready to go.

There was a time when, if she’d seen a woman like herself sitting alone in a high-end restaurant, reading while she ate her expensive dinner, Stella would’ve felt sorry for her. Now she’s been on enough shitty dates to appreciate and understand the luxury of being able to enjoy a good steak and a good book at the same time without having to force a conversation. She declines the waiter’s offer of a cocktail, but a few minutes later, he returns.

“The gentleman—” he points to a man several tables over “—would like to send you a glass of wine.”

Stella looks up. “Ah. Tell him thanks, but no.”

“Something else?” the waiter asks. “We have a great pomegranate martini—”

“No. Thanks. I don’t care for anything, but please let him know I appreciate the offer.”

By the end of her meal, a truly stellar steak and asparagus steamed to perfection, Stella has almost finished her book and the waiter is back with another offer.

“Coffee and dessert? The gentleman—”

Persistent, she thinks. And horny. She likes that.

Stella sets aside her book and smiles. “Please ask the gentleman if he’d like to join me.”

If the waiter hates playing Cupid, he doesn’t show it. In minutes, the man who seriously wants to get Stella liquored up and on a sugar high arrives at her table. He’s tall, dark and handsome. Just her type, but who’s she kidding? Almost all men are her type when she flies.

“Hi. I’m Daryl.” He holds out a hand. Warm fingers squeeze hers with the perfect amount of pressure. He has wide brown eyes and a great smile. Straight white teeth. Curly black hair cropped close to his head. His suit is expensive, and so is his watch.

“Lavinia.” It’s the name of one of the characters in her book.

“Pretty name. Unusual.” Daryl looks up at the waiter. “I’ll have a coffee and a piece of cherry pie. Vanilla ice cream. And the lady will have...?”

“The same,” she decides without looking to see what other delights she might be missing on the dessert menu. “Cherry pie’s my favorite.”

Daryl is in town for a week to meet with clients, for a business he doesn’t describe and Stella doesn’t ask about. He comes to Minneapolis a few times a year, always stays at this hotel because of how easy it is to get to the airport and also, of course, the gambling. “Do you gamble, Lavinia?”

“Sometimes. I’m not much for poker or blackjack, but I do like to play the slots. This pie is amazing, great choice. And thank you, by the way.” Stella drags her fork through the thick, sweet cherry goo and licks it, watching Daryl’s gaze follow the flicker of her tongue.

“How about craps?”

She smiles. “Don’t you have to be lucky to win?”

“You have to be lucky to win at anything.” Daryl’s smile leaves crinkles in the corners of his eyes that Stella likes very much.

She leans toward him. “Tell me, then. Do you feel lucky?”

“Oh,” Daryl says, leaning too, “I surely hope so.”

She lets him take her to the casino, and she lets him press a hundred dollars’ worth of chips into her hand. She also lets him put his arm around her as they take their place at the craps table, and when he asks her to blow on the dice for him, she does that too. Stella has never considered herself lucky, but Daryl wins. And wins again.

Soon the whole crowd is chanting her name—well, not her real name, but the one she gave him. And when finally his streak ends, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her in front of the crowd as though they’re lovers and not strangers. He’s a very good kisser, and Stella doesn’t mind. Not at all.

“Lucky Lavinia,” Daryl says into her ear, his hands settling on her hips to pull her close. “You wanna get out of here?”

They go to his room, and he offers her a drink, but she declines.

“Not a drinker.” Daryl nods. “I remember now. I could order us something from room service, if you’ve got a craving for something sweet.”

That’s not what she’s craving, and she answers him by stepping again into his embrace and offering her mouth. Daryl kisses her slowly, palming her ass and grinding her a little against the growing bulge of his crotch. When he moves his mouth to her throat, Stella lets her head fall back with a small sigh.

“You like that?” Daryl nips a little, sending shivers of delight all through her. “Yeah. I thought so.”

Her nipples are tight and hard, her cunt aching. She wants to run her hands all over him, but steps back instead. “Do you have protection?”

She does, if he doesn’t. She always does. But a man who expects to fuck without bothering to buy the condoms isn’t worth even the small amount of time she’s prepared to give him.

“Yeah.” Daryl tugs at his tie and the buttons of his shirt, exposing his smooth dark skin. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

Stella tilts her head to look him over. “You do this a lot, Daryl?”

“I travel a lot.” He gives her a nice once-over. “You do this a lot, Lavinia?”

It’s a fair question. Her fingers inch up her hem, little by little. For another man, she might play coy or even lie, but she and Daryl seem to have an understanding. “I do it enough.”

His warm, full-throated laugh settles between her thighs. “Good. Just so I know where I stand.”

It’s good for them both to know. She curls her fingers in the fabric of her dress, easing the hem higher. Daryl watches her. At the slide of his tongue over his full lower lip, her clit pulses.

“Why don’t you get out of that shirt?” she says in a low voice. “And those pants too.”

Daryl unbuttons and tosses his shirt to the chair, but his hands hesitate at his belt buckle. “What about you?”

“You want me to take off my dress?” Stella smiles.

