“JUST STICK IT IN.” I peek over at Nico fumbling with my portable battery pack. “It’s not hard.”
“Sticking things in when they’re hard has never been an issue for me.” He huffs and continues to prod, tap, and probe his phone.
Of course he forgot to charge it last night and the battery is barely hanging on.
He insisted on being responsible for the boarding passes because of his ridiculous airline reward program.
“Why isn’t it pulling up?” Nico’s nose wrinkles. “You saw that I scanned them when we got to the airport.”
I give him a soft nudge. “Hurry, there are six people ahead of us.”
We’re gonna be the last ones to board the flight, but hell, at least we made it.
My heart still pounds in my ears after our sprint from the security checkpoint to the gate. We had to stop to gather Nico’s carry-on explosion, which included a colorful array of my bikinis and his boxers for the entire airport to see.
My mind hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the fact that Nico bought me a ticket to Brazil even though I literally saw him transfer it at the wedding.
Or did I?
I peer over at his fumbling. Now is the perfect time to catch him off guard.
“Hey,” I say coyly. “So, I found out the most interesting thing yesterday.”
He doesn’t glance up from the distraction of his phone. “What’s that?” “Apparently, you can’t transfer plane tickets from one person to
another.”
“Yeah, the airlines don’t let you,” he admits. Nico’s eyes widen with realization, and he spins toward me. “Wait, I mean—”
The admission almost turns me into a puddle where I’m standing. Am I supposed to be flattered or upset at him for keeping this from me?
“I fucking knew it.” I didn’t until my conversation with Tara yesterday, but he doesn’t need to know all the details. “You bought me a plane ticket to Brazil before I ever agreed to come with you?”
“Uhh…”
I guess I’m not really mad—if anything, buying me a ticket without the certainty I would go with him was thoughtful—but why wouldn’t he tell me?
Probably because I wouldn’t have accepted it. Would I have?
Was this entire thing just a ploy to get me into bed or is this his version of being romantic?
“Passports and boarding passes, please.” A ticket agent ropes Nico’s attention away from me. As soon as our items are deemed sufficient, he pockets them, grabs the handles of our carry-ons, and starts down the metal ramp.
I hurry after him. “Nico, don’t ignore me.” His footsteps rattle the jetway. “You can’t just run away from something so big.”
He reaches the line of people waiting to board the plane. Perfect. A dead end with no escape.
He turns to face me, rolling the carry-ons in front of him as if they’re a protective barrier. “So, what if I did?”
Instinctively, my frustrated fingers reach over to pinch him, but he throws his backpack over the exposed arm muscles in his T-shirt. “Why did you lie?”
“I wasn’t lying, I was just—” He attempts to piece together an answer. “Okay, I kind of lied, but only about transferring the ticket.”
“Was someone else even supposed to come on the trip, or did you lie about that also?”
Nico walks backward as the queue moves along, not taking his eyes off me. “My friend Quin was meant to join me for a few weeks in Brazil.”
Quin. Who the hell is Quin? Tara said he never travels with other people. Am I simply a replacement for a woman who ditched him?
“Why did she decide not to come?”
Nico smirks. “Quin and I talked about the trip last year, but his wife got pregnant, so he decided not to go.”
Oh. I try to contain my sudden relief, but it’s like playing Whac-A- Mole. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I hate when people I care about lie to me, Nico.”
“I’m sorry, Lil. I just knew you needed a break, and you wouldn’t have bought your own ticket after you lost your job. I was going to tell you after the trip was done.”
Well, he has a point there.
His uncanny ability to predict my actions is starting to annoy the bejesus out of me.
Why does he have to go and say things that make me weak in the knees?
Ugh. Ridiculously adorable and suffocatingly sweet intentions.
How am I meant to be mad now?
I guess if he didn’t buy me the ticket and ask me to come, I wouldn’t be on this trip. I’d be alone in New York, probably working at some miserable bar. I have to admit it’s been the best summer I’ve had in a long time.
So, why does it matter if he bent the truth? Hopefully, Nico would never lie about something important.
“Fine. Just don’t leave the ticket off my owed half at the end of the summer.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nico says with a tone I don’t quite believe.
