Page 55 of In Flight

“All right then. You want to come to my place this time?”

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ALITTLE WHILE LATER, Isaac and I are kissing as he tries to unlock the door to his apartment.

He lives in a three-story walkup in an older, established neighborhood with an old-school Boston vibe. When the rideshare dropped us off, Isaac told me his parents live only a couple of miles away.

As we stumble in, still halfway in the embrace, I get a glimpse of the room. His apartment isn’t at all what I was expecting. It doesn’t have that clean, minimal, modern look at all. From the worn wood floors to the comfortable leather couch to the landscapes on the wall, it’s pleasant and lived-in and well-kept.

I love it.

And I might love it even more if I had the time to really check it out, but most of my attention is focused on Isaac, who has let go of his luggage and my bag—which he was carrying—and taken my face in both his hands.

He’s on fire, and the heat, tension, and passion radiating from his body are spreading directly to me. I’m aroused improbably soon as I kiss him back and run my hands up and down him. Then I squeal when he breaks the kiss abruptly and swings me up into his arms.

I grab for his neck, overflowing with giggles. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of that too,” I admit, clinging to him as he walks into his small bedroom because I’m really not used to being carried like this. “But what if I needed to do a few things before we go at it?”

“Like what?”

“Like go to the bathroom or primp a little or something.”

“You went to the bathroom at the airport, and you need absolutely no primping as far as I’m concerned. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

If oozing away in a puddle of sentiment were possible in this life, it would be happening to me right now.

He lays me down on top of his covers. “Do you really need to use the bathroom?”

“No. I’m good.” I pull him down on top of me before I’ve even taken off my shoes.

“Good.” His mouth closes over mine again.

We’re both hanging halfway off the bed and positioned sideways, but it doesn’t seem to matter. We kiss and rock together with increasing urgency until he’s pushing the bulge of his erection into my middle and I’ve got my legs wound around his thighs.

The humping motion I’m making beneath him should be embarrassing, but it’s not. Something about the still-clothed make-out session is as sexy as it gets.

I haven’t even gotten my shoes off and neither has he, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He eventually slides a hand between my legs, dipping it beneath my panties and rubbing me off as we kiss.

I gasp and whimper into his mouth until the pleasure crests and spreads through my body in fast, intense waves.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs against my skin as he trails kisses across the line of my jaw.

“Of course I liked it. Appreciating an orgasm isn’t exactly a rare characteristic.”

He huffs and shakes with amusement as he mouths his way down my throat. “I’m trying to get some dirty talk going here. Don’t make me laugh.”

“I don’t need any sort of dirty talk.” I pull his head up so I can meet his eyes. “The hottest, sexiest thing you can ever be to me is yourself. Really, truly yourself.”

His expression changes. Softens. “Okay,” he murmurs. “If it’s me you want, that’s what you’ll get.” He kisses me tenderly. “As long as I get all of you too.”

“You do. You always have.”

That brief interaction seems to collapse any further hesitations or barriers between us. We kiss again—even more hotly and eagerly than before—and I’m so out of control that I’m soon fumbling with his belt and the button of his trousers so I can get my hands on his erection.

Breaking the kiss, he supports himself on one arm and uses his other hand to help me. I hike up my skirt, and, after he rolls on a condom, he pulls aside my panties so he can fit himself inside me.

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