Sex Drive (10 page)

“Get on with it before we get caught?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted reluctantly. “I just want to make it good for you.”

“It’ll be good.” She gave a soft laugh. “As good as airplane lavatory sex can be.”

She deserved more. “It’ll be great in Honolulu,” he promised, capturing her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it.

“I believe you. But right now, let’s enjoy the moment.”

Her hands reached for the waistband of his jeans.

I
struggled with the button of Damien’s jeans. It wasn’t like me to be crazy with curiosity over what a man’s genitalia might look like. But he had me so aroused, and all the sight and touch indicators had suggested his equipment was quite spectacular.

His erection was so big it pulled the fabric taut, and it was a fight to force the metal button through the rough denim, then another struggle to work the zipper. But I persevered, and the tab slid down, the teeth parted.

The swollen head of his penis thrust out of the top of black cotton briefs, glossed with pre-cum. An image of pure masculine vigor and sensuality that made my body hum with need.

Vaguely, I was aware of him jerking the jeans down his legs, of the fact that the briefs were actually boxer briefs that hugged his balls and the tops of his muscular thighs, but then they were disappearing, too, and I sucked in a breath when my gaze took in his full, rigid length.

I’d been right about spectacular. In comparison, Jeffrey and my other two lovers were…“unimpressive” was the most polite word I could come up with.

Fascinated, I curled my fingers around him, feeling a pulsing, tensile strength that made my sex throb in response. Throb, clench, and gush in response. I’d never felt so purely physical. All I wanted was to envelop him, sheathe him, absorb him all the way into my core. Then feel him plunge back and forth, pressing against all the sensitized spots that were crying out for attention.

I stroked up and down his shaft, his soft skin and throbbing heat inside the curve of my hand, the backs of my fingers brushing the dark curls of hair on his lean belly.

His muscles tensed and he groaned.

My mouth watered, craving the taste of him, but not even Damien’s luscious penis was going to make me kneel on the floor of that lavatory.

He pulled away from me, sheathed himself with a condom he must have taken from his jeans pocket, and sat down on the closed toilet seat. Now it was his turn to unfasten my pants, to unzip them and work them over my hips, taking my panties with them.

If I hadn’t been so turned on, so focused on his hard-on and my aching need, I’d have felt self-conscious as, one foot at a time, I took off a loafer, slid the pant leg over my foot, then stepped back into the shoe. Then I tossed my pants and underwear on top of our shirts and turned to him, utterly naked except for a pair of navy loafers.

Damien’s gaze caressed my breasts, drifted across my belly, lingered at my groin. His eyes glittered. “Oh, yeah, you’re one hot woman. Now come here. Sit on my lap, Theresa.”

When I took a step toward him, trying to figure out how to straddle him, he shook his head. “Can’t do it that way. There’s not enough room for your legs.”

“Then how—”

Firm hands grasped my hips and he turned me.

“Oh.” My voice squeaked out. “Oh, right.” I’d never had sex this way, sitting so my back was to a man’s front. I regretted that I wouldn’t be able to see him, but mostly I just wanted him inside me. Whatever it took.

I sat gingerly, straddling his thighs, his erection sandwiched between his body and the curves of my bottom. What was I supposed to do next?

“That’s a girl,” he murmured, pressing a hot, moist kiss into the nape of my neck. One hand came around to stroke my breast and the other slid between my legs, finding my creamy, needy center. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and caressed me, stoking sensation.

Good as it felt, I was nervous about taking too much time. “We should do this now.”

“I’m sure as hell ready if you are. Lift up a little.”

His thighs were warm and strong under me. All I could really see of him was his knees, and I braced my hands on them as I raised my body. He struggled to tilt his rigid penis and bring it forward, then the crown probed between my legs, making me gasp. With one hand, Damien parted my slick, swollen folds, then he was easing in and, oh my, it felt so good.

And then it hurt a little, and I tensed. It had been so long since I’d had a man inside me, and never one who was built like Damien.

“Easy, Theresa,” he murmured, breath warm on my ear. “We’ll take it nice and slow.”

His words helped me relax, then his thumb was on my clit and the last thing I could do was relax. His penis pressed inside me an inch or two farther, a sexy hint of everything he had to offer. His thumb circled and stroked, and all the arousal that had been building centered and magnified. I trembled with desire—and anxiety—at the thought of him filling me.

