The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Finnegan

I was going to fuck Abigail Kellerman again.

It just felt like a given. I tried so damn hard to ignore that three days ago, I discovered what she felt like, what she tasted like, what she sounded like when she moaned my name with that tart mouth of hers. It was like fighting a losing battle.

My private jet loomed behind me while I watched her step out of the cab. The first I noticed were those brown boot heels she had on.

They wrapped around her foot, the distance between them and the tiny black leather skirt she had on was a mass of endlessly long legs. She was soft all over, an information that regretfully, I knew because I had my mouth on those legs three days ago.

My throat felt so fucking dry. I was parched and she was water, sweet, delicious water, that I shouldn’t want. My eyes moved up to her face as she closed the distance between us and caught the bruise on her cheek.

Oh, Drake Huntington was going to pay hell for putting that mark on her face. I already had my lawyers make sure he would not be granted bail.

Call it underhanded and shit, but no one raised their murky hands on my employee especially after they had been working hard to steal from me.

The audacity of he and Alicia knew no fucking bounds. That woman had lied to my face and talked about Carlton Gayle’s plan like she was some angel of light. They were both going to find out just how beastlike I could be.

"Good morning, Boss," My assistant flashed that easy smile my way, her boot heels clicking against the tarmac.

The wind whipped around us ruffling her dark wavy hair, as she raised a hand to brush some of the strands off her face. A cream silk top draped over her breasts, clinging and flowing at the same time.

Behind her was a huge traveling luggage she was wheeling towards the jet. I tipped my head at my guards that surrounded the place and one of them moved to get her luggage.

"Thank you," She smiled sweetly at him before stopping before me. Those blue eyes found mine and the resolve in my head only weakened.

"Before you say anything." She pointed at her cheek. "I’ve seen it. It looks worse than it feels, honestly."

"It looks garish," I muttered, clenching my fist before I did something crazy like reach for her face and stroke her jaw.

Then kiss her. I need to kiss her.

"It’s a bruise, Mr. Wolfe, not a war wound." The corner of her mouth pulled up as she rolled her eyes. "I’ve had worse from walking into my own cabinet door at two in the morning."

"That’s not reassuring,"

"It wasn’t meant to be." She tilted her head, those eyes catching the light from the sun. Such beautiful eyes. I would recognize them anywhere. "Are we boarding or are we going to stand here discussing my face?"

I turned toward the jet without another word. She fell into step beside me, close enough that her sleeve brushed my arm once and shivers climbed up my arm, moved to my neck then down my spine.

My cock twitched alive and I bit back a frustrated groan. The flight to Boston was going to take forever at this rate. As soon as I was back, I was going to get the confirmation from HD deliveries, if they had a package for me and had delivered it.

After the guard had told me about the person who delivered the packages to my assistant, I just needed to be sure if Matt had used their delivery company or not to send that package to me. Too damn bad he was on that trip and couldn’t be reached.

Abigail settled in the seat from across mine, her tablet propped on her knee, her thick dark hair falling forward as she read. She had taken her boots off sometime during takeoff and now her bare feet were curled under the seat.

I shamelessly ogled them. They looked familiar didn’t they. I mean, I had most likely seen her feet around and I wasn’t even into feet.

Until Aphrodite.

My mind flashed back to the night she had taken my cock between her foot, stroking me while mouthing off with that slutty mouth of hers.

Then she sucked my cum off her toes.

God, I pretty much lost my mind at that. My cock surged to life and I slammed my fingers into my laptop keys, trying to get a hold of my mind before it derailed again.

How did I go from yearning for my assistant to thinking about Aphrodite in the same train of thought?

Outside the windows the clouds moved past and the engine hummed. The jet felt smaller, tighter because of her. I could smell her scent, feel her presence, every tiny movement she made, from licking her lips to adjusting those lovely thighs under her skirt, I was going to fucking erupt in my pants, if those legs crossed the distance and so much as touched me-

The plane rocked and her hands shot out to grab the seat next to her. Her eyes widened in alarm

The jet dropped. Turbulence hit hard and fast for three long seconds before the jet steadied. She had both hands on her armrests, her knuckles slightly white and her tablet on the floor. There was that look again. The pale look I had seen on her face at the hospital as if she was deathly terrified.

The same face I had seen when she had that panic attack in the elevator.

What could have happened that had my sassy spitfire assistant look like she was about to puke her breakfast?

Why the fuck did I care?

"I didn’t take you for a wimp,"

Her head snapped toward me, eyes flashing, color returning to her cheeks. "I am not a wimp!"

Good, I preferred her this way. Fighting, piping hot like flames that I wanted to consume me. Not cold, white as death and afraid.

"Your knuckles suggest otherwise."

She released the armrests and picked up her tablet from the floor. "Maybe because that was a strong ass turbulence?"

"Are you afraid of flying?" I shouldn’t have leaned forward. But I did and now she was all I could smell.

Take off that top. Come here. Let me hold you. Let me taste you.

"I’m not afraid of flying." She tucked her hair behind her ear, unaware of the dirty thoughts filling my head. "I just, the last time I was on a plane was Valentine’s Day and it wasn’t completely a pleasant experience so."

Valentine’s Day. Wasn’t that the night I met Red?

An alarm bell rang in my head. It couldn’t be... right?

"Where were you flying to?"