No Pants Required Page 6

  I squeeze my thighs together. Wow. Who would have thought a guy reading to you would be such a turn-on?

  My seatmate’s cheeks look a little flushed. His voice sounds a little raspier, too, and yet he continues to read. Upon finishing chapter one, he pauses to take a sip from his bottle and then looks over at me. “This is good stuff. You are a very interesting person.”

  My breathing a little erratic, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  His laugh is low and slow and a little drowsy. “Going from a virgin to porn in an instant.”

  Now my flush is creeping up my chest and turning my face pink. “It’s not like that. I’m trying to find myself. Who I want to be. Should be. Who I really am. Maybe who I used to be.”’”

  I should add that this novel is considered erotica, not porn, but I don’t. Does it really matter? Either way, the air between us is almost dripping with sexual tension.

  My comment seems to hit somewhere deep within himself. For a moment, his face goes blank. “I get it,” he tells me before resuming his slouched position close to me.

  So close.

  So hot.

  I can barely breathe.

  A pocket of turbulence doesn’t even make me panic. In fact, the plane ride has been a little rocky this entire time and I’m not bothered by it in the least.

  In half a minute our arms are touching again and our faces are soon very, very close as he whisper-reads to me. By the time he gets to chapter three, we’ve each consumed two more drinks and eaten the entire bag of M&M’s.

  We shared the green ones.

  My seatmate’s voice continues to melt me as he turns mere words into gooey caramel. “‘It had been a month, not quite midsummer but almost, and Summer had gotten used to having two men in her bed. She took Gabe’s well-accustomed length into her mouth, her hands gripping his base to set the pace. She always had control. His fingers twisted in her hair but were never forceful. The men knew the rules. Gabe liked to test her, though. And he did so when he pushed his hips forward. His cock was longer, but not as thick as Owen’s. Even blindfolded, Summer knew it was him by this one simple fact. Besides, he was always more anxious. Secretly pleased, still she made him wait and surged her hips forward. While Owen buried his face in her pussy and ate her like he was feasting on her, she took her time with Gabe, drawing out his orgasm until he begged.’”

  As crazy as it sounds, I find myself mouthing the words along with him. Pausing just before Summer has her climax, I have to lick my lips. My throat feels so dry.

  Our breathing is very loud. His and mine. It seems to combine and could quite possibly be combustible.

  My seatmate makes a noise and bites down on his lower lip. I catch a flash of teeth when he does. His hair has also fallen forward, and it shields his gaze. Sitting up straighter, he closes his eyes and shuts the book. “I think we should stop for a while.”

  “Yes,” I tell him in a hoarse, low voice I wish didn’t shake.

  This thing developing between us can go nowhere. We’re strangers who will never see each other again. Still, I feel like that doesn’t matter. I don’t want to worry about that. I don’t want to know his name or where he lives. I only want to live in the moment.

  Free.

  Easy.

  Never the aggressor, I find myself being one. I envision myself as Summer from the novel and lean in toward my seatmate. His eyes are closed and I stare at his gorgeous profile. I’m not touching him anymore, but I can still feel his warmth against me. This close, I can smell his scent. I breathe it in for a moment and I swear I can taste him. The urge to do so has never been greater. Just stick out my tongue and lick him like a lollipop. Wonder if he’d mind? Oh, God, the thought has me gasping for air. The noise I make isn’t intentional, but loud enough that he opens his eyes.

  He breathes out, “Do you want . . . ?” He leaves the question dangling.

  Yes. I want.

  I swallow. Nod. Then nod again. He shivers. Looks at me. Looks around. No one is across from us. No one can see us. Closing my tray table, I find myself moving even closer, drawn to him in a way I can’t explain. Still, he doesn’t move. Uncertain I read the signs right, I start to lean back in my seat. He captures my wrist, and I let him pull me close.

  Inches apart, I look into his eyes and make certain he sees that I want what he wants. Hot, sweaty sex, no strings attached.