He works open the buckle of his belt, then gets out of his pants and tosses them onto the chair next to his shirt. His body is gorgeous. Fit and lean, with muscles in all the right places. Standing in a pair of tight black briefs, Daryl lifts his chin toward her as he bends to take off his socks. “C’mon. Be fair.”

Stella pulls her dress up and over her head, then carefully hangs it over the back of the room’s other chair. She strikes a pose, showing off everything she has to its best advantage, and it must be working for him, because Daryl’s eyes go wide. He wipes a hand over his mouth.

“Damn,” he says. “Look at you.”

This is the rush. This is the gasping breath after being underwater for too long. This is coming out of the dark and into the light, if only for a little while.

Stella needs this.

“Kiss me,” she says, and Daryl is happy to oblige.

He turns them both so he can sit on the edge of the bed with Stella standing between his legs. He breaks the kiss and leans into her, pressing his forehead to the stiff satin covering her belly. His hands roam over her ass, squeezing. He looks up at her, brow a little furrowed, lips parted and a little wet from their kisses.

“What?” Stella traces a fingertip over one of his thick, dark eyebrows. His eyelashes are amazing, enviably long and thick, the sort a woman would kill for.

“Didn’t think it would be this easy, that’s all.”

She wonders if she ought to be a little insulted by this. Stella presses her thumb to Daryl’s lower lip; when he opens for her, she tucks it inside his mouth. He sucks it gently, biting the tip. She bends to kiss him, replacing her thumb with her tongue. She looks into his eyes.

“We both want something,” she says. “Looks like it’s the same thing. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No....”

Some men, she knows, want to fuck women who act like whores. Some men think all women are whores. There is a difference. Stella’s not a slut or a whore no matter how many times she flies with strangers. No man can make her feel that way about herself, no matter what he says or how he acts. She cups Daryl’s chin in her palm, holding his face still while she studies him.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

“No!” Daryl laughs and grips her hips, pulling her closer. “Hell no.”

“You want to fuck me,” Stella murmurs, watching his pupils dilate as she speaks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

She smiles, breathing assent against his mouth. “So fuck me, Daryl.”

With a low growl, he pulls her onto the bed, rolling them both so he ends up on top. His weight’s a surprise, though the press of his erection isn’t. He pushes his hips against her, grinding. His mouth finds hers, a little too hard. Stella puts her hands flat on his chest to hold him back from her for a second. Daryl breaks the kiss to look at her, holding her gaze while he rocks his cock against her clit.

They kiss for a long time, longer than she expects. But she doesn’t mind. They move together on the bed, grinding, rocking, rolling.

Daryl moves a hand between her legs at last, slipping his fingers inside her panties. Stroking her clit. Then, pushing inside her. “Shit,” he breathes. “You’re so wet.”

Kissing him, Stella shivers at the press of his thumb on her clit, the push of his fingers inside. One, then another. He fucks into her, and her body responds at once. Muscles going tight, breath short. She writhes under his practiced touch, giving herself up to this pleasure for a minute or so before she opens her eyes and finds him staring at her.

“What?” She goes still.

“I want to watch you come.” Daryl licks his lips. “I get off on making a woman come for me.”

Stella pushes up on one elbow to reach his mouth with hers. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

Daryl laughs then, relaxing. “Some women... They don’t like that.”

“They don’t like to have an orgasm?” It’s hard for her to talk with his fingers working their magic. Her voice is low, throaty, trailing into a moan.

“They like to come, sure, but they want to get right to the fucking. They want to rush things. They want my dick inside them too soon.”

Stella arches into his caress, putting her arms over her head to find the solid support of the headboard. She spreads her legs wider, rocking into Daryl’s thrusting touch. His thumb slides on her clit in perfectly rough and staggered circles, teasing her.

“I want to watch you come,” Daryl says again.

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Stella whispers. “And you will.”

Daryl pauses long enough to slide her panties down and off, then gets back between her legs to kiss the insides of her thighs. Stella tenses, thinking he’ll use his mouth on her and waiting for that new sensation, but Daryl takes her clit between his thumb and forefinger instead. He squeezes gently. Pleasure builds, and Stella rides it. Her orgasm is a column of rising flame, consuming her. Ecstasy floods her, taking away the world and everything else beyond this sensation.

Gasping, breathless, Stella cries out. When she quiets, the soft huff of Daryl’s breath caresses her inner thighs. She can’t move, doesn’t want to even shift to look at him. She is satisfied, replete. Until he begins to gently pinch her clit again. The pressure is soft and steady. It’s always harder for her to come a second time, but she’s willing to let him try. Stella breathes, relaxing into her desire. There’ve been times when she’s gotten anxious about her ability to have an orgasm, when it’s taken too long, when it has slipped away from her no matter how skilled or attentive her lover was being. There’ve been times when she’s had to push a partner aside and take over for herself, or sometimes even simply give up grasping at the elusiveness of her climax. But she’s never, ever faked it.

“Wanna see you come again,” Daryl murmurs.

Stella sighs. “I’m not sure...”

“Relax.”

She tries. When he moves his mouth onto her, Stella lifts herself to his tongue. Lips and teeth press her. His fingers move inside her. It’s taking too long, and the first was too strong. She’s not going to make it again....

