Sex Drive (7 page)

Still bracing himself with one hand on my chair armrest, he leaned over to breathe in my ear, “God you’re hot, Theresa. Is this good?”

“Oh, yes.” The words came out on a sighing gasp of breath. “More.”

Another finger joined the first. He pumped gently, circled inside me. Made me imagine his penis, so much thicker and longer, doing the same things. Living up to the promise of that mouth-watering bulge in his jeans.

My internal muscles gripped him, then released, automatically taking up a rhythm that matched his thrusting and circling.

“So sweet,” he said. “Wish I could taste you.”

The thought of his mouth on me made my hips lift, pressing my sex against the palm of his hand.

His mouth came down on mine, tongue parting my lips.

I started to kiss him back, but his thumb got busy on my clit, pressing and circling, and my entire focus flew south where all the arousal—every moment of it since I’d first seen him—was centering and building.

If I didn’t come soon, I was going to die of frustration.

Using his thumb and forefinger, he gently pinched my clit and squeezed. And inside me his fingers stroked a stupendously sensitive spot. Delicious sensations crescendoed, peaked, broke in waves. My orgasm would have been noisy, but his mouth caught my cry.

After, I tore my mouth from his and gasped in air.

A few minutes later, when I’d begun to catch my breath, I whispered, “Wow. That was…wow.”

“You’re so responsive. So sexy.”

I was?

Now that I could breathe again, I let myself sink down in the seat and freed a hand to reach up, catch him by the back of the head, pull him down so our mouths met again. Slowly, loose and satiated, maybe a little sloppy, I kissed him.

One part of my need was satisfied, but something was missing. He’d given me a stunning orgasm, but I had yet to touch his penis. And I really, really wanted to. Besides, what kind of lover would I be, how complete would the act feel, if he didn’t climax, too?

I broke gently from his mouth. “Seems to me it’s your turn.”

He made a choked sound. “I’m so hard, I could explode.”

What could we do, given the privacy issue? His seat was on the aisle, and way too exposed. “Let’s change seats,” I suggested. “Just give me a minute to, uh…” I eased my pants back up, under the concealment of the blanket, then we swapped seats.

The cabin of the plane was quiet. The only people who could possibly see our aisle seat were the great-grandpa across the aisle, who was curled facing away from us under his blanket, and the woman seated behind him. She was lying back, face mask on, mouth open, snoring softly. All the same, what we were doing seemed awfully risky.

Perhaps Day sensed my nervousness. “Hey,” he murmured, touching my shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I…” I did want to feel him in my hands, bring him release. Oh, to hell with being sensible. I draped the blanket over him, then, hand trembling, cupped the fly of his jeans.

He shuddered and drew in a long, shaky breath.

Under the worn denim, his erection was a hot iron shaft. Or it would be, if iron could pulse under my touch. My fingers itched to free him. I fumbled with the button at his waist and he helped me, then together we undid his zipper.

Now I could grip his shaft through his underwear. But that still wasn’t good enough. I tugged at his waistband and he took the hint, pulling his clothing over his hips.

My hand closed greedily around his naked length, his throbbing heat. I stroked down, felt the wiry tangle of his pubic hair, the firmness of his balls. I stroked up, circled my fingers under the head of his penis, then gently caressed the crown, catching a couple of drops of pre-cum and spreading the warm liquid.

His hips jerked.

I wished I could pull aside the blanket and see him. His penis felt perfect. Everything a woman could wish for, and way more than I’d ever experienced before. My sex, so recently satisfied, gave a twinge of hunger, craving the feel of him deep inside. I repeated my stroke, down his shaft, then up, finishing with a swirl over his crown, and again, faster. His hips thrust and I could hear him breathing hard, trying to be quiet.

I was turned awkwardly in the seat, a position that didn’t let me do a tenth of the things I wanted to with his body, but I could pump him, feel his response, and feel my own body yearning for more.

His hand caught mine where it circled his shaft, and at first I thought he was trying to stop me, then realized he was giving me tissues. He’d obviously been thinking ahead when he’d gone to the lavatory.

If I’d dared, I’d have kneeled on the floor and wrapped my mouth around him. But if anyone had walked down the aisle, it would have been obvious what we were doing.

His thrusts had stopped being rhythmic. Now they were erratic and his breathing was getting louder. We had to finish before we got caught.

I let go of his seat, trying to balance, and with one hand I reached down to squeeze his balls while with the other I stroked up his shaft. When I felt his balls tighten and his climax begin, I wrapped the tissues around his crown as he spasmed and jetted.

My body trembled and my sex clutched as I imagined him letting loose this way inside me. God, I wanted that.

When he’d finished, I slid back into the aisle seat, quivering with excitement.

Gradually, Day’s breathing slowed. He hauled up his underwear and jeans and tossed the blanket aside. “What was that fancy word of yours, Prof?” he teased softly. “Wow?”

“That was it.”

“It’s the right one.”

He eased out of his seat—my seat—touched his lips to mine, then took the used tissues from me, headed up the aisle, and disappeared into the lavatory.

I shifted over into my own seat, which was still reclined, and lay back, feeling a goofy, euphoric grin curve my lips. Wow, indeed. What an amazing, almost surreal, experience. Did this mean I’d joined the mile-high club? Or did that require actual intercourse?

Oh, how I wanted to have real sex with this man. If fooling around like teenagers felt so good, I could only imagine what he’d be like in bed.

When Day returned and took his seat, I was still grinning. The old Theresa would have been embarrassed, but this one felt sexy, desirable, exciting. I leaned over and murmured, “You’re really something.”