  Reaching up, he turns the overhead light off. Now we’re in the dark. I can’t be certain who initiates the next bit. Him? Me? Who knows? All I know is that my hand is on his cock and his is over my hand. Even beneath the fabric of his jeans, I can feel his erection. It’s so big. Hard, long, and thick. And big. Did I mention that?

  Losing myself in the feel of him, I’m helpless to do anything but move forward. To do this thing I had never truly envisioned myself doing. I’m not a prude or anything, but I usually wait until the third date to do anything below the waist.

  Angling just right so no one can see us, he takes my free hand and puts it behind his neck. I find my fingers instantly curling around his soft locks. And my fingers seem to have a mind of their own—tugging a little, and a little more. So unlike me. Summer must have me all riled up. When I tug again, he grits his teeth and makes a strangled gasp. That feeling of déjà vu hits me once again. I can’t place it. I don’t want to try. I don’t care, because I’ve never felt like this before. So powerful. Like every touch I make arouses this man more and more.

  A hand cups my breast. His palm is warm. He brushes a finger across my nipple. I’m so excited, I think I might need mouth-to-mouth. When the pace of my breathing picks up with his slightest touch, I have to close my eyes.

  “Look at me,” he demands.

  In an instant, I do.

  Seconds pass. Neither of us moves. Somehow sitting here in the dark cabin, saying nothing, with our bodies touching feels as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

  My mind is racing.

  I wonder if his is, too.

  My pulse is pounding.

  I know his is, too.

  I want to say something.

  I don’t.

  Desire runs thick through my veins.

  What do we do next?

  I wish Maggie were here so I could get her advice.

  Finally, I speak. “What are,” I ask with a quaking, shaking voice, “we doing?”

  As if he’s been holding all the air in his lungs, the breath hisses out of him. “Acting out the scene in the book. You’re Summer, and why don’t you pretend I’m Gabe.”

  “Not Owen?” I rasp, totally turned on right now.

  His grin melts me. “It’s a hard choice; I’d like to think I’m both men combined. How about I let you decide?”

  At that my blush turns scarlet red. His words come across so cocky, I should laugh at him, but instead I find myself so wanting to find out.

  When it comes to men, I literally have no moves. But something about the night’s events has coalesced into a temporary insanity, on my end anyway, and I find myself unable to shake the thought of having him inside me.

  Just like the way you can be standing at the edge of the high dive one second thinking to yourself, I can’t do this, it’s too high, and the next thing you know, you’ve overcome your fear of heights and you’re jumping without actually realizing you’ve jumped . . . I lean over to kiss him.

  I know better.

  A girl should never be the first to kiss a boy.

  Everyone knows that.

  So what happens shouldn’t surprise me. Just before I pass the threshold of the armrest, my seatmate abruptly unbuckles his seat belt and stands up. “I need to use the lavatory.”

  Is that a sign?

  What Maggie told me to do, is he is doing it?

  No wink or nod, no “join me,” but still it’s close.

  I wait a few minutes. Make sure the coast is clear. And then stand and follow in his path. My anxiety has increased tenfold. My whole body is trembling. I don’t even know hi
m.

  “That’s the point!” I can hear Maggie’s voice screaming at me.

  She’s right. This is exciting. Naughty even. I’ve never had sex in a public place. Is it bad that I’m wet just thinking about it? About him.

  Did I just think that?

  Now I’m doing more than thinking, I’m picturing that big cock I just felt, wondering if he will even fit inside me.

  What if he doesn’t?

  Or what if he doesn’t have a condom?

  Worse, what if I read the signs all wrong?

  Reaching the lavatory, the sign reads, ‘Occupied’.

  I can’t go in.

  I have to wait.

  I’m at a crossroads . . . I can go the uptight path or the let my hair down and live a little path. Either wait for him to open the door or bolt back to my seat and pretend to sleep for the rest of the flight.