We shuffle into the entrance of the airplane. A pair of flight attendants greet us, their navy pantsuits pressed neatly.
Nico smiles, taking both carry-ons in one hand. Yes. Just one hand to lift eighty pounds of clothes, plus my overstuffed tote bag. He has a talent for fitting an extraordinary amount of stuff into one of his large palms.
A firecracker of heat detonates in my gut.
For fuck’s sake, now my mind’s dropped this far into the gutter?
I’m one accidental insider trade away from becoming a white-collar criminal. My mind is only s*x, cash, international travel, and oversized man hands. What’s wrong with me?
I turn to the right and walk toward our seats, but Nico grips my arm.
Did it somehow get bigger? No. Not even anatomically possible. “This way.” He pulls me to the left side of the cabin.
I yank him the other way. “Nico, that’s first class. We’re over here.” “Yeah, come on.”
I follow him toward the first class sleeper pods. The cabin has individual fifteen-inch flatscreens, glasses of champagne, and plush blankets draped over each seat without the crinkly plastic wrapping.
“Why are we dropping our bags off in here?”
“Because we’re sitting in those seats right over there, princesa.” He gestures to two of the sleeper pods next to each other.
“Forget what I said about paying you back.”
“Don’t worry about it. I got all those credit card points. Remember?” Nico shoves the carry-ons into the overhead compartment, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal tanned abs. My pulse thrums in my fucking ovaries.
“Is this really happening?”
Nico sits in one of the cushioned chairs and rolls down the divider between his seat and mine. “It’s not going to start happening if you keep standing there. Sit down.”
I pluck the complimentary pouch of goodies and the cashmere blanket from my seat before sliding my butt onto the leather.
“Why didn’t we fly like this to Brazil?” I slather the free La Mer balm all over my lips.
“Because there wasn’t an extra first class ticket on that flight. I had to trade my seat for the only available economy seats on board.” Nico shrugs.
I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by his generosity and thoughtfulness. He compromised his flight so easily, without even knowing if I’d go on the trip with him.
“That’s really sweet, Nico.” Obviously, I’ve flown first class in the past, but lay-flat seats, cashmere, and hundreds of dollars of skin care have never been part of the routine. “Do you do this often? What am I even asking, you must, especially since you’re rich rich,” I muse.
“Every once in a while.”
Definitely a rich rich person’s answer.
I yearn to pull out my phone and see how much these tickets cost. They have to be way more expensive than the economy seat I was going to purchase to New York, and that ticket had two layovers.
No, it doesn’t matter. Remain present.
“Lil, stop spinning your wheels over there and enjoy this.” He winks at me. “Actually, I have something for you.”
“There’s more?” This is next-level treatment. Usually, my dates pay for a thing or two and spend the rest of the trip reminding me how generous they are. But Nico isn’t a date; he’s a friend.
I’m beginning to sound like a nuisance in my own head, but if I keep saying we’re just friends, it’s bound to stay that way and I can ignore the flutters of anticipation every single time he goes out of his way to make something feel special for me.
He tugs open the zipper of his backpack and pulls out a box with a neatly-tied satin ribbon. I set down the pouch of luxuries and snatch the gift from him before unwrapping it.
“Seriously?” I suck in a breath, immediately closing the box.
He leans over the partition, shoving his grinning face close to mine. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his amber eyes. “I know yours is out of commission.”
“This is a couple’s vibrator, Nico.” I hand him the box, but he pushes it out of his vicinity.
“Let’s try it out right now,” he says with a provocative smile.
Nerves and arousal alight in my chest like a shot of liquor. How does he always manage to throw me a bit off balance when I’m typically the one in control of situations?
“No way.” I tuck the gift under my seat and flag the flight attendant for one of those glasses of champagne.
This is going to be a long trip.
Three complimentary flutes of bubbly and only forty-five minutes into our eleven-hour flight later, I shut the restroom door and return to my pod. Nico watches me with the excitement of a child being told they’re going to Disneyland.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I hiss before shifting in my seat. The toy moves inside me, the silicone ribbing already teasing my clit as I try to get into a comfortable position.
One of his corded arms reaches over me, closing my sleeping pod door.
It feels like we’re the only people on this plane.
Him. Me. And a vibrator shoved halfway up my vagina.
