Cake Love: All Things Payne (22 page)
Read Cake Love: All Things Payne Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lynx
Morgana - One Year Later
I'm crying. The tears are falling down my face and I can't stop them. Henrik tries desperately to pull my hands away from my eyes, but I refuse to let him see me like this.
"Morgana, please. I don't understand this," he pleads with me.
He is right, it's not normal. I know that.
My breath shudders as I inhale, bringing my hands down to my lap. I still can't look at him, so I turn to face the window. Clouds float by beneath us and the bright light causes me to squint. I move my gaze to the tan leather seat in front of me.
I should be happy. Yesterday I married the man I love, who is now sitting beside me on a private plane headed to Italy. The wedding was beautiful. The highlight, watching Tiffany’s son, David, walk down the aisle as the ring bearer, without the use of his walker. I don’t think there was a dry eye at the church for that.
Just six months ago, I was permanently given the position of Executive Vice President of Sales and Marketing at Mirmir, my dream job. I mean, it doesn't get better than that. Yet, I can't stop thinking about it.
"It's the cake again, isn't it Morgana," Henrik sounds irritated.
I try to speak but only a whimper comes out, so I nod my head. I can hear him sigh.
"It was exactly what you wanted. Why are you still crying about it?"
The stewardess comes over and hands me a flute of champagne. I take it and nod my thanks to her, before downing it in one gulp.
That is the good stuff. I burp.
Without looking, I hand the glass away. Finally, I turn to Henrik. He's so hot in his fitted gingham button up shirt and faded blue jeans. His dark brown hair tousled in his usual sexy way. I should be happy and turned on, going on my honeymoon with my husband, but I'm melancholy and turned on. I can't help but be horny around him.
"I just miss it so much." Right after I say it, the waterworks start again.
He puts his arms around me and kisses my head. "Shhh. It will be okay. There will always be cake Morgana. Always."
I look up at him, my eyes still watery. "Promise?"
He nods his head and we stay cuddled up for a few minutes before the stewardess interrupts us, "Excuse me sir, madam, but the pilot has just informed me that you are free to move about the cabin. I will be in the back of the plane getting your lunch ready. It should be about fifteen minutes." The unusually tall brunette gives us a warm smile before straightening her posture and walking to the back of the plane.
I can’t help but smile as I watch the bulge in Henrik’s pants grow; I can see he is ready to put his plan into action. He informed me last night that Jacob Mimir had rented a private jet to take us to Italy for our honeymoon as a wedding gift. Henrik immediately told me about his 'plan' while we were flying over the Atlantic. Since neither of us are members of the mile high club, he thought it would be perfect to do it on our honeymoon.
"You ready?" he whispers in my ear as I sit up. He searches the beige cabin to see if anyone is watching us. Of course no one is looking, because it is only us right now.
"Come on Husband, let's join the club." I unbuckle my seat belt and stand.
He does the same but puts his finger to his lips. "Shhh. I don't want people to hear."
I roll my eyes and snort. He keeps look out as we walk up the dark blue carpeted aisle. When he opens the bathroom door, Henrik quickly ushers me inside.
Wow, this is tiny. I think the bathroom in coach on a commercial airline is bigger than this. Henrik squeezes inside. We are having trouble breathing until we maneuver ourselves so I am standing in front of the toilet and he is in front of the sink.
"How are we going to make this happen?" I ask while I gaze around the tight space.
Henrik furrows his brow and runs his fingers through his hair.
"I read up on all of this, even small spaces. Basically, I will have to sit on the toilet while you sit on me." He points to the tiny metal toilet bowl next to me.
I frown as I notice there is no lid on the seat.
"Oh gross. Are you sure you want to do this? It's your butt on that seat, not mine."
I look back at him and he already has his jeans and briefs pulled down to his ankles, as he is stroking himself. Okay then, I guess this is a go.
I wore a dark green tennis skirt for the flight due to our plan, so I remove my pink lace panties and am ready for action. I place my undies on the tiny counter before I squeeze by Henrik so he can sit on the toilet. None of this is turning me on, so I have to lick my fingers and rub myself before I settle back on him.
He moans as he fills me. Henrik grabs my hips to help me move up and down on his cock. He moves one of his hands under my tan polo shirt as he massages my breast. I'm starting to get into this as he pinches my nipple.
"Oh Sweetcakes, you feel so fucking good," he groans into my ear.
The more he moves into me, pinches me, and moans in pleasure, the wetter I become. This isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I think we might have to try this again on the way home. I'm smiling at the thought as I hear the toilet flush.
"Did you hit something?" I turn my head back to see his face.
"No."
Flush. A few thrusts. Flush.
"Fuck, it's one of those automatic flush toilets. There is cool air hitting my balls every time it does that." I can’t help but chuckle at our predicament.
"Don't laugh Morgana or we are going to be here a long time. Now focus. I have dreamed about this since I was a teenager."
He digs his fingers into my hips, abandoning my boobs. Pushing me up and down, faster and faster, as random flushes go off.
There is a knock at the door.
"Yes?" I squeak as we stop mid thrust.