  Which is it going to be?

  MAKAYLA

  FATE SOMETIMES HAS A WAY of interceding when you need it most . . . or not.

  Just as I take a step back, the lavatory door opens.

  Standing there, long and lean, my seatmate looks so damn sexy that my knees feel weak. He blinks. Doesn’t move. Stands in front of me. He’s taller than I had imagined now that I’m actually standing before him. My eyes scan him from head to toe. The ends of his hair are wet—he must have splashed his face. My gaze lowers, taking in all of him, and it lands on the untied scuffed combat boots on his feet that I hadn’t noticed before.

  Damn, he is so sexy.

  “Hi.” He smiles.

  “Hi.” My voice cracks.

  Nervous, and to be honest a little scared, I take a step closer. The air crackles between us as the distance closes. I know this is crazy. This is so, so crazy. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m a good girl. I follow the rules. Walk a straight line. Don’t enter forbidden zones. And yet, here I am breaking a lifetime of good to prove to myself that I’m not uptight. Though even as I think it, I know it’s not the only reason.

  I want this man. Really want him. And that, too, has never happened. I want him unlike I’ve ever wanted a man. In fact, my stomach has never twisted at the sight of any guy nor have my panties soaked at the thought of being touched by one. Even my fiancé had never gotten me this hot this quickly. Whatever this isn’t, I know what it is—pure lust all the way.

  And I’m going for it.

  Inconspicuously, he glances around before taking a step back.

  Me, the girl afraid of heights, is jumping off that cliff again and taking a step inside the small space. My heart beats out of control when the door closes behind me, and the sound of the click causes my mouth to part on a gasp of both certainty and uncertainty.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” His low chuckle tickles my eardrum.

  I give him that same flirty shrug I gave him earlier and say, “I know, right?”

  This time, his response is smoldering. Those languid gray eyes look like half-moons, long lashes sweep his cheeks, and that easy grin melts me. “Do you come here often?”

  Instead of answering right away, I twist around and lock the door. When I twist back, I muster up all my courage and give him a wink. “Not often enough.”

  I can feel the blaze of his stare. His gaze traces the lines of my face, and I swear I feel his sizzling look hot on my skin. Crazy. Intimate. Intense. Suddenly, turbulence shakes the plane once again. Again, I don’t panic, and this time it’s because he reaches to grab my arm, and with him anchoring me, the sudden impact doesn’t alarm me or cause me to stumble.

  Even as the plane levels, he doesn’t let go.

  A little more turbulence and his hand slides down my arm to rest on the curve of my waist. A move so blatant it makes my breath catch.

  “You’re a good girl—what are you doing in here with me?” he whispers, and the feel of his warm breath against my face sends shivers down my spine.

  “Who said I’m a good girl?”

  “Me,” he whispers.

  One last step is all he has to take, and as soon as he does, we’re aligned thigh-to-thigh, belly-to-belly. If I tip my head just a little, and he leans down a little, our mouths will be close enough to kiss.

  “I’m not,” I protest. “I read porn, remember?”

  “Right.” He grins. “I also remember the Madonna song on your playlist. And that tells me more than some random novel you picked up in the airport in a rush.”

  “How do you know I just bought that? Maybe it’s part of a series that I’ve been reading forever.”

  His laugh is a little wicked. “The receipt fell out when I picked it up. I saw today’s date stamped on it.”

  “Still, that doesn’t mean—” I don’t get to finish telling him I’m not a virgin, if that’s what he thinks. Then again, I doubt he thinks that.

  Suddenly, his fingers are around my wrists, and he moves me until my back hits the door behind me. With my arms at my sides, he’s caging me in. “Are you certain you want to be in here with me?”

  My heart slams against my ribs, and I can’t get control of my breathing. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Then it happens. Bold and unfaltering, he crushes his mouth over mine. With our lips sealed, he swallows my gasp of surprise in an instant. His lips are soft, his tongue is wet, and our teeth crash as we wildly seal our mouths with a drugging kiss.

