Page 47 of In Flight

Tohavehim.

All the way.

I need it like I’ve never needed anything, so I move forward, reaching up to grip his head and pull him down into a kiss.

I surprise him. It takes him a few seconds to react, but then he’s with me all the way. Just as eager and hungry. His mouth moves against mine as he steps forward, taking me with him until my back hits the wall.

He’s about five inches taller than me, so the height difference is noticeable but not unwieldy. I stretch up and he tilts his head down, and we do just fine as I suck his tongue into my mouth and keep adjusting our heads so our noses don’t collide.

It’s a good kiss. No question. Isaac is generous and enthusiastic and considerate even in the way he works his mouth against mine. But it’s not skill or specific moves as much as pure, authentic passion I’m receiving from him. That’s what’s filling my heart and expanding in my head and awakening my body.

I’m pulsing with all that I feel as I grab a fistful of his hair and slide my other hand down so it’s curved around the tight shape of his ass through his tailored trousers.

We’ve been kissing for only a minute, but he’s already hard. I can feel the bulge of it pushing against my lower belly.

“River,” he murmurs against my lips, easing back slightly to scan my face. His is flushed and tense, his hair more rumpled than I’ve ever seen it.

“Yes.” I arch against the wall since the arousal is throbbing hard now between my legs and at every pulse point.

“You’re sure about this, right?”

I choke on a little laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. I can’t remember every being so sure about sex. The entire world is screaming that this is what we should be doing.”

He smiles, leaning his forehead briefly against mine. “I hear that screaming too.”

“Do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You think I’m not as into this as you are?”

“Of course you’re into it.” I rock my hips forward to rub against his erection. “I just mean that the world screaming is an intuitive thing. Not an analytical thing. I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hear it.”

“Oh, I hear it.” He kisses me, lightly, more gently than before. Just a soft press of his lips on mine. “Right now I can’t hear anything else.”

I drag his head down so I can kiss him deeper.

I had sex for the first time when I was eighteen with a guy named Brent I met in a portrait-painting class my first semester in Savannah. Boys in high school were never interested in me, and Brent was the first guy who ever gave me any attention. That alone swept me away, and I built up all kinds of ridiculous daydreams about our fated romance.

Before then, I was very interested in sex in theory, but I’d never experienced a physical response to an actual real, live person. But as soon as my emotions became attached to Brent, my body was right there with them.

We had a month of very good sex and growing feelings on my side before he got bored and moved on to someone else.

A few months later, another guy acted interested, and my feelings jumped into overdrive once more. During the summer, it happened again.

For several years, it happened over and over again. My heart was all in far sooner than was wise, and I ended up crushed when inevitably the guy moved on.

My longest relationship lasted almost a year when I was twenty-six. Looking back now, I’m quite sure it lasted as long as it did because the guy was making do with me until he found someone he liked better. He never initiated further steps toward a deeper relationship. It all came from me. Finally I realized it myself and ended things before I wasted more years of my life on a man who didn’t really want me.

That’s when I got smarter. But being smarter meant I had a lot of first dates but nothing that lasted more than a few weeks. That went on for a couple of years until Cash came along and wanted me enough to initiate moves.

I never felt like this with him though. I was comfortable in bed with him but not burning all over with this kind of fire.

Isaac’s hands are getting greedier and more presumptuous. One of them has found a breast through the fabric of my dress, and the other is hiking up my skirt so he can stroke the bare skin of my thigh.

Even that small touch feels so good that I lift one leg to wrap it around his thighs, trying to get more friction where I desperately need it.

I’m making a lot of silly gasps and whimpers into the kiss, but he’s making sounds too. Low, throaty, hungry sounds that send jolts right to my center.

“Fuck, River,” he says hoarsely, finally breaking out of the kiss to gaze down at me. “I could eat you alive.”

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