Running Mate

But I didn’t.

Instead, my lips slid into a smile as I said, “I accept.”

BARRETT

“You like that?” I growled into the ear of the stacked blonde I was banging. Her bare ass was pinned against the plane window. Of course, at thirty thousand feet, it wasn’t like anyone was going to pass by and get an eye-full. Standing between her legs, I held her upright with my forearms under the backs of her knees.

“Oh yeah, baby. Hard.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I was more than happy to oblige her. Making a woman lose her mind during sex had so many benefits. I never understood these pricks who only thought about getting themselves off. I never came harder than I did when I had a satisfied woman screaming my name while her walls convulsed around my cock.

There’s also something to be said for airplane sex. You could say I was quite the connoisseur of all types of sex. Back-seat-of-the-car sex, bathroom sex, park-bench sex, yacht sex—which could be preceded by jet-ski sex, or even ocean sex, although salt water sometimes did a number on your orifices. There was even a time I’d christened the coat room of the Plaza Hotel in New York City. I was somewhat of an expert when it came to sex outside the box, or I guess I should say sex outside the bedroom. Everybody has their specialty or sometimes their kink, and screwing a woman in an unexpected place was mine.

Of course, when I say airplane sex, I should probably clarify. I’m not referring to being crammed into the lavatory where you practically have to be a contortionist to fuck. I’m talking about jet sex, the kind you have on a private plane with leather seats to fuck on and off of as well as a king-sized bed with silk sheets. I’m sure the private jet remark makes me sound like a pretentious bastard, but hey, it’s just what I’m accustomed to. It also doesn’t mean I’m discriminatory and only date wealthy chicks. The truth is, I like women; it doesn’t matter what race or religion or tax bracket they come from. It really only matters that they enjoy sex.

Today’s initiate to the mile-high club was Evangelina Petscova, a new opera diva at the Met, AKA Metropolitan Opera House. I’m sure you’re wondering what a guy like me could possibly be doing at the opera; I’m sure I impress you more as the sporting-event type. While I’m not culturally illiterate, it was a gift to the most important woman in my life—my mother.

For her birthday, I’d flown my mom up on The Callahan Corporation’s private jet, the very one I was screwing on now, to see The Marriage of Figaro. After pulling a few strings, we got backstage to meet the cast. While my mother gushed to Evangelina about her marvelous performance as Susanna, I envisioned a more pornographic performance that Evangelina could star in. The continuous fuck-me eyes I made at her were rewarded with her giving me her number. I made sure to call her the next night, and we’d been seeing each other for the last two weeks.

Each time I hit her G-spot, Evangelina’s shriek of pleasure hit a high C, one of the highest notes on the musical scale. While I enjoyed her enthusiasm for my efforts, I was beginning to go deaf from the high decibels. I had an odd thought that it might offset the cabin pressure; the last thing I needed was for my out-of-control libido to crash the plane.

Thankfully, I could feel Evangelina’s walls tightening around me, so two more harsh thrusts and she was scream-singing my name. Her orgasm triggered mine, and I came with a string of expletives. I’d learned the hard way a long time ago not to ever say a girl’s name if at all humanly possible. I mean, it’s sorta hard to control yourself in the moment; the margin for error is just too great and could end up getting you punched.

When I took my arms away and placed Evangelina on her feet, she didn’t stay upright long. She slid down the wall and pooled into a satisfied heap on the floor. “That was…” She stared quizzically up at me. “I would say amazing, but that seems trite.”

“I’d agree that amazing just doesn’t quite cover it. More like astounding and life-altering?”

Evangelina rolled her eyes as she pushed sweat-soaked strands of hair out of her face. “Your ego is as big as your dick.”

Placing my hand over my heart, I teasingly batted my eyelashes as I replied, “What a sweet thing to say.”

With a laugh, Evangelina gracefully pulled herself off the floor. “You don’t mind if I take a quick shower, do you? I need to be fresh for tonight’s performance.”

A jerked my chin at the bathroom. “Sure. Go ahead.”

She arched her blonde brows seductively. “Would you like to join me?”

“I’d rather smell like you and our fucking the rest of the day.”

Desire flared in her blue eyes at my words, and her pink tongue darted out across her lips. “Mm, I really like the idea of you smelling like me.”

I knew she would. Women always liked to think of you going about your day with the smell of their tits and ass on you. It was the same thing as how men wanted to blow their load on a girl. It was all about marking your territory and branding someone as yours.

The truth was I was going straight from the airport to the gym so there was no point in showering just to work up a sweat again, but I didn’t need to let her know that. Women have long memories, so I knew Evangelina would remember this moment the next time we were together. It ensured that she would make it up to me—maybe with a really long blow job.

With Evanagelina in the bathroom, I threw back on the shirt and pants she’d ripped off of me an hour ago. After a quick glance in the mirror, I ran a brush through my hair to tame down the damage Evangelina had done. Once I was finished, I opened the bedroom door and went out into the main cabin.