“Shhh,” Daryl says against her cunt. “Just feel good.”

Stella’s flown with selfish men. Egotistical, arrogant men who haven’t cared if she’s come at all, much less more than once. Not often—it’s been her experience that most men, even the ones who pick up women in airport bars, like to be sure they can get the women off. But she’s never been with a man so insistent. So determined. And all she can do, really, is lie back and let Daryl try to get her to come.

After another few minutes, he moves up her body to kiss her mouth. “No?”

“Sorry,” Stella says, though she’s really not.

Daryl laughs a little. “Damn. I tried.”

“You did.” She rolls to straddle him. He’s not completely hard, but that changes after a minute of stroking. “Your turn.”

“Let me just grab something.” In another minute he’s back, shucking out of his briefs and tearing the wrapper on the condom to sheathe himself.

Stella watches him, her breath catching at his look of careful concentration as he smooths the condom onto his cock. How he grips himself at the base. How beautiful men are with their hard pricks in their fists, when their bodies have become tuned toward nothing but pleasure. She loves these moments maybe even more than the actual fucking, these moments when she watches her partner getting ready for her.

Daryl fits himself inside her, keeping his weight balanced on one hand as he uses the other to guide himself. His cock is thicker than she’s expecting. Longer too. It makes her gasp when he seats himself all the way. He pauses for a few seconds, looking down at her.

“You feel so good,” he says. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

He starts moving. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. He tucks a hand beneath the back of her neck, pulling her closer to his mouth for a bruising kiss. Daryl fucks her hard, his pelvis grinding her clit, and it’s this pounding pressure that starts to tip her over the edge again.

He sees it on her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stella manages to say as she gives herself up again to desire. She comes with a short, sharp jolt of pleasure that cuts off as abruptly as it has arrived, but it’s enough to buck her hips. It’s all good. So good.

Daryl shudders, grimacing. He bends to bury his face in the side of her neck as he thrusts, then shouts out with his own climax.

A minute or so after that, he rolls off her to stare up at the ceiling. He’s put some distance between them, but not enough to make this awkward. She’ll be able to get up in a few minutes and get dressed. Head back to her own room.

Before she can move, Daryl looks at her. “Was that okay for you?”

Stella sits, scanning the bed for her discarded panties. Spotting them on the floor, she moves to get off the bed. “It was great.”

Daryl’s hand on her wrist stops her. “Lavinia.”

She twists to look at him, seeing his concern. Thanking him for his performance would feel a little over-the-top, not to mention contrived. “It was great, Daryl. Really.”

He doesn’t let her go for so long she starts to think he won’t. Gently, Stella extricates herself from his grip and gets off the bed to step into her panties. Behind her Daryl takes care of the condom, then heads into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him.

Stella gets dressed quickly. Not lingering. The night has worn on almost to morning, and her plane leaves in only a few hours. She’ll have just enough time to get back to her room, shower and change and head for the airport in time to get through security. In the days when she was a flight attendant, a million years ago, traveling by air used to be fun. Now, even with the free trips she still gets as part of the divorce settlement from Jeff, the CEO of an airline, the process of the airplane travel itself is something rather less than enjoyable.

She doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye—Daryl has been a fun flight. But it’s late and she’s tired and not in the mood for cuddling or, worse, conversation. The bathroom door opens just as she’s slipping into her shoes and straightening her stockings.

Daryl looks surprised. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I have an early plane.” She goes to him, offering a kiss because it seems like the thing to do.

Daryl kisses her but looks confused. “You don’t want to stay? Have another go-round in the morning?”

“It’s already morning.” Stella stifles a yawn. “And I’m really tired. This was great, though. I had a good time.”

“Not good enough, I guess.” Stepping back, Daryl frowns. “Should I even ask for your number?”

“I can give you my number, but that’s not what this is. Is it?” She gives him a small smile, trying hard not to sound annoyed, though by this point she’s ready to head out the door. “You’re not really going to call me, are you?”

This gives him pause. “I guess not. It’s just...everyone else always wants to exchange numbers.”

Stella laughs. “And how many times do you ever get in touch?”

“You never know. I might call you up, see if you want to be my Lady Luck again sometime when you’re out this way.” Daryl smiles, but Stella shakes her head.

“I don’t think I’ll be out this way again for a long time.”

“Oh. So it’s like that.”

“Yes,” she says. “It’s like that.”

She’s hurt his feelings. She didn’t mean to, but of course that won’t make him feel any better. Now this is becoming awkward.

“You won’t even give me your number? C’mon.” He flashes her a smile meant to be charming, but the desperation in it leaves her cold.

“I don’t give my phone number to strangers,” Stella says without apologizing.

Daryl scowls. “But you’ll fuck one.”

Stella doesn’t give that the dignity of an answer.

“Was it good for you?” he cries after her as the door shuts, and Stella understands that none of this was really about her, at all.

For a moment she considers grabbing the door before it can close all the way and telling him yes, the sex was good. Fine. She came, twice as a matter of fact. She considers, briefly, soothing his ego.

But then she remembers that none of this was really about him in the first place.