  Ripples of passion overtake me and flow through my body. First, it tugs at my nipples, then it melts in my belly, and finally it explodes between my legs in a burst of desire.

  God, I want him.

  Knowing this, knowing this is more than checking an item off a list, I let myself go. When I do, our kiss grows more desperate. We search, demand, explore, lick, and suck. We let it consume us.

  Panting, he trails those lips down my neck and his male scent, the heat of his skin, and the taste of him lingering on the tip of my tongue, all hot and wild, overwhelms me. As desire continues to shoot through me from my head to the tip of my toes, it occurs to me that I’ve never been this turned on from just kissing someone.

  In a moment, or maybe two, he lets go of his hold on my wrists and grips my nape with one hand before sliding the other down to my hip.

  Lower.

  Lower still.

  Excitement fills the air when his fingertips skim the soft flesh of my bare thigh. Thank God I’m leaning against the door because my knees go weak at the feel of that long, thick erection grinding into me.

  That groan he makes in response to my thrusting hips is one I want to eat up. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he whispers like an apology.

  “I know,” I whisper back and start to rip his shirt over his head.

  Before I even have his shirt fully over his head, and before I can raise my gaze from those smooth, muscled abs I ogled earlier, he growls, “Turn around.”

  Yes, he actually growls it.

  And oh God, that sound, it causes a ripple of arousal to flood my veins. Wanting this as much as he does, maybe more, I abandon my attempt at taking his shirt off and leave it for him to finish pulling over his head while I turn around. Once there, I place my palms flat on the cool glass of the mirror and squeeze my eyes shut.

  I’m doing this.

  Really doing this.

  With our bodies touching, the heat around us blazes. This is so incredibly hot, I can’t even remember where I am.

  Which might be a good thing.

  Remember, I said he’s really big, and I’m not going to lie—I’m a tiny bit worried.

  But then all my apprehension melts away when he almost expertly slides his hand down my hip to my thigh, fingers catching the hem of my sundress like it’s second nature.

  Small tingles follow in the wake of his warm skin as he inches my hem up, up, up, up higher until my panties are front and center.

  “Oh fuck,” he mutters.

  Okay, so I have to thank Maggie for insisting I wear the black thong. Very aware of how skimpy it is, I bend a little at the hips and give
him an even better view.

  Those talented fingers are running the length of it like a quarterback trying to score a touchdown.

  Wait . . . the—oh, oh!—quarterbacks don’t . . . I jump.

  His fingers are rising and then . . . the stinging dancing across my flesh surprises me.

  He didn’t just do that?

  Yes, he did. He snapped my thong.

  Wide-eyed, I turn to look at him.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He grins, and then smooths his palms over my butt cheeks, caressing right down the middle.

  Dirty, dirty boy.

  Hiding my intense like for his dirty side, I turn around.

  As soon as I do, he reaches between my legs and moves his fingers to curve upward to brush my clit on the outside of my very wet panties.

  It feels incredible.

  With my eyes closed once again, I press my forehead against the mirror. This is it—I’m about to fuck a stranger. I’m about to join the Mile High Club. And I love every minute of it.

  When he slides a foot between my open thighs and pushes them open even wider, I pray to God that the split doesn’t cause me to slide and wind up like a wishbone on the floor. Once I feel the gap isn’t too great, that I won’t be torn in half, I shiver in anticipation. But then his fingers circle against me and I shudder from how freaking good it feels.

  It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, and so much longer since anyone has made me feel this desirable.

  More than ready for what’s next, I breathe in and in and in, almost forgetting to let the air release from my lungs until it rushes out in a loud moan of ecstasy.

  That was so not intentional.

  His response isn’t to be missed, though. That shudder of breath. The slight tremble in his touch. The way his body presses closer to mine.

  He likes my noises.