“I am not—”
“How about this?” I blurted, cutting him off before he could hammer the final nail into the coffin of my sexual dreams. “What if we do my part of the plan first, as soon as they turn off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and then we’ll do your part of the plan?”
Ken gave me that side-eye again.
“It’s, like, a nine-hour flight,” I continued, really driving my argument home. “We have time to do both.”
Ken rubbed his sexy, square, stubble-covered chin, mulling it over. “What if we get caught?”
Ha! He’s still considering it!
“It won’t matter!” I beamed. “We’ll just tell them it was a medical emergency, remember?” I pulled the forged note out of my pocket and waved it proudly.
“I’m pretty sure forging a doctor’s note is a felony.”
“Nah. You’re thinking about forging a prescription. This is probably just a misdemeanor.”
We argued so long about the exact legal ramifications of all the laws I intended to break with this little stunt that the next thing I knew, the cabin lights were being dimmed, the Fasten Seat Belt sign was blinking off, and a flight attendant was presenting us with plastic-wrapped blankets, earplugs, and eye masks—our cue to shut the fuck up.
With a twinkle in my eye, I tore into my package and yanked out the blanket, draping it over both of our laps before lifting the armrest in between us and scooting as close to Ken as I could get.
“Wanna watch a movie?” I asked in my huskiest voice, reaching under the blanket to unbuckle Ken’s seat belt.
“Uh … sure.”
He did not sound sure. But Ken tapped the digital headrest in front of him anyway until something started playing on the screen.
“Murder on the Orient Express?” I asked. “Seriously?”
Nothing says sexy times like a movie with the word murder in it.
“Do you want to pick the movie?”
“No.” I sighed, unbuckling my own seat belt. “It’s fine.”
Luckily, Ken always wears comfy, elastic-waist basketball shorts when we travel, so even though he wasn’t totally sold on my plan, he was at least prepared.
With the movie on and the volume down low, I dropped my head onto Ken’s shoulder and slid my hand across his thigh under the blanket as inconspicuously as possible. Ken’s body was tense, rigid, and when I dragged my palm across his lap, I was happy to discover that the rest of him was as well.
Maybe Ken wasn’t so opposed to this idea after all.
“Well, hi there.” I smiled against the crook of his neck as my fingers wrapped around his length through the silky fabric of his athletic shorts.
“Headphones, please,” a very non-Ken voice replied.
I jumped and looked up at the dramatic scowl of a female flight attendant, whose irritated gaze flicked from mine to the exact location of my hand under the blanket.
“Oh! Sorry …” I flipped my side of the blanket onto Ken’s lap and practically dived for his backpack to retrieve my earbuds. By the time I sat back up, she was gone—along with Ken’s enthusiasm.
Ugh.
I plugged the earbuds in, sticking the right one in my ear and handing the left one to Ken, who accepted it with a pointed see, I told you this was a bad idea glare.
I ignored his silent chastising and snuggled up next to him again, waiting until the coast was clear to resume my mission.
Unfortunately, I discovered that my mission had completely deflated during the interruption.
But I soldiered on. If there’s one thing I love in this life, it’s a good challenge, and getting Ken Easton back in the mood on a public airplane while under the constant threat of getting caught was shaping up to be harder than I’d thought. (Bad pun. Sorry, I had to.)
After a few minutes of ineffective, under-the-blanket groping, I realized I was going to need a new strategy. The mood was so ruined that Ken was basically just watching the movie and ignoring me, probably hoping I’d get discouraged and give up altogether, but what Ken fails to grasp, even after all these years, is the extent of my only-child conditioning.
I am a spoiled brat through and through. Rotten to the core. I should get a tattoo that says Brat to the Bone. I will get what I want by any and all means necessary. It’s just how I’m built. Telling me no will only cause me to make you suffer until you eventually tell me yes, which I think is why Ken married me.
Suffering is kind of his kink.
So, when Ken didn’t reciprocate or even acknowledge my gentle caresses, clavicle-nuzzling, or crotch-cupping, I slid the tip of my nose up the side of his neck, wrapped my lips around his earlobe, and bit it. Hard. I even used my canines, so it would be nice and sharp.
Ken released a quiet hiss of pain and immediately began to swell against my palm.
Masochist.
I smiled to myself as I slid my tongue over the intention I’d just made in his lobe. Then, I moved down to the spot just below his ear. Ken’s jugular pulsed against my lips as I opened them, ready to strike, but at the last second, I opted for a sweet, lingering kiss instead.
Ken’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.
Ha!
I continued my covert teasing—biting here, licking there—until Ken was hard as a diamond. Emboldened by the darkness and lack of traffic in the back of the plane since our interruption, Ken slid his own hand under the blanket and up my thigh. I’d worn a casual jersey-knit dress in preparation for this event, but there was also something I hadn’t worn, just in case.
Ken’s soft chuckle sent tingles down my spine.
“You walked around the entire airport like this?” he whispered, sliding a single finger up and down over my sensitive flesh.
“Mmhmm,” I moaned. “Went through the X-ray machine at security like this too.”
“No wonder they let you go,” he mused, filling me to the first knuckle.
I tilted my hips, needing more, and Ken gave it to me. He might be stubborn, but he’s no tease. Two fingers and the heel of his palm were soon working in tandem to bring me to the brink.
I peered over the headrest and into the area just beyond the entryway behind us. There was no line for the restroom, but there were two flight attendants leaning up against the cabinets in the back, sipping coffee and chatting like besties.
“Shit,” I hissed, turning back around.
“What?” Ken replied almost silently, his eyes screwed shut as I worked him under the blanket.
“Nothing. The restroom is open. Let’s go.”
I went to let go of him, but Ken grabbed my wrist with his free hand, keeping it firmly wrapped around his dick.
“Let’s just stay here.” He ground his palm against my clit, making small circles as he pumped his fingers in and out.
I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning, but I wouldn’t be swayed that easily. “It’s eight feet away. Come on.”
Ken turned to look for himself, and I braced myself for his reaction.
“There are people back there!” he whisper-shouted.
“So?” I cringed.
“So?!”
“You’re having a medical emergency, remember? It doesn’t matter if there are people back there or not.”
Ken’s head dropped back against the seat as I wriggled my hand out of his blanketed grasp and shimmied his waistband and boxer briefs up high enough to pin his dick to his stomach.