"Madam, I am about to serve lunch. I can't seem to locate your husband."
I panic. "Oh, he said he was going to take a stroll."
Henrik groans behind me.
"Where? There is nowhere to go here. I'll look for him in the back. I need to know if you wish to have fish or chicken."
"Both of us, chicken."
"All right."
I hear her walk away and breath a heavy sigh.
"Taking a stroll? This isn't a cruise ship!" Henrik whisper yells at me, as he begins pushing me up and down on him again.
"Henrik, I think it's time to give up on this dream of yours. Or, maybe on the way back from the honeymoon we try again."
"Give me one more second." He sounds like he is holding his breath as he slams me hard onto him.
"I'm coming. Oh fuck!"
He stills me on top of him and I am thankful it's over. I have no idea why people want to do this.
Henrik grabs some tissues as I clean myself upon standing. He wipes up and gets dressed. I reach for my panties and accidentally knock them off the counter and into the toilet, which then automatically flushes.
"Oh crap! Now what am I going to do?"
Henrik tries not to laugh as I smack him jokingly on the arm. He pulls me in for a hug and kisses the top of my head.
"Well, you could walk around without any undies on in that sexy skirt. I wouldn't mind that at all."
"You and most of the Italian men, when we get off the plane."
I smirk as my words sink in. He grimaces and then takes off his jeans and briefs. Handing me his briefs, he puts back on his pants.
"What do I do with these?"
"Wear them until we can get to the hotel room. We are husband and wife now, we share things."
I frown as I put them on. I wouldn't mind putting on his underwear if they weren't used. Also, they are big and baggy on me, poking out from under my skirt.
Once we make it back to our seat, I take the briefs off and lay them flat on the seat, as a towel. We eventually have the lunch as the stewardess gives us a questioning eye. I remove the metal lid from my dish and see a tiny piece of our wedding cake next to the chicken.
I look up at Henrik who takes the cake and brings the blue frosted confection to my lips. I take a bite and smile at him.
"I love you, Sweetcakes. Thank you for being my wife."
The End...but, read how they met with The Payne In The Blog!
Have you ever thought, I can leave, no one will know? I can just go live in the woods, preferably warm like down south, and just spend my days living off the land.
This is what is running through my brain as I sit in an office building in downtown Chicago awaiting my fate. Everything is glass and wood and white and gray. It's a modern architect's wet dream and I'm wet too, but in all the wrong places.
Today I have an interview. Not just any interview for any job, but THE interview for THE job. I will be (fingers crossed!!!) Mr. Henrik Payne's assistant. He is VP of Sales and Marketing at Mimir, the third largest on-line retailer in the world and from what I hear a ball buster or vagina smasher, depending on what you have.
Preparation for this interview started eight years ago when I graduated college. Every job I have taken since I walked off that University stage with a diploma in my hand I sought for the sole purpose that it will impress a man like Mr. Payne. I imagine the interview will go something like this:
"So, Ms. Drake I see you worked as a Sales Manager at VonCroy Department Store and Assistant Secretary to the dean at University of Chicago. Impressive. I know the dean personally, what would he say about your work?"
I of course will wax poetic about how the dean loves me and I am like a daughter to him. Well, maybe not a daughter, but third niece twice removed. Subsequently, I will mention about how both jobs have given me the valuable experience to not only handle a multitude of personalities but also think on my feet. Employers love that!
"Ms. Drake!"
The feminine voice rips me from my fantasy and I turn my head to see a tall blonde about my age and built like a model. She gives me a sweet, if not exactly sympathetic, smile as she motions towards THE door.
"Ms. Drake, Mr. Payne will see you now."
I gather my bag and follow her as she leads me to THE door. One knock.
"Enter."
A man's deep voice echoes through the door. Here's my chance, fight or flight. Perhaps living off the land isn't that bad. Who needs modern medicine or dentistry or hamburgers? Oh God, I do. I need all those things. As the blonde -- who told me her name when I first arrived but due to massive nerves her name is nowhere to be found in my brain -- enters the room I too follow.
"Mr. Payne, this is Morgana Drake, she is interviewing to be your assistant."
I step out from behind her and see a man at a large modern wood desk with his head down tapping at his phone. His arm lifts and he points to a chair in front of his desk. Squaring my shoulders I stride in a confident manner to the appointed chair, lower myself and plaster the most syrupy sweet smile on my face.
Here goes nothing!
Mr. Payne's head lifts and in that moment the years of planning, research, petty jobs that caused blisters too numerous to count, and good old fashioned hard work dissolve into a cloud of fog. A thick, stifling fog that is blurring my vision and making it hard to breathe. I can't think. The only notion that keeps entering my brain is ... hot damn, he's gorgeous.
My fingers curl at my side to prevent them from molesting his thick brown hair. They want to do silly things like play hairdresser. I try to turn my attention away from his hair to his eyes, which just makes it worse. They are a cloudless blue and I think I can hear the faint sounds of a seagull in the distance. Okay, Morgana, focus on his strong nose or chiseled jaw or his ... oh God I can't stop myself. Now I am wet in all the right places.
This. Is. Not. Good.