Page 42 of Edged
I unlatched my seatbelt and stretched my legs into the aisle, watching him go. “Not long.”
The travel itinerary he’d sent didn’t have a return date, but it hadn’t worried me. I knew Archer wouldn’t kidnap me or keep me against my will. If I said the word, he would send me back home, even if he did so reluctantly.
The real problem with the trip wasn’t how long I had off work, though. It was how long I could be gone without Mandy and Frankie getting suspicious about my absence. I’d told a little bit of a lie, that I hadn’t been feeling well, that I must have caught a cold on the plane. They’d both offered to come and take care of me, but I’d pushed them off under the guise of not wanting them to get sick. I figured I had at least two days, maybe three, before one of them came knocking with chicken soup and nose spray.
“What’s your definition of not long?” Archer sat down on one of the couches, right in the middle, legs spread like he owned the place, even though he swore he didn’t.
“Monday.”
Archer worked his jaw, the tension clearly telegraphing that Monday wasn’t enough time for him, but also understanding he couldn’t ask for more.
At thirty-seven thousand feet in the air, barreling back toward Los Angeles, I had no idea what I’d been thinking by saying yes to his ridiculous proposal to come in the first place. There were enough people back home for me to fuck if that’s what I needed. There was absolutely no reason for me to come at Archer’s beck and call. It shouldn’t have mattered that I hadn’t found another man who fucked the way he did or who made me feel the way he did. Sex was sex and orgasms were orgasms, and my fist was as good as his.
“On or before?”
I sucked my tongue across the front of my teeth before taking a swallow of whiskey.“On.”
“Four days, then?”
I nodded.
Archer’s mouth split in a wide grin, halfing his age and offering me a stark reminder of the history—and the years—between us. He finished the whiskey in his glass, set it aside, and then crooked a finger, beckoning me closer.
I wanted to fight him, wanted to resist, but what was the point?
We both knew, we’d bothagreedabout the whole reason I was on this plane with him. He said he wanted me to get to know him again, but I didn’t care if his favorite color was still green or if he still hated canned cheese. The only thing I needed to care about was the way he grabbed my cock and dangled me over the edge of sanity with it, pushing us both to the very boundaries of pleasure.
Exhaling loudly, because if I could express my feigned unhappiness, at least he would know he didn’t have a chance with me beyond something physical, I stood. With every step I took down the aisle toward him, his expression darkened. Not from danger, but from arousal, from gratification.
“Do you like when people do the things you tell them to?” I asked, coming to stand in front of him.
“I find most people like doing what I tell them to.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I like it very much, Owen.” Archer licked his lips from left to right, slow and sinful, before pulling his lower lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to discolor the soft skin. “Now take off your shirt.”
I threw a glance toward the rear of the plane where the steward has disappeared to after getting us drinks after takeoff.
“He won’t come out unless I call for him,” he said, stare raking over my body and sending shivers up my spine.
“Seems like bad service,” I murmured.
“Seems like he’s doing what he’s told.”
My breath hitched in my throat, and I reached behind me to grab my shirt and ruck up the material. I pulled the shirt over and off my head, tossing it onto Archer’s lap.
“Are we allowed to do this?” I asked.
I knew that I should be ashamed the steward knew what was about to happen between Archer and me, but I couldn’t find that emotion anywhere inside of me. I was too focused on him, on the heat building at the base of my spine and in my pulsing cock. Something about the idea of maybe being seen, probably being heard, sent an entirely unexpected and new flare of excitement over me.
Archer noticed it, of course, letting out a quiet laugh before crooking his finger for me again.
“It’s not a big plane, Owen,” he said softly. I shuffled toward him and he hooked his finger around the leather of my belt, pulling it and letting the ends fall open. “He’s definitely going to hear you.”
“I’ll be quiet,” I countered.
He grinned, taking my statement as a challenge, then he popped open the button and slid down my zipper. My cock was hard, almost full mast, pressing eagerly against the cotton of my boxers and leaving a noticeable wet spot on the front if the fabric.