His lips brushed mine. “Nah. That’d be you.” His smile flashed white teeth, even in the dim light. Then he yawned. “Man, am I wiped. I was up most of the night, packing.”

Was that true, or just an excuse for his sleepiness? “You know, there’s actually a scientific reason why men tend to fall asleep after sex. Not that this was…I mean, we didn’t exactly have sex.”

“Orgasms count.” He yawned again and adjusted his seat so it was reclined like mine. “So, you being a scientist, Prof, you’ll excuse me if I doze off?”

“I will.” In fact, I felt kind of tender as I watched his eyelids drift shut.

I should have been tired, too, after being up most of the previous night preparing for this spur-of-the-moment trip, but I was too keyed up to sleep.

Trying to be quiet, I eased out my laptop computer, plugged it into the power outlet on my seat, and booted it up.

First I scanned the e-mail Kat had sent a few hours ago. It said what she’d told me over the phone, ending with a note that she’d send me the train schedule once she’d booked her ticket.

I thought of my life-of-the-party sister taking the train. It would be in character for her to find a lover during the journey—as out of character as it had been for me to hook up with Day. Of course, Kat would pick a loser, fall for him, get her heart broken in the end. Whereas I knew exactly what I was doing, and knew there was no deep emotion involved for either Day or me.

What it came down to, though, was a fundamental similarity between me and my sister. Neither of us was the kind of woman who attracted true, lasting love. A pang of regret struck me, but I brushed it away. Kat might long for that kind of relationship, but I was happy without it. I had a highly rewarding career, and I’d even proven—thanks to Day—that I might occasionally have a sexy fling.

I skimmed back to the previous round of e-mails, started by Merilee after the conference call when she’d told us about the wedding.

I’d felt rather the same when I’d met Jeffrey, fallen in love, and got engaged. I’d believed he was my soul mate.

My soul obviously had rotten taste in men.

Merilee’s was much smarter. She’d found Matt when she was seven, and hung on to him. He truly was a sweet guy. Cute, smart, caring. On the career track to be a teacher, the same as my little sis. The most important thing was, he’d always treated her with affection and respect. This wasn’t a man who’d ever cheat, in any sense of the word.

I refocused on her e-mail.

Merilee had always been a self-sufficient girl. Not a complainer. It had been a shock to all of us when she said she’d been diagnosed with endometriosis and was scheduled for a laparoscopy. We’d known she’d had a hard time with her periods, but then lots of girls do, and that’s what I, and my mom and my sisters, had told her. Who could have guessed she had an actual medical condition?

Well, Matt had. He’d kept telling her to go to the doctor, but she’d listened to us rather than to him. Until this spring, when she was in even more pain than usual.

When she’d e-mailed about the diagnosis, I’d felt so guilty. I’m sure Kat and Jenna did, too, and Mom especially. The guilt had made me even more determined to give Merilee as special a wedding as could be arranged on such short notice.

This was a good time to be going home. Somewhere amid Merilee’s schoolwork and the wedding preparations, I’d find an opportunity to talk to her about her health.

Yes, even our sweet little sister could get snarky at times. She did like to lord it over us that she was the only one who was lucky in love.

Jenna had answered with, Never know who I may pick up on the way home, and I do live to shock .

Kat had responded to Jenna’s e-mail with, God, Jenna, be careful, for Christ’s sake!

To which Jenna wrote, Like you can talk, Kitty-Kat. You’re the one who has shitty judgment when it comes to men.

Kat wrote, Fine, then I’ll just come alone. It’s not like I’d ever find a man who met with the family’s approval. Theresa and I will be each other’s dates, right sis?

Before I’d had a chance to answer, Jenna had popped back with, Tree, you gotta get back in the game, big sis. Your hoo-ha’s gonna shrivel up and die if it doesn’t get some male attention soon.

That was when I’d checked e-mail and got into the conversation. My message read, At least my hoo-ha is selective.

As I read my post of less than twenty-four hours ago, I fought to hold back a giggle. Right now my hoo-ha, as Jenna so quaintly put it, was quite happy. Maybe Day wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I’d typed the word “selective,” but he did have talented fingers.

For a moment I closed my eyes and played with the fantasy of taking Day to my sister’s wedding. He’d blow the family’s collective socks off.

Not that it was going to happen. Our little fling was purely in-flight entertainment.

And speaking of entertainment, it was time to stop slacking off and get on with one of my tasks. Since the computer was open, I’d focus on wedding planning rather than exam grading.

Knowing it was almost impossible to get either of my parents by phone, I typed up an e-mail asking them to look into VanDusen Gardens, and saved it in my Drafts folder. When I was between flights in Honolulu airport, I’d find an Internet connection and do e-mail.

Then I opened my project-planning program and started a file titled, Merilee’s Wedding. I typed headings for Item, Target Date, Ideas/Notes, Progress, and Completed.

Then I entered, as the first item, Identify Venue, with the target date ASAP, then VanDusen? and Can parents swing it?

All right, what next? Time to consult the wedding bible. I put the computer on the floor, pulled out the fat book I’d bought, and skimmed the first chapter. Realizing I was squinting—my vision got worse when I was tired—I put on my reading glasses.

Then I retrieved the computer to make more notes. Under Item, I typed Legalities. For target date I put a?. Then I typed the notes, No blood tests are required because both are of age and Canadian citizens. Need marriage license. Where/when/ who can get it? Do online search? Does Merilee already know?

I consulted the book again, then went back to my project plan and typed, Officiant. ASAP. If wedding outside, who can officiate? Religious or civil? M probably doesn’t care, so long as it’s romantic. “White lace, pretty flowers, romantic promises. That’s what she wants.”