Page 93 of Fly Boy
“Could you imagine?Gah,I think I’d die.” She’s practically vibrating as she holds out an olive from the dish the waiter set down as soon as we arrived. “Try this.” I open my mouth, and she pops it inside. She watches me avidly, waiting for my reaction as she grins at me from across the table. “Is that not the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth? Chef Skip knows where to get all the finest produce for his dishes.Nothinghe serves is by accident.”
“Do you want me to go back there and see if he’d rather replace me for this date?” I say around the first bite, smiling but not really tasting anything other than the standardoliveflavor.
“Don’t be silly. There’s only one professional I have eyes for.” She glances down, her cheeks breaking out in a faint blush. Schooling her features, she plants her hands flat on the table. “Now stop talking and let your tongue enjoy all the flavors…”
She pushes another between my lips, and a mixture of sweetness with a hint of tang explodes across my tastebuds. Pippa takes one herself, dancing in her seat as she chews, pointing at me with a look of pure delight on her face when I bounce my head approvingly. “Told you.”
I lick my lips, my eyes locked on hers as I say, “My tongue’s tasted something better.”
She swallows, hiding her flushed face as the server comes over, placing the first course of eight in front of us. Listening intently, she soaks up everything the waiter has to say about the dish before lifting her fork and prodding a sliver of a beet.
“Holy shit,” she groans, covering her mouth with her hand. I wish she wouldn’t hide; I want to see her pretty pink lips as she chews her food and the joy she experiences with every bite.
“Aren’t you going to try it?” she asks, pointing to my untouched plate. Truth be told, I’m not that hungry. I would much rather watch her all night instead.
We eat in near silence, the food too good for chatter, excluding the moans and groans coming from the girl opposite me. By the last course, I am stuffed. While the portions are small, they’re filling.
I might need to reevaluate the fuel load to compensate for the extra weight.
Pippa excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I try to flag a waiter down, wanting to settle the check. Awareness makes itself known as everyone appears to be pointedly ignoring me. It gets worse when she comes back, smiling as she says, “Ready to go?”
“What about the bill?”
She waves a hand dismissively and tries not to smile. “Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”
“Pippa,” I warn, hoping she’s fucking joking. Not only didsheask me out because I didn’t have the sense to ask her, but now she paid?
“Wyatt,” she echoes, lowering her voice to mock me. “I asked you on this date, so therefore I pay.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
“Huh,” she says innocently as she walks toward the exit. “My bad.”
“You know you’re going to pay for this, right?”
She turns to look over her shoulder, a coy smile tugging at her lips. “I was counting on it.”
We head back to her plane, the sun setting in the distance, casting an orange haze across the horizon. Sitting in the back of the car she’d ordered to take us to the airfield, her hand rests on the middle seat. I stare at it, itching to take it in mine, run my fingers over the back of it, and trace patterns into her skin.
There’s nothing stopping me. No one here knows who we are, and this is a date, so… I lace my fingers with hers, and she jerks her head to look at me, a soft smile pulling on her lips as she looks down before leaning back with a contented sigh.
But my gaze stays focused on our clasped hands, on how small and dainty her fingers look compared to mine, on how smooth her skin is as I brush my thumb over the back of her hand, on how warm she feels compared to the cool leather of the empty seat between us.
I hold it until we step inside the plane, and Pippa spins, walking backward while twirling her hair seductively around her finger and nibbling on her lower lip. “Do you know what would be a great way to end this date?”
“What?” I ask, drawing the word out, sounding skeptical.
“If we joined the mile-high club,” she says coyly. “I mean, we had a romantic evening that, if we were at your place, would lead to sex… And we’ve got a perfectly good bed that’s going to waste in the back there.”
She thumbs toward the bedroom at the back of the cabin. I pinch the bridge of my nose, ignoring the way my cock starts to thicken behind my zipper. There has not been a single flight when I haven’t thought of taking her and fucking her while miles high in the sky.
“You know we can’t do that, not when I’m the only one flying this plane,” I tell her, hating how professional I need to be right now. “If something happened, even with the autopilot on and I wasn’t at the front, ready to correct it, we’d be fucked.”
She sticks out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Shame. Maybe I’ll join it on my own. Just go back there, strip down, spread my legs, and make myself come screaming your name.”
“Such a fucking brat,” I growl, wrenching myself away and storming into the cockpit, my cock fully hard and loving the idea of hearing her pleasure herself while I fly her home.
I hear her cackling as I put on my headset and dial into Air Traffic Control.
