“Go.” I pushed on his shoulder, nudging him toward the aisle. “Go on. We’ll be in and out. And act sick.”
“I feel sick,” he grumbled, reluctantly stumbling into the aisle.
With a confident hand on his back, I steered my husband through the doorway and made a beeline for the restroom.
By the time the flight attendants glanced over at us, I was already shoving Ken through a door marked Vacant.
“My husband has extreme motion sickness,” I announced, backing into the glorified porta-potty while waving my forged note and fake syringe in the air as evidence. “If I don’t give him this shot right now, he’s gonna puke, and when he does, it’s like a firehose. I’m talking both nostrils, projectile—”
I had barely gotten my arm inside when Ken suddenly reached past me, yanked the door shut, and locked us in.
I blinked at the door, a mere three inches from my face, in wonder.
Oh my God. Phase three! We made it!
I spun around and beamed at my husband with wide, triumphant eyes, trying to ignore both the antiseptic stench and the way the walls were already closing in.
“Now what?”
“Sit down,” I whispered, gesturing behind him at the narrow toilet seat.
“On that?!”
Taking a paper towel out of the dispenser, I gingerly pinched the raised toilet lid with it and lowered it to cover the seat.
“There.”
A knock rattled the flimsy door behind me.
“Everything okay?” one of the flight attendants asked.
Ken sat as I crinkled the plastic-wrapped syringe in my hand for effect. “Just a minute! I have to focus. If I don’t inject him in just the right spot, he could be paralyzed from the waist down!”
Ken raised an eyebrow at me as I shoved the props back into my jacket pocket and gestured toward his crotch, using the universal sign for whip your dick out.
Ken obliged, and much to my relief, he was still one hundred percent ready to go. My mouth watered at the sight of his taut abs and thick, perfect cock, but I couldn’t have licked him if I’d wanted to. There simply wasn’t enough room in that broom-closet-sized tin can.
Turning around to face the door, I straddled his knees, gathered my dress around my waist, and sank down onto the lap of the man who never fails to make my wildest dreams come true.
After a little suffering, of course.
Inch by inch, I felt the stress of the day melt away as a euphoric cocktail of victory and love and pure, uncut lust flooded my bloodstream. Originally, I’d thought we’d get in, achieve just enough penetration to join the club on a technicality, and get the hell out. But now that we were in, all my carefully researched reconnaissance went right out the window.
At thirty-six thousand feet above sea level.
And Ken felt it too. Clutching my hips, he set a punishing pace. I braced one forearm on the wall and the other on the counter to absorb the force of his thrusts. He didn’t enter me fully though. His advances were fast and shallow to avoid making noise, and the resulting friction on my G-spot drove me insane.
“Ken,” I whispered, my voice a breathless plea, which he mistook to mean that I needed more.
Reaching between my legs, Ken matched the rhythm of his hips with his fingers, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. I don’t know if it was the altitude or the thrill or the position or the champagne, but the sensation was physically overwhelming. The next thing I knew, I had lost all restraint and was riding him with complete abandon.
From somewhere far away, I registered the slap, slap, slap that our bodies were making, but I was powerless to stop it. The best I could do was throw my hand out and turn on the faucet to muffle the noise as I writhed on my husband’s lap, possessed by the immaculate pleasure of it all.
“Fuck,” Ken hissed, his cock swelling and stiffening inside of me.
The sound of him so close to coming was like the twig snap that set off an avalanche. A cascade of rippling bliss engulfed me as Ken suddenly reared up into a standing position and plastered me against the back of the door. Wave after wave of pleasure racked my body as Ken filled me to my limit, his fingers prolonging my orgasm and his breath hot on my neck as he followed me over the edge.
Suddenly, the thin metal door that my cheek was smooshed against began to rattle violently as a fist connected with the other side of it.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
But to me, it might as well have been a million miles away. My knees buckled, and my face slid down the cool, smooth surface as I waited for my consciousness—and cartilage—to recover from that pounding.
Ken gave my ass a little squeeze and reached over to jiggle the latch beside my head. “Door’s stuck, man.”
I peeked over my shoulder at Ken as he tucked himself back inside his shorts. He then handed me a wad of toilet paper before turning to wash his hands. I watched him in the mirror above the sink as I cleaned myself up, bumping the door with my hip every few seconds to make it seem like we were at least trying to get out. When Ken finally glanced up at my reflection and gave me that self-satisfied smolder, I was tempted to pretend like the door was stuck a little longer just so that I could kiss that smirk right off his infuriatingly handsome face.
“Ready?” he whispered as I jostled the door one last time.
I gave him a two-fingered salute and dropped back into character just before the door swung open.
“Oh, thank God!” I clutched my chest in dramatic relief. “I was about to have a panic attack!”
Ken breezed past both flight attendants without a second glance, but I stayed behind to really sell them on it.
“Someone needs to fix that latch!” I declared, stumbling over to the doorway between us and the main cabin, gasping for air as if I’d just been rescued from a shipwreck. “I … I’m so dizzy. I couldn’t breathe in there!”
As I shuffled out into the sleepy aisle beyond and waited for Ken to get up so that I could reclaim the window seat, I swear I heard the snarkier of the two flight attendants mutter under his breath, “Couldn’t breathe? They could probably hear her breathing all the way up in the cockpit.”
Thankfully, it was dark in the cabin because my cheeks had to be scarlet as I scooted over to my seat. But my mortification quickly melted away when I realized what had just happened. After months of careful planning, a few game-day surprises, and the added challenge of having to convince Ken I’ve-Never-Even-Gotten-A-Speeding-Ticket Easton to break the law with me, I had just joined the elite ranks of the MHC—a group consisting of only the most sexually adventurous, brazenly reckless, delightfully deviant (and usually dangerously intoxicated) members of our society.
Operation: Mile High Club was a success!
I glanced over at Ken, expecting to see a similar look of triumph and joy in his dazzling blue eyes, but I couldn’t see his eyes at all. They were hidden under an eye mask with the Delta Air Lines logo splashed across the front. He was curled up sideways in his seat, his head propped up on a little disposable Delta Air Lines pillow, and the blanket we’d been snuggling under was pulled up to his chin.
“Ken?”
“Hmm?” He reached up to his ear and removed a complimentary Delta Air Lines earplug.
“You asleep?”
“Mmhmm.”
His hand emerged from under the blanket, closed in a fist. “Take this now, so it’ll wear off by the time we land. I heard if you wake up before your Ambien wears off, you’ll be out of your mind.” The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly as I accepted the pill.