“I’m going to be honest with you, princesa.” Nico pulls out the remote from the pocket of his sweats, presenting it to me like it’s a gold medal at the Olympics. “I love being the first person to take you on the mile-high club.”
“I don’t think this counts.”
“You’re right, more like the mile-vibe club.”
“Stop.” I roll my eyes, but can’t help the crescent of laughter as he throws the blanket over my lap, leaving the possessive weight of his hand on my thigh.
Nico presses the center button of the toy’s remote, and instantly, vibration hums against me. It’s barely enough to set me on edge, but it’s nice.
“How’s that?”
I exhale. “Fine.”
“Tell me which of these patterns you like best, okay?”
“Mhmm.” My head dips, and there’s a soft tick in my jaw. I must be anticipating the satisfaction of this orgasm a little too much. Who could blame me? I’m in first class with a man who loves making me come as much as I enjoy letting him, and vintage Dom Pérignon is floating in my belly.
I’m on top of the fucking world.
“Oh.” I half moan when the vibrations land on a pulsating rhythm I enjoy.
“That’s the one,” he whispers near my cheek and plants a kiss there. “You know, you’re all mine now.”
“I’m not.”
“You are as long as I have this remote.” He waves the small plastic clicker in front of me.
I face Nico. My lips line up against his, and his tongue glides over the seam of my mouth as though he’s foraging for the taste of me. It’s heavenly.
The vibrations pick up, plucking a heavy moan from my lungs. Nico presses his mouth harder into mine, muffling the sound. The escalating rhythm causes me to squirm.
Maybe I should be feeling concerned about a fully-occupied cabin hearing my s*x noises, but the alcohol in my veins mutes the worry.
He breaks away from our kiss. I immediately miss his lips.
“Are you going to be good for me, pretty girl, and come all over our new toy?” Nico murmurs.
My head nods, and all semblance of control leaves me. My vision of the cabin quickly fades. The dim overhead lights flash in and out. In and out.
It’s actually going to happen.
I’m about to muffle an orgasm in first class.
“How often do you think about the way my cock would feel inside you?” Nico’s voice is warm over my skin. His fingers climb up my body like crawling vines, tugging, and squeezing the parts of me he knows are enough to send me over the edge. “I know you love it when I fuck your pretty face, but isn’t it time to make an exception? For curiosity’s sake.”
The words ring true in my ears. I’m almost ready to toss away the rules and straddle him in the cabin, riding out each rolling wave of orgasm on his large and ridiculously perfect dick.
Who gave him the right to have an Adonis cock anyway?
“Fas—” My pulse leaps from my veins and straight into my core. “Speak up,” he breathes over my neck. “I can’t help you if I can’t hear
you.”
“Faster.” My voice comes out in an agonizing whisper, and my hips grind in their place.
Another spike of intensity shoots up from the toy, and the warm tendrils lacing through me melt in my blood. Nico’s grin shimmers at me. He’s enjoying torturing me like this.
“Oh, f–fuck,” I groan.
I can’t seem to manage any more direction. Can barely think or see straight. I reluctantly fight against the vibrations sending me into a need- filled abyss.
Nico’s fingers roll the peaks of my nipples, and I’m only a few breaths away from short-circuiting.
“I bet that favorite pussy of mine is begging for me to give it a release.” A lustful chuckle spins out of him. “Don’t you wish you were sitting on my face like you were last night?”
“Shut up,” I manage.
The vibrations abruptly cease. In a blink, the partition shoots up between us, and Nico’s warmth is a ghost haunting my skin.
“Nico, what the fu—”
“Hello and welcome aboard.” A sprightly flight attendant appears at the entry to our pods. “We thank you for your patience with the in-flight dining services. Have you had a chance to look at the menu, and select your meals?”
“What do you think, beautiful?” Nico glances over at me, our thirty-six- thousand-foot foreplay session washed away into a neutral grin. There better not be an Air Marshal on this flight because I’m actually going to kill him.
I peek up at the still-smiling flight attendant. “Is there any chance you can come back to us? We haven’t looked at the menu.”
“If it were any other time, I absolutely would, ma’am,” the flight attendant chirps. “But you’re my last pair of orders, and our in-flight chef needs to begin preparing your meals.”
