Flying Read online

  Stella looks up. “Ah. Tell him thanks, but no.”

  “Something else?” the waiter asks. “We have a great pomegranate martini—”

  “No. Thanks. I don’t care for anything, but please let him know I appreciate the offer.”

  By the end of her meal, a truly stellar steak and asparagus steamed to perfection, Stella has almost finished her book and the waiter is back with another offer.

  “Coffee and dessert? The gentleman—”

  Persistent, she thinks. And horny. She likes that.

  Stella sets aside her book and smiles. “Please ask the gentleman if he’d like to join me.”

  If the waiter hates playing Cupid, he doesn’t show it. In minutes, the man who seriously wants to get Stella liquored up and on a sugar high arrives at her table. He’s tall, dark and handsome. Just her type, but who’s she kidding? Almost all men are her type when she flies.

  “Hi. I’m Daryl.” He holds out a hand. Warm fingers squeeze hers with the perfect amount of pressure. He has wide brown eyes and a great smile. Straight white teeth. Curly black hair cropped close to his head. His suit is expensive, and so is his watch.

  “Lavinia.” It’s the name of one of the characters in her book.

  “Pretty name. Unusual.” Daryl looks up at the waiter. “I’ll have a coffee and a piece of cherry pie. Vanilla ice cream. And the lady will have...?”

  “The same,” she decides without looking to see what other delights she might be missing on the dessert menu. “Cherry pie’s my favorite.”

  Daryl is in town for a week to meet with clients, for a business he doesn’t describe and Stella doesn’t ask about. He comes to Minneapolis a few times a year, always stays at this hotel because of how easy it is to get to the airport and also, of course, the gambling. “Do you gamble, Lavinia?”

  “Sometimes. I’m not much for poker or blackjack, but I do like to play the slots. This pie is amazing, great choice. And thank you, by the way.” Stella drags her fork through the thick, sweet cherry goo and licks it, watching Daryl’s gaze follow the flicker of her tongue.

  “How about craps?”

  She smiles. “Don’t you have to be lucky to win?”

  “You have to be lucky to win at anything.” Daryl’s smile leaves crinkles in the corners of his eyes that Stella likes very much.

  She leans toward him. “Tell me, then. Do you feel lucky?”

  “Oh,” Daryl says, leaning too, “I surely hope so.”

  She lets him take her to the casino, and she lets him press a hundred dollars’ worth of chips into her hand. She also lets him put his arm around her as they take their place at the craps table, and when he asks her to blow on the dice for him, she does that too. Stella has never considered herself lucky, but Daryl wins. And wins again.

  Soon the whole crowd is chanting her name—well, not her real name, but the one she gave him. And when finally his streak ends, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her in front of the crowd as though they’re lovers and not strangers. He’s a very good kisser, and Stella doesn’t mind. Not at all.

  “Lucky Lavinia,” Daryl says into her ear, his hands settling on her hips to pull her close. “You wanna get out of here?”

  They go to his room, and he offers her a drink, but she declines.

  “Not a drinker.” Daryl nods. “I remember now. I could order us something from room service, if you’ve got a craving for something sweet.”

  That’s not what she’s craving, and she answers him by stepping again into his embrace and offering her mouth. Daryl kisses her slowly, palming her ass and grinding her a little against the growing bulge of his crotch. When he moves his mouth to her throat, Stella lets her head fall back with a small sigh.

  “You like that?” Daryl nips a little, sending shivers of delight all through her. “Yeah. I thought so.”

  Her nipples are tight and hard, her cunt aching. She wants to run her hands all over him, but steps back instead. “Do you have protection?”

  She does, if he doesn’t. She always does. But a man who expects to fuck without bothering to buy the condoms isn’t worth even the small amount of time she’s prepared to give him.

  “Yeah.” Daryl tugs at his tie and the buttons of his shirt, exposing his smooth dark skin. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

  Stella tilts her head to look him over. “You do this a lot, Daryl?”

  “I travel a lot.” He gives her a nice once-over. “You do this a lot, Lavinia?”

  It’s a fair question. Her fingers inch up her hem, little by little. For another man, she might play coy or even lie, but she and Daryl seem to have an understanding. “I do it enough.”

  His warm, full-throated laugh settles between her thighs. “Good. Just so I know where I stand.”

  It’s good for them both to know. She curls her fingers in the fabric of her dress, easing the hem higher. Daryl watches her. At the slide of his tongue over his full lower lip, her clit pulses.

  “Why don’t you get out of that shirt?” she says in a low voice. “And those pants too.”

  Daryl unbuttons and tosses his shirt to the chair, but his hands hesitate at his belt buckle. “What about you?”

  “You want me to take off my dress?” Stella smiles.

  He works open the buckle of his belt, then gets out of his pants and tosses them onto the chair next to his shirt. His body is gorgeous. Fit and lean, with muscles in all the right places. Standing in a pair of tight black briefs, Daryl lifts his chin toward her as he bends to take off his socks. “C’mon. Be fair.”

  Stella pulls her dress up and over her head, then carefully hangs it over the back of the room’s other chair. She strikes a pose, showing off everything she has to its best advantage, and it must be working for him, because Daryl’s eyes go wide. He wipes a hand over his mouth.

  “Damn,” he says. “Look at you.”

  This is the rush. This is the gasping breath after being underwater for too long. This is coming out of the dark and into the light, if only for a little while.

  Stella needs this.

  “Kiss me,” she says, and Daryl is happy to oblige.

  He turns them both so he can sit on the edge of the bed with Stella standing between his legs. He breaks the kiss and leans into her, pressing his forehead to the stiff satin covering her belly. His hands roam over her ass, squeezing. He looks up at her, brow a little furrowed, lips parted and a little wet from their kisses.

  “What?” Stella traces a fingertip over one of his thick, dark eyebrows. His eyelashes are amazing, enviably long and thick, the sort a woman would kill for.

  “Didn’t think it would be this easy, that’s all.”

  She wonders if she ought to be a little insulted by this. Stella presses her thumb to Daryl’s lower lip; when he opens for her, she tucks it inside his mouth. He sucks it gently, biting the tip. She bends to kiss him, replacing her thumb with her tongue. She looks into his eyes.

  “We both want something,” she says. “Looks like it’s the same thing. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No....”

  Some men, she knows, want to fuck women who act like whores. Some men think all women are whores. There is a difference. Stella’s not a slut or a whore no matter how many times she flies with strangers. No man can make her feel that way about herself, no matter what he says or how he acts. She cups Daryl’s chin in her palm, holding his face still while she studies him.

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

  “No!” Daryl laughs and grips her hips, pulling her closer. “Hell no.”

  “You want to fuck me,” Stella murmurs, watching his pupils dilate as she speaks.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  She smiles, breathing assent against his mouth. “So fuck me, Daryl.”