He lifted her dress, fisting it in his hand as he pushed it over her hips, then reached for her panties and dragged them down. She wiggled, letting them drop to the floor. Mick unzipped his pants and took out his cock, reaching into his pocket for a condom, tearing it open, and sheathing himself in record time.
Mick pushed her against the wall and lifted her leg over his hip, shoving inside her with one hard thrust that would have made her scream if she wasn’t cognizant of not being alone on this plane. Instead, she gasped as he pulled out and drove into her again. She felt the pulse of her *, demanding more of the sinful pleasure he gave her.
He dragged the straps of her dress off her shoulders and bared her breasts, then bent to latch onto one of her nipples and sucked, hard. Tara shivered, banged her head back against the wall of the plane, the roar of the engines equaling the roar of her blood as it pounded in her ears. She pulled on Mick’s shirt, and he lifted his arms, allowing her pull it off him.
Oh, she liked this, having him slam her against the wall of the plane, her dress nothing but a wad in his hands as he held on to it while he pummeled her with deep upward thrusts, the frenzy of their lovemaking taking her out of her mind to a place where she felt crazy and free. She knew nothing but this man and this moment and the center of her being where desire coiled like a snake, fierce and unhindered. She scored his shoulders with her nails and demanded more.
“Shit,” he said, rocking his pelvis harder against her, giving her the more she’d wanted, sliding his hand between them to massage her clit, separating enough to let them both watch as he fucked his cock inside her and used his fingers on her clit.
“I’m going to come, Mick. Keep fucking me like that.”
She felt her * clamp down around his cock, a wild spiral of sensation taking over, and she came with a wild cry.
Mick slammed his mouth over hers, sucking on her tongue as he rocked against her, shoving deep inside her with a groan as he hit his climax and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground while thrusting hard and deep inside her.
Out of breath, her legs tingling, she went with him when he carried her to the bed and fell on it, her on top of him, both of them panting and damp with sweat.
Tara didn’t speak for a few minutes, content to just feel Mick’s heartbeat against her while he stroked her back.
“I think I wrinkled your dress,” he finally said.
She laughed. “I don’t think I care. But we might be sweating on Mr. Stokes’s bedspread.”
“I don’t care, and I’m sure he doesn’t.”
They cleaned up in the very nice and not at all typical airline bathroom. Tara smoothed her hair and dress to the best of her ability, but it was quite obvious from her pink cheeks and slightly puffy lips that she had a just-fucked look about her.
“I definitely look like I just had sex. How will I ever face the flight crew?”
“The flight crew is paid very well not to notice anything. Let’s go have a drink before we land. You made me thirsty.”
She laughed and took his hand, suddenly very thirsty herself.
THE ONE THING TARA LEARNED VERY QUICKLY UPON arrival in Los Angeles was that Mick’s agent was one hell of a planner. A limo met them at the plane and whisked them off to an incredibly ritzy hotel, where she was pulled away from Mick by an entire team of makeup and hair people. She was tossed into the shower, and afterward was buffed, puffed, and polished to within an inch of her life. She’d had her makeup professionally applied, her hair done, and she even had a woman come in and dress her.
She wondered if this was the lifestyle movie stars grew accustomed to. It certainly was nice to be pampered and all, though it was a bit overwhelming. By the time she stood in front of the mirror dressed in some shockingly expensive designer gown and adorned with jewelry she didn’t even want to know the cost of, she had to admit they’d done wonders on her, because she didn’t even look like herself. Airbrushing did magical things to a person’s complexion. The scar over her eyebrow she had gotten as a child when she fell off her swing set had been expertly obliterated. Her eyes looked huge and ... beautiful, and her eyelashes—whoa. No amount of standing in front of the mirror with a mascara wand could ever hope to replicate the magic of false eyelashes.
The copper-colored strapless gown cinched in at her bust, waist, and hips, then fell in magical waves to the floor, and was the most beautiful thing Tara had ever worn. And the shoes—God, the shoes. Strappy and stiletto with a cute bow over the toes. They matched the dress, and she wanted to sleep with them until she died.
“Thank you all—so much. I feel like Cinderella tonight. You all worked so hard to make me look pretty, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
The staff of makeup and hair and dressers all grinned back at her, hugged and kissed her, then left the suite. Tara inhaled, let it out, then turned once more to the mirror.
“Holy shit, woman.”