Shit.
Sophia takes her seat in one of the plush-leather captain’s chairs. I sit across from her and immediately regret my decision to not sit beside her. When she crosses her legs, her skirt rides up higher on her thighs, exposing more of her smooth, silky skin. My eyes are glued to her legs, and as she shifts in her chair, her skirt moves ever so slightly higher. At this pace, her lacey panties will soon be showing. Should that happen, I will be compelled to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the waiting bed in the back of the plane.
When I finally tear my eyes from the part of her body I would really love to lose myself in, I see her eyes are beyond heated. Her breaths have increased to the point of nearly panting, and without a doubt, I am in deep shit. There’s no way this attraction will fizzle out. These feelings will not just go away. These thoughts won’t just stop. This itch must be scratched in the most sensual, intimate, and carnal ways possible.
Fuck me.
* * *
All of thepre-flight checks have been completed and the flight attendant has recited the required safety standards. After a smooth takeoff, we reach cruising altitude, and after getting our drinks and a light snack tray, I excuse the flight attendant from her duties for a while. Having changed seats, I am now beside Sophia instead of across from her. I pull out the small table that’s tucked away between our chairs and we share the food. The flight only takes about three hours from wheels up to wheels down, but it’s three hours of having Sophia all to myself that both concerns and excites me.
We settle into a comfortable companionship, enjoying the food and the pitcher of mimosas the flight attendant left with us. I don’t know if it was the extra glass of mimosa she had or how we just seemed to click all of a sudden, but Sophia seems so much more relaxed with me. As she starts opening up to me, I begin to see a whole new side of her.
“So, tell me about your brother, Sophia.”
Her smile conveys her love for him. The look on her face tells me that she misses him more than her words can tell, but there’s a deep sadness in her eyes that she tries very hard to hide. I wonder if she’s trying to hide it from me—or from herself. She takes another sip of her mimosa before she answers me.
“His name is Shawn, and like I said, he’s four years younger. He’s the best.” Then she adds, almost absently, “I miss him so much.”
“Why haven’t you seen him?” I inquire, intrigued and confused. If she’s so close to him, and loves him so much, why wouldn’t she still see him now?
Her eyes fly up to meet mine and the color briefly drains from her face. Her mouth is gaping open and her eyes are wide, like a deer caught in the headlights and physically unable to move out of the way of danger. She quickly recovers and drops her eyes to her glass, her finger tracing the rim as she speaks softly.
“I haven’t seen him in quite a while. My…uh…my parents and my brother both vehemently disagreed with some choices I’ve made in my life. They have effectively disowned me. To be honest, my parents and I never really saw eye to eye. I spent my whole life fighting with them, but my brother held my heart. When I lost him, I really felt it. It really hurt,” she continues, speaking to her champagne flute.
“I’m really sorry to hear that, Sophia. That must be really hard on you, being in a different city with no family support,” I offer understanding, although I really want to ask about those choices she’s made that ended with her being disowned. Even with her revelation, or maybe because of it, it just seems inappropriate to ask for details just yet. “Perhaps enough time has passed for you to try to speak to them again. Help them understand where you’re coming from and why you’ve made the decisions you have. Distance helps give a new perspective on things.” Being a man, I instinctively want to offer advice to fix things as quickly as possible.
The gloomy smile she offers me says it all—she’s tried and she’s been shot down, pushed away, and told to never return. It happens all too often in families—more than most people realize—but I wait and let her tell me the story and withhold my own thoughts for the time being.
She slowly shakes her head from side to side, “No. I can never go back there. I’ve come to terms with that and it’s been damn near impossible.” The back of her hand whisks a tear away, and before I can move, more quickly take its place.
Rising quickly, I kneel in front of her and pull her into my arms. She tries to hold her tears back, but they keep coming, and soon the sobs are wracking her small body. I pull her closer, willing my strength to flow into her and help her through this pain. It suddenly occurs to me that this is most definitely inappropriate contact, but then her arms wrap around my neck and she plasters herself to me. I bury my face in her hair and whisper soothing words repeatedly while gently stroking her hair.
Her sobs subside but she doesn’t let go of me, or I of her. We stay connected, on more levels than one, for several minutes before I feel her slightly loosen her hold. She doesn’t let go completely—leaving her arms around my neck—but she pulls her face back to look directly at me. Her pain and insecurity shine in her eyes, begging me to accept her and not shun her as her family did. I know these signs—I’ve seen them too many times before.
I search her eyes and her face for a cue from her, a sign of what she wants next. Her soft lips touch mine, and at first, she gives me a sweet, chaste kiss. Then, she increases the pressure and slightly parts her lips. When her tongue lightly rakes across the part in my lips, asking for permission to enter, I can’t stifle my approving groan. Her tongue slides into my mouth and glides across my own. Her taste is intoxicating, and before I know it, my hands are threaded in her hair, tilting her head, and deepening the kiss.
As I take control of the scene, I feel her body willingly submit to me. She becomes pliant under my touch and molds to fit me, giving herself over to my will. The old feelings buried deep within me stir and I hear the man locked up inside me prodding me to claim her, own her, and make her say she’s mine. He’s always there, just under the surface of my calm demeanor, waiting to come out and take over. I’ve held him back for sixteen long months—but if I continue this, he will definitely reappear. She brings him out in me more than anyone else I’ve ever met before. He will want to make her allhis.
When she moans softly into my mouth, electricity shoots through me, and every nerve in my body is on high alert. Every strand of her hair floating across my fingers excites me even more. My fingers close on her hair, pulling it into my fists, she melts under the slight pain of my pull. Using my body, I ease her back in her chair and my upper body covers her. Every feeling is unique and exquisite—almost like it’s the first time I’ve felt it. Her breasts press against my chest, and for a split second, I consider removing my hands from her hair.
It’s this thought that brings me back to Earth. Actually, I’m crashing back to this airplane that’s cruising at about thirty thousand feet. This is crazy—she’s my assistant, my employee, and she’s distraught. This is not the right time to act on inappropriate feelings and thoughts. Releasing my hold on her hair, I deliberately slow the pace before ending the impromptu make-out session. When I pull back, I see the most beautiful sight.
Sophia’s face is flushed, her lips are swollen and red from our kiss, her hair is slightly messy—but just enough to be sexy—and pure, unfiltered desire is uncontained in her eyes. My knuckles lightly stroke her cheek and I watch her reaction as she realizes what just happened. I have a feeling I will have to calm her and reassure her, although I’m not sure how because I feel anything but calm and reassured myself.
