Page 50 of In Flight

“Fuck, River. You’re the hottest little thing I’ve ever known.”

For some reason, that’s what does it. All the tension snaps, and I cry out loudly as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

Isaac comes too—almost immediately after me. His body jerks and shakes as he lets out a low, helpless groan of satisfaction. His hips make a small, helpless pump with every spurt of his release.

Then he finally lowers himself on me as I wrap my arms around him. We gasp together. I’m hot and a little sweaty, and he’s heavy. The condom is going to start leaking soon.

But I don’t want this moment to end. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt closer to anyone than I do right now.

To him.

To Isaac.

“Oh fuck, how was that so good?” he murmurs, winded and sated.

“I don’t know. But it really was.”

“I could lie right here and sleep for days.”

I giggle. “Maybe roll off me before you sleep for days.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He moves off me, turning on his side so he can smile at me.

“It was fine. For a little while. Not for hours.”

“Fair enough.” With one hand on the condom, he smooths some of my hair back with the other and leans forward to kiss me sweetly. “I’m not lying or exaggerating when I say that was the best sex of my life.”

“Me too,” I admit. “Me too.”

***

AFTER WE FIND THE ENERGYto clean up and go the bathroom, we settle back into bed together. He pulls me against him, and I cuddle close. He’s asleep in just a few minutes, and I’m asleep shortly after that.

He’s still in bed with me when I wake up the next morning. It’s early. Just after five. But his sleeping presence in the bed beside me surprises and excites me so much I jolt awake at the first awareness.

“Y’okay,” he mumbles, shifting under the covers when I sit up abruptly.

“Yes. Just surprised. I slept all the way through the night.”

“Me too. Didn’t even wake up to check my phone in the middle of the night.”

“You don’t do that a lot, do you? That’s not good for you. You need to get some time away from your phone.”

“I know. But if I wake up, I feel it drawing me from the nightstand. It calls to me.”

I laugh at his choice of words and his intonation.

He pulls me into a loose embrace, and I caress his shoulder and arm. When I find the faint outline of the scar I noticed last night, I ask, “How did you get this?”

“What? Oh, the scar? I was about three and climbing on furniture. I tried to support myself on a curtain rod, and that was a very bad idea. I fell and got a gash in my shoulder from a sharp edge. The scar never went away.”

“That sounds awful. You could have really been hurt.”

“I wasn’t.”

I don’t like the thought of him being hurt. I don’t like it at all. It bothers me unduly. I scoot closer.

“Shit, I’ve got to get going. I need to be at work in a couple of hours.”

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