***
A quiet buzz made my eyelids flutter, and I blinked awake, momentarily confused by my surroundings. I was moving, and yet I was lying still in a comfortable bed with the softest sheets and blanket enveloping me. And I wasn’t alone.
William.
My eyes closed again, and I felt him reach to answer the phone. The room was silent except for the distant droning of the plane’s engines until William said, “Very good,” and hung up. Even half-asleep I marveled that he sounded awake and collected. The mattress beneath me moved as I felt him turn to face me. I managed to open my eyes and give him a sleepy smile, but I was so relaxed and warm that I struggled to keep them open. They fluttered closed, and I imagined I was drifting on a cloud, thirty thousand feet in the air.
William’s finger stroked my cheek. “Wake up, beautiful girl,” he murmured.
With difficulty, I opened my eyes. He was smiling at me, his own eyes soft and grey.
“We’ll be landing soon.”
“Hi,” I whispered, wanting to keep the intimacy of the moment. “I hope you don’t mind that I joined you. I was cold and kind of lonely out there by myself.” I snuggled closer to him. “And it looked so warm and inviting in here, even if you were dead to the world.”
“Mind?” He laughed gently, his hand cupping my cheek. “Of course I don’t mind. I can’t think of a better way to wake up. I love you in any bed I’m in, Catherine.”
My heart sped up at this and a thrill of longing raced through me. I loved that he used the word love with me, even though neither of us had confessed feeling that yet. I knew I loved him, and I knew I was going to tell him on this trip. Even if William wasn’t saying he loved me, it still felt special when he used the word to describe us. Maybe if I started to use it more, it would make revealing my feelings easier. “Good, because I love being here with you too.”
His mouth nudged mine open, his lips playful and searching. His hand trailed down my arm and came to rest on my lower back, pulling me closer. His mouth closed over mine, our tongues entwining as his hands explored my body. If I had been warm before, I was burning up now.
He trailed kisses along my jaw, moving to nuzzle my neck and glide his mouth over my collarbone, toward my breasts. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my voice breathless, my nipples already beginning to harden in anticipation of his skilled lips and tongue.
He reached for my bra clasp. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
The front closure of my ivory bra snapped open, and slowly, William pushed the lacy material away. His fingertips brushed against my flesh as the material parted, and I felt my skin flush and tingle with awareness. My breathing was already shallow and my heart rammed in my chest. Being with William was always exciting, but sex at thirty thousand feet was the height of sensual decadence. I’d been thinking about us together like this all day, and my body was more than ready for him.
I moaned as his lips skated over my bare skin. His breath was hot and his tongue moist as it darted out to tease one of my nipples. My breasts were heavy, aching for his touch. He sensed I didn’t want gentle right now and his mouth closed on one of my hardened peaks and sucked, making me gasp. My hips lifted in response, and I ached to get closer to him. It seemed like I could never get close enough.
His hands fondled and stroked as his mouth worked on me, teasing and tonguing until I was writhing. Then he stopped. “You have magnificent tits.”
What? It took me a moment to focus on his words, and even then I could only moan. Why was he stopping?
“I love your breasts.” He kissed them, stroking them lovingly.
There was that word again: love. “I’m glad you love them.”
“I’m being serious.” He propped his head on his elbow and studied me carefully. So I guessed we were going to have a conversation about my breasts now. I was amused and also very turned on.
He cupped my right breast and tested its weight. “You fit my hand perfectly.” His fingers stroked my sensitive skin. “And your areolas...very nice. They’re naturally rosy.”
“My areolas?” I laughed again. “That sounds so clinical.” I cleared my throat. “I’m impressed with your knowledge of female anatomy, Mr. Lambourne,” I said in my most professional voice.
He ignored my teasing, though I swore I saw his lips curve slightly. “Yes, your areolas, Catherine. As I was saying, before you interrupted, they’re naturally rosy, and they turn a dusky pink when you’re turned on.” His gaze met mine. “Like now.” His gaze flicked back to my breasts, and he circled the pad of his thumb over my erect nipple. I had difficulty concentrating on his words. I was wet for him, my lace-trimmed ivory panties damp against my sex.