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“You think I can’t stand you?” He takes two leisurely strides towards me as if he were stalking his prey. “If I can’t stand you, why can’t I stop pushing that damn call light on the plane, knowing you’ll show up right to my seat?”
“If I can’t stand you”—he takes another step forward, closing in on the gap between us—“then why can’t I get you out of my head? Why can’t I stop wondering what you might taste like?”
“If I can’t stand you”—Zanders inches forward, leaving absolutely no room between our bodies, his large frame overpowering me—“then why has my only thought of every minute of every day for the last week been me wondering what it would feel like to fuck you?”
“Besides,” he continues. “Let’s say that is true, and you can’t stand me. Hate sex is the best sex anyway.”
“But when you decide to stop lying to yourself, you’re going to have to beg me to fuck you...”
“On your knees,”
My eyes dart up from my plate, amusement sweeping across my features as I look at Indy’s wide eyes and gaping mouth.
“Oh fuck.” She quickly slaps her palm over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Just trying to make this as painless as possible.” He pulls away, his hands still grasping my arms, offering me an apologetic smile.
but my dad has noticed. It’s been a tough spot for him, trying to have my back while also loving his wife, regardless of her shortcomings.
“What about Brett?” my mother asks of my ex. “I always liked that boy. Maybe you should reach out to him and see if he’s seeing anyone.”
“You look beautiful, Vee,” my dad reassures, holding on extra tight. “And I’m so proud of you and everything you’re doing with work and volunteering. I’m so happy you found something you love so much.”
“I love you, my beautiful daughter,”
It’s a picture of the point guard for the Chicago Devils, number five, Ryan Shay. But that’s not what I find so surprising. It’s the curly-haired flight attendant at his side, tucked under his arm. Stevie.
Without thinking twice about it, I request to follow the wild girl.
What I don’t feel good about is the fact that Stevie still hasn’t accepted my follow request on Instagram. It’s been hours. I’m sure she’s seen it.
And when her ass brushes the front of my pants, my hand grips her hip as her body stiffens under my touch before she continues on her way.
Last night, the only action I saw was my right hand when I had to jerk one out after walking Stevie home.
I even went to use the bathroom at the back of the plane, and when I did, I saw Stevie sitting in the back galley scrolling on her damn Instagram feed.
“I’ll just pretend like you didn’t see this.”
The very subtle, almost nonexistent nod of her head is my confirmation, telling me that’s it’s going to happen, and it’s probably going to happen soon. She ever so slightly melts into my body, her head resting on my chest. Leaning forward, I press into her as much as I can, needing to feel her, and needing her to know just how fucking badly I want her. Stevie pushes her ass out subtly, rubbing against me, her hips moving in a small torturous circle, and I can only hope that the low groan I accidentally release is too quiet for anyone else to hear.
The message he sends in reply? An address. Simply an address. Nothing less, nothing more. And for some reason, I find that really fucking hot. He’s not playing games. He knows why I’m reaching out.
“I always have options.” That puts a bitter taste in my mouth as I look anywhere other than at him. Especially since less than an hour ago, I heard from the guy who always reminded me that’s all I ever was—an option. “But I’m glad my first choice showed up.”
“My vibrator died, and I didn’t pack my charger with me.”
“You really know how to keep a man’s ego in check, Stevie girl.”
“Stevie, sweetheart,”
“If we don’t go now, I’m going to end up fucking you in a dark corner of this bar, and I need you in my bed. So, once again, are you ready to beg for it?”
“I really like this mouth of yours.” His
“I’m gonna really like fucking it too.”
“But what are you going to tell your coworkers when you can’t walk tomorrow?” Oh God. He’s got a point. “Maybe that’ll keep you from pressing that damn call button all flight.” “Not a chance. I can’t wait to watch you limp down the aisle of that airplane, knowing I’m the one who did that to you.”
“Because I’m about to ruin every other man for you.”
“Fuck the rules,”
“We both know you’ll be crying out my name plenty tonight.”
Because holy hell, this guy can kiss.
“I like that.”
“Fuck,” he groans. “I like that even more.”
“I’d like to see what that mouth of yours can do, other than talk back to me.”
“You like when I talk back to you.”
Judging by my current view—he’s both.
“I like when your mouth is too busy to make your smartass remarks.”
“If I can’t talk, then neither can you.”
“Fuck.” He shivers when his breath returns, his eyes closed, attempting to compose himself.
“I was right about you, sweetheart. There really is nothing sweet about you, huh?”
“Holy shit,”
“You’re unreal, Stevie girl.”
“Oh my God,” he rasps, his finger now warm and wet. “Fucking soaked.”
And as I do, I kiss her lips one last time. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love making out with this girl, but kissing is too intimate. Doing it while in the act does something to these chicks’ brains where they attach themselves, thinking it’s more than just a fuck—even though I make that loud and clear every time.
This isn’t a position I’m used to—too intimate. I’m not into eye contact or shit like that when it comes to sex, but this is before anything has really started, so I’ll let it slide.
“Shit, Zanders. I didn’t know you were so obsessed with me.”
“I’m going to fucking destroy your body tonight and hopefully some of those insecurities that don’t make any goddamn sense right along with it.”
