Page 138 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Lucian: You just say that to keep my bed, but you don’t need to. As I told you last night, as long as you stay in my house that’s where you sleep . . . or else.
Olivia: Or else what?
Lucian: Well, only good girls deserve my cock. You don’t follow instructions and . . .
Olivia: (gasps loudly) Not the cock. What in the world would I do without it?
Lucian: Oh, you say it like it’s not your favorite bedtime story.
Olivia: Please, I’ve heard better fairytales. At least those don’t come with a smug narrator and sleep deprivation.
Lucian: You weren’t complaining last night when I was inside you—filling you.
Olivia: I couldn’t. I had something in my mouth.
Lucian: Yeah. Me.
Olivia: You’re so full of yourself.
Lucian: Sure, but we’re no different. You like to be full of myself too. Should we talk about what I’m actually planning for the flight? Or do you want plausible deniability?
Olivia: What could you possibly do to me on a plane? You’re barely tall enough for those seats.
Lucian: That’s cute. You think I need a full seat to make you squirm.
Olivia: I think you’re delusional.
Lucian: I think you’re dying to find out what I could do with, say . . . a velvet sleep mask and that little wooden stir stick they give you with your drink.
Olivia: Absolutely not.
Lucian: Oh, absolutely yes. I could tie your hands behind that thin little airline blanket, lean in real slow like I’m just whispering something innocent, then slide that stir stick right between your thighs and show you how good I am at improvising.
Olivia: You’re evil.
Lucian: Only when it turns you on.
Olivia: I am in public.
Lucian: Oh you like it in public? I can get on board with that. We have a voyeuristic among us. Kinky, and so fucking hot.
Olivia: I’m simply bringing to your attention that there are people on planes.
Lucian: Not in a private jet. We have privacy. Legroom. A cabin that’s basically an invitation.
Olivia: An invitation for what?
Lucian: For me to slide my hand between your thighs and make you bite your lip so hard you forget what city we’re flying to.
Olivia: And if I say no?
Lucian: Then I wait. Like a gentleman. But when you come crawling into my lap mid-flight with those wide eyes and that soft little whimper you try to deny—I’m not gonna be a gentleman anymore.
Olivia: You’re not subtle, are you?
Lucian: I’m not trying to be. Not when it’s just us on this jet. No screaming toddlers. No nosy seatmates. Just you, me, and an altitude that makes your skin feel extra sensitive.
Lucian: You’ll straddle me in a tight little dress, act like you just want to nap on my shoulder—but we both know what you really want.