“We better find that menu.” Nico digs around in his pod.
The vibrations return out of nowhere, teasing my swollen clit again. My eyes shoot daggers at him.
“The menus are located in the seat pocket to your right, sir.”
He finds the menu, waving it at my face as I white-knuckle my armrest.
The speed increases another notch, and my walls convulse.
Yep. I’m going to kill him.
“Do you have any specials?” Nico asks the flight attendant, who lights up with another wave of geniality. I can barely focus on the list she rattles off through the ringing in my ears.
“And of course, following the poached duck egg and Beluga sturgeon caviar appetizer, there’s a prized Wagyu steak with—”
“Look here, the cream puffs sound amazing. Don’t they, beautiful?” Nico practically sings to me before returning to the attendant. “Is the cream stuffed right inside the pastry dough?”
“Of course, sir. Our cows are milked fresh before we board, and the cream is whipped into a plume of supple but firm filling.”
Did cream puffs always sound so s*xual?
Sweat trickles down my spine. I need to distract myself. My hands fumble for my copy of the menu. When I bend to grab it, the torture device shifts, and for some twisted, fucked up reason, the toy pulsates against my G-spot.
A moan shoots out of me, and I let out another until I topple forward.
The attendant finds a break in their empathic ingredient discussion to check on me. “Ma’am, are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
“Excuse my wife.” Nico’s voice slithers between my eardrums. “She suffers from motion sickness.”
At once, the vibrations drop. My urge to scream skyrockets.
“You know, we have just the thing up front,” the attendant chimes in. “Let’s get those orders in, and I’ll fetch it for you.”
“No,” I say loud enough for a few passengers to turn their heads toward our seats. “I—I can manage, thank you.”
“What would you like to order, sweetheart?” Nico looks at me, completely straight-faced.
A low hum from the toy reverberates between my thighs again. Certainly, there’s a stain of evidence pooling beneath me. “I’ll have one of everything, please.”
“Wonderful.” The flight attendant doesn’t even bat an eye.
If Nico wants to play, well, so can I. “Please upgrade the caviar tasting menu to include the Almas. It’s our honeymoon,” I lie.
My smile mirrors his but drops off my face at the growing speed of the vibrations. Fast. Faster. Too fucking fast.
“Oh, congratulations and an excellent choice for such an occasion. And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the same.” Nico tucks away his menu. “You know, I haven’t had a chance to look at your drink orders.”
The device reaches its highest speed. I can hear its buzz in my ears. Am I actually about to come in front of this poor stranger?
My gaze locks on clattering knees beneath the blanket. Each nerve ending crackles with static. The pins at the base of my spine rip into an inevitable and long-awaited climax.
“Fuck.” The orgasm slams into me, sending an aching convulsion through my pussy. “Fuck, fuck, Nico.”
He clasps my hand, and my nails dig into his skin, surely drawing blood.
The flight attendant looks mortified, and another joins us. “Is everything alright here?”
“Well, we weren’t planning on telling anyone for a while,” Nico begins, and all I can do is lie back, limbless, “but we’re expecting. My darling wife here must be nervous about the baby.”
Both attendants clap in celebration. People clapping after I come is definitely a first for me.
A little praise kink never hurt anyone.
The sprightly attendant glances over at my table, the half-drunk glass of champagne staring back at them. “Are you sure you’d like the Almas or any of the sashimi pieces? I remember having to avoid all sorts of goodness when I had my first. Total nightmare. Giving up the drinks was the worst part.”
I give them my best smile, teeth, and all. “Leave the fish and get me a Macallan, straight. I’ll keep drinking the whole journey to London, but my husband can’t handle his liquor, so we’ll have to cut him off for the rest of the flight. Thanks so much.”
 |
July 2nd,
OH MY GOSH, lovers,
I’ve officially joined the mile-high club. Can you believe it took me until my late twenties? Maybe something to add to the Coastal Fling sequel I’ve been brewing this summer. Do you think we can do better than the top-five spot for the sixth week in a row?
My wheels touched down in London, but my morals are somewhere in between the clouds. Leave a comment down below for your must-sees and must-dos while I’m here.
Kisses from me to you, Zoe Mona