I could feel myself get wetter as with each subtle motion he slid in farther. Oh God, I wanted, needed, to climax.

He took my clit between his thumb and index finger and squeezed gently. The pressure was so good, so intense, I came apart under his hand, barely managing to remember that I couldn’t cry out.

As I rode the waves of orgasm, Damien eased farther inside me and my body loosened around him, took him in, clung to him with pleasure. When he was all the way in, he murmured, “All right?”

“God, yes.”

“Do what feels good. Control the action.”

Cautiously I levered myself up, then down, feeling the slide and friction of his flesh inside mine. His hands held my hips, helping me keep my balance, and I moved faster, riding him so it felt like he was pumping in and out of me. A soft moan of pleasure escaped my lips.

“You’re so sexy,” he said. “Your long, slim neck and back.” The words came out between pants. “Curvy arse. The cleft between your cheeks.”

“I feel sexy. You make me feel sexy.” I’d never controlled the lovemaking this way.

In some ways it seemed impersonal because I couldn’t see his face. I was staring at the back of a silver metal door and around me was the cold starkness of a generic airplane washroom. Better to look down. And, oh my. Each time I raised up, I could see his inner thighs where the skin was pale, almost tender looking. The furry roundness of his balls. The base of his penis and the way his shaft disappeared inside me.

Oh yes, this view was sexy, and so was the way he filled me, deep and hard. Both were a real turn-on, but the disadvantage to this position was that his penis didn’t brush my clitoris, and I usually needed that stimulation in order to come.

Damien’s hips were lifting, his penis jerking. He was close to orgasm.

“Touch yourself.” He gasped out the words.

Somehow, he knew this was what I needed. His hands were occupied, holding my waist, but he didn’t want to come and leave me behind.

Of course I masturbated occasionally, but I’d never touched myself when I was with a lover. I was too inhibited. And yet, here I was having sex in an airplane lav with the hottest guy I’d ever met. And my body was heavy, achy, on the edge. I really, really wanted that second climax.

“Come on, Theresa,” he gasped, for the first time sounding impatient.

To hell with my inhibitions. I lifted a hand from his thigh, feeling him grip my waist tighter so his heavy thrusts wouldn’t unbalance me. Then I touched myself the way he’d done, stroking my nub, pressing, squeezing it a little. Remembering the feel of his much larger, rougher-textured hand.

Damien’s hand. Damien’s penis pumping into my slick channel, filling me deeply.

The orgasm caught me by surprise, and it was all I could do to choke back a moan.

He plunged again, hard, then again, and buried his face in my shoulder as spasms rocked through him and into me as he, too, climaxed.

After, I collapsed heavily on his lap, my whole body weak, trembly, and totally satisfied. His arms circled me and I rested mine atop his. “Wow. If that’s what it’s like in an airplane lavatory, I can’t wait to try a bed.”

“Insatiable female,” he grumbled against my shoulder.

“You’re the one who—” I jerked upright. Someone was rattling the door.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I locked it. They’ll use the other one.”

So much for basking in the physical afterglow of great sex. My body was taut with anxiety. “We have to get back to our seats. Oh God, what if someone sees us come out?”

“They’ll be envious. C’mon it’s not a crime, like smoking in the lav.”

“Well…” He had a point, but on the other hand, our behavior was awfully undignified. I was a Harvard graduate, a university professor. And he was a—

Oh. My. God. I, the esteemed professor, was screwing in the loo with a celebrity.

I smothered a giggle, then levered myself off his lap. When he bent to pull up his jeans, I shifted as far away as I could in the cramped compartment, to give him room. How on earth was I going to get dressed? Both standing up, we took all the available space.

Damien reached around my naked body to grab his shirt from the sink. “You sit on the toilet lid while I finish dressing, then I’ll pop out and go back to my seat. Lock the door behind me, then you’ll have some room and privacy.”

“Okay.” I spread tissues on the lid and obeyed, arms wrapped around myself.

After he’d pulled the shirt over his head, he bent to drop a kiss on my nose. “Whoever told you that you’re all work?” Then he was reaching to open the door and I scrambled upright so I could slam it shut behind him and secure the lock.

When I was alone, I stared at my reflection. Pink cheeks, pink chest and breasts. I’d never seen myself this way. Sexy, tousled, embarrassed yet thoroughly satisfied. If sex with Damien was this great in such an unappealing, cramped environment, what would it be like in a real bed?

