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“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
I wink at her, trying to remain pleasant. I get enough of the interrogation at home. “Nope.”
Relaxing into her seat, she smiles. “Well, do something special for her today.”
Special? That means sex, right?
Regardless of the meaning behind special, the flight finally lands in Newark, Annie hugs me despite my attempts for her not to, and we part ways. I text Ophelia the second the plane lands, letting her know I’ve bought her a ticket to meet me in terminal C at the Abruzzo Italian Steakhouse. She says I’m crazy that I spent four hundred bucks just to get her past the gate. Maybe that’s special? Or just insane.
Either way, fifteen minutes after my flight lands, I’m sitting at a restaurant and Ophelia is looking back at me. “You cut your hair” are the first words out of my mouth, though it’s not my first observation. I notice she’s more than likely not been eating right lately. Her face is pale, her collarbones more defined.
She reaches for the ends of her wavy dark hair. “I just trimmed it.”
Nodding, I thank the bartender for my whiskey, and then nod to the food placed in front of us. I ordered on the plane to make sure we had enough time. “Eat.”
“I’m really not hungry,” she says, her eyes on mine.
“Humor me.”
For the next forty-five minutes, I get her to eat half a steak. We make conversation. Nothing important, school, racing, Tiller and his overdose, and I’d love to fill you in on all those details, but I don’t think they matter, nor do you probably care about them. Or maybe you do and I’m just being an asshole by keeping you hanging on. What I will tell you about is what happens next.
“What time does your flight board?” she asks, walking next to me.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Four. What time does yours?”
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “You know, I might have the time of my life in—” She pauses and glances at the ticket in her hand. “—Pittsburgh.”
“You just might,” I tease, bumping my shoulder into hers, the heat of her body radiating into mine.
Fuck. I swallow and try to say something, anything that might ward off what I know is going to occurs next, but I fail. Something happens when we’re walking through the terminal. My heart starts racing, my breathing increases, my fucking hands start shaking. The idea of leaving her is sending me into a full-blown panic attack.
I don’t know what I’m thinking, or if she’ll go for it, but I grab her by the wrist, shove her inside the men’s bathroom and into a stall. Her eyes find mine, shock in hers. I’m not sure what’s in mine. Fear maybe?
Do you see those two people in the bathroom stall? Not only is there someone outside the stall listening, but those two people, they’re fucked. Soon to be figuratively, but emotionally too. But you knew that already, didn’t you?
Her back meets the tile wall behind her, watching my every movement. I stand next to the door, waiting to see if she’s going to tell me to let her out. But she doesn’t. I watch her breathing. It’s labored, much like my own. Her thighs rub together, her lip’s captured between her teeth.
I know this girl and all these signs lead me to believe she wants this. So I step forward just as the music playing in the bathroom switches to “At Last” by Etta James.
Ophelia bursts out laughing, then slaps her hand over her mouth when she realizes we’re in the men’s bathroom. Smiling, I press my body into hers, the cool tile causing her to jump a little. “Convenient timing.”
“I’ll say.”
“Now tell me, honey,” I growl, moving my mouth to her neck. “Did you miss me?”
Her body shivers and she tilts her head, giving me better access. “Yes,” she moans, widening her stance when I reach down to cup her ass cheeks with my hands.
I squeeze her ass, hard, and then lift her. She wraps her legs around my waist and then finally, she comes in contact with my already hard cock. We both react. I grunt and drive my hips into hers and her eyes practically roll back. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”
Her body melts into mine, her hands sliding from my shoulders and into my hair. “Me either.”
Our mouths meet and I devour hers, pouring everything I have into those kisses. We’re frantic, pulling at clothes, moaning, feet sliding against tile and I don’t give a fuck who hears us. I need this from her. If I can’t have her, I need this because I can’t make myself get it from anyone but her.
Working her hands between us, she unbuttons my jeans. “Fuck me,” she mouths, watching my every reaction. I lean my forehead into hers, palming her tits underneath her shirt. Never separating my mouth from hers. It’s like a race, one we’re frantically trying to finish before the time clock ends.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice ragged. She nods and I yank my jeans down around my ankles. My mouth finds hers again, but we don’t kiss. We share breath, our foreheads pressed together as I roll the condom on. She watches my every move. Turning her around, I press her up against the wall. She arches into me, ass rubbing against me, and then looks back, eyes pleading for more. Goddamn.
Groaning, I bend my knees, and then position my cock against her, getting the tip wet, before pushing in an inch. It’s not enough. I need so much more. My jaw clenches, my head resting on her shoulder, burying myself balls deep. Nothing compares to this. Not racing. Nothing. I reach out and grab her hip with one hand, then a handful of her hair with the other.