Oh my gosh, I’d agreed to stay in Hawaii with him. And I couldn’t wait.

Rattling and clanking sounds outside the lavatory door brought me to my senses. I splashed cold water on my face and soaked paper towels to wash myself. Then I dressed, glad I’d thought to bring my purse and bra. After I combed my hair, I looked more or less normal. I took a deep breath and put my hand on the door lock. Was anyone outside?

Squaring my shoulders, I thrust open the door and stepped out.

Luck was with me. No one was there. As I moved past the tiny galley, the flight attendant who served the other side of the cabin was pouring juice. She grinned. “I hear you’re engaged to Damien Black. Good on you, you lucky girl.”

“Carmen told you? I hope she also told you it was a secret. And yes,” I couldn’t hold back a grin, “I’m very lucky.”

It struck me that, if Damien ever did get engaged, his fiancée would indeed be a lucky girl. Not that he was my type, of course. I wanted a man who was far more serious, and had a social conscience. But the guy did have a lot going for him.

As I made my way back to my seat, I saw a few people were stirring, chatting quietly, watching their video screens. A glance at my watch told me we had about an hour and a half before we’d be landing.

Damien greeted me with a knowing grin and squeezed my bottom when I slid past him to take my seat. His long, wavy hair was a mess—from me dragging my fingers through it. Gently I reached up to finger-comb it, sliding my fingers through the rich silk, thinking that a mix of Aboriginal, Chinese, and Caucasian blood made for great hair, as well as those slightly exotic, handsome features.

“I like the way you touch me, Tezzie,” he said softly.

“Tezzie?”

“Theresa’s pretty, but I want something more personal. I’m an Aussie, after all. Tezzie seems just about right.”

Wonderingly, I said, “The only person who’s ever given me a nickname before is my sister Jenna. She calls me Tree, which dates back to her being a baby and not being able to pronounce my name.”

“Nah. Tezzie’s softer, more fun. Suits you better.”

“I like it.” It was a good name for this new me, the woman who was having a fling with Damien Black. I also liked the fact that he’d made up a special name for me.

The cabin lights blinked on, startling both of us, and a female voice announced that juice and champagne would be served shortly, followed by breakfast.

Damien’s hand gripped mine. “We cut it tight on our timing. If we’d have stayed in there another five minutes, there’d have been a queue at the door.”

In fact, drowsy people were shuffling up the aisle, and the lineup had already started.

“I’d have died of embarrassment.” Though the experience would have been worth it. I gazed at him, filled with a sense of unreality. I’d never done anything so outrageous in my life. “You’re a bad influence.”

He gave me a wicked grin. “Or a good one. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

I couldn’t help but grin back. “So it is.”

When Carmen came by with a reserved smile, heated towels, and a tray of drinks, we both accepted glasses of orange juice. Damien persuaded me to have a glass of champagne, too.

After Carmen had moved on, he held up his flute in a toast. “To you and me in Honolulu. With a bed.”

Oh God, yes. “I’ll drink to that.” We clicked glasses, drank, then I said, “I’ll have to e-mail or call my family. My parents and Merilee are expecting me at the house tonight.” I raised a hand and scrubbed my palm over my forehead. “What am I going to say?”

“The truth won’t cut it?” A humorous light made his gray eyes dance.

For a moment, I indulged in imagining my family’s reaction. Shock? Envy? Worry? No, probably not. “They’d never believe me,” I said wryly. “It’s so out of character.”

Having drunk his toast, I now blended my remaining champagne with the orange juice to make a breakfast mimosa. “Damien, why are you staying over in Honolulu?”

“Got to do a reading at a store.” He followed my example with the beverages and took a sip. “I’ve just done a tour in Australia, and now I’m starting a month-long one through America, with a couple stops in Canada, too.”

“Wow. You’ve really hit the big time.”

He shrugged. “I’m better known in Australia, where I was first published.” There, his books topped the bestseller lists. “But an American publisher bought foreign rights and has published my old books, plus released an American edition of
Wild Fire
to parallel the Aussie edition. They’re putting some money into promotion, hoping to create the same kind of popularity in North America.”

“I can see that working.”

“Yeah?”

“I think your stories will have the same kind of appeal as they do in Australia, and maybe even more because of the novelty factor of the foreign setting and the Dreamtime spirits.”