Flying

“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.”

With a low growl, he pulls her onto the bed, rolling them both so he ends up on top. His weight’s a surprise, though the press of his erection isn’t. He pushes his hips against her, grinding. His mouth finds hers, a little too hard. Stella puts her hands flat on his chest to hold him back from her for a second. Daryl breaks the kiss to look at her, holding her gaze while he rocks his cock against her clit.

They kiss for a long time, longer than she expects. But she doesn’t mind. They move together on the bed, grinding, rocking, rolling.

Daryl moves a hand between her legs at last, slipping his fingers inside her panties. Stroking her clit. Then, pushing inside her. “Shit,” he breathes. “You’re so wet.”

Kissing him, Stella shivers at the press of his thumb on her clit, the push of his fingers inside. One, then another. He fucks into her, and her body responds at once. Muscles going tight, breath short. She writhes under his practiced touch, giving herself up to this pleasure for a minute or so before she opens her eyes and finds him staring at her.

“What?” She goes still.

“I want to watch you come.” Daryl licks his lips. “I get off on making a woman come for me.”

Stella pushes up on one elbow to reach his mouth with hers. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

Daryl laughs then, relaxing. “Some women... They don’t like that.”

“They don’t like to have an orgasm?” It’s hard for her to talk with his fingers working their magic. Her voice is low, throaty, trailing into a moan.

“They like to come, sure, but they want to get right to the fucking. They want to rush things. They want my dick inside them too soon.”

Stella arches into his caress, putting her arms over her head to find the solid support of the headboard. She spreads her legs wider, rocking into Daryl’s thrusting touch. His thumb slides on her clit in perfectly rough and staggered circles, teasing her.

“I want to watch you come,” Daryl says again.

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Stella whispers. “And you will.”

Daryl pauses long enough to slide her panties down and off, then gets back between her legs to kiss the insides of her thighs. Stella tenses, thinking he’ll use his mouth on her and waiting for that new sensation, but Daryl takes her clit between his thumb and forefinger instead. He squeezes gently. Pleasure builds, and Stella rides it. Her orgasm is a column of rising flame, consuming her. Ecstasy floods her, taking away the world and everything else beyond this sensation.

Gasping, breathless, Stella cries out. When she quiets, the soft huff of Daryl’s breath caresses her inner thighs. She can’t move, doesn’t want to even shift to look at him. She is satisfied, replete. Until he begins to gently pinch her clit again. The pressure is soft and steady. It’s always harder for her to come a second time, but she’s willing to let him try. Stella breathes, relaxing into her desire. There’ve been times when she’s gotten anxious about her ability to have an orgasm, when it’s taken too long, when it has slipped away from her no matter how skilled or attentive her lover was being. There’ve been times when she’s had to push a partner aside and take over for herself, or sometimes even simply give up grasping at the elusiveness of her climax. But she’s never, ever faked it.

“Wanna see you come again,” Daryl murmurs.

Stella sighs. “I’m not sure...”

“Relax.”

She tries. When he moves his mouth onto her, Stella lifts herself to his tongue. Lips and teeth press her. His fingers move inside her. It’s taking too long, and the first was too strong. She’s not going to make it again....

“Shhh,” Daryl says against her cunt. “Just feel good.”

Stella’s flown with selfish men. Egotistical, arrogant men who haven’t cared if she’s come at all, much less more than once. Not often—it’s been her experience that most men, even the ones who pick up women in airport bars, like to be sure they can get the women off. But she’s never been with a man so insistent. So determined. And all she can do, really, is lie back and let Daryl try to get her to come.

After another few minutes, he moves up her body to kiss her mouth. “No?”

“Sorry,” Stella says, though she’s really not.

Daryl laughs a little. “Damn. I tried.”

“You did.” She rolls to straddle him. He’s not completely hard, but that changes after a minute of stroking. “Your turn.”

“Let me just grab something.” In another minute he’s back, shucking out of his briefs and tearing the wrapper on the condom to sheathe himself.

Stella watches him, her breath catching at his look of careful concentration as he smooths the condom onto his cock. How he grips himself at the base. How beautiful men are with their hard pricks in their fists, when their bodies have become tuned toward nothing but pleasure. She loves these moments maybe even more than the actual fucking, these moments when she watches her partner getting ready for her.

Daryl fits himself inside her, keeping his weight balanced on one hand as he uses the other to guide himself. His cock is thicker than she’s expecting. Longer too. It makes her gasp when he seats himself all the way. He pauses for a few seconds, looking down at her.

“You feel so good,” he says. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

He starts moving. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. He tucks a hand beneath the back of her neck, pulling her closer to his mouth for a bruising kiss. Daryl fucks her hard, his pelvis grinding her clit, and it’s this pounding pressure that starts to tip her over the edge again.

He sees it on her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stella manages to say as she gives herself up again to desire. She comes with a short, sharp jolt of pleasure that cuts off as abruptly as it has arrived, but it’s enough to buck her hips. It’s all good. So good.

Daryl shudders, grimacing. He bends to bury his face in the side of her neck as he thrusts, then shouts out with his own climax.

A minute or so after that, he rolls off her to stare up at the ceiling. He’s put some distance between them, but not enough to make this awkward. She’ll be able to get up in a few minutes and get dressed. Head back to her own room.

Before she can move, Daryl looks at her. “Was that okay for you?”

Stella sits, scanning the bed for her discarded panties. Spotting them on the floor, she moves to get off the bed. “It was great.”

Daryl’s hand on her wrist stops her. “Lavinia.”

She twists to look at him, seeing his concern. Thanking him for his performance would feel a little over-the-top, not to mention contrived. “It was great, Daryl. Really.”

He doesn’t let her go for so long she starts to think he won’t. Gently, Stella extricates herself from his grip and gets off the bed to step into her panties. Behind her Daryl takes care of the condom, then heads into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him.

Stella gets dressed quickly. Not lingering. The night has worn on almost to morning, and her plane leaves in only a few hours. She’ll have just enough time to get back to her room, shower and change and head for the airport in time to get through security. In the days when she was a flight attendant, a million years ago, traveling by air used to be fun. Now, even with the free trips she still gets as part of the divorce settlement from Jeff, the CEO of an airline, the process of the airplane travel itself is something rather less than enjoyable.

She doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye—Daryl has been a fun flight. But it’s late and she’s tired and not in the mood for cuddling or, worse, conversation. The bathroom door opens just as she’s slipping into her shoes and straightening her stockings.

Daryl looks surprised. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I have an early plane.” She goes to him, offering a kiss because it seems like the thing to do.

Daryl kisses her but looks confused. “You don’t want to stay? Have another go-round in the morning?”

“It’s already morning.” Stella stifles a yawn. “And I’m really tired. This was great, though. I had a good time.”

“Not good enough, I guess.” Stepping back, Daryl frowns. “Should I even ask for your number?”

“I can give you my number, but that’s not what this is. Is it?” She gives him a small smile, trying hard not to sound annoyed, though by this point she’s ready to head out the door. “You’re not really going to call me, are you?”

This gives him pause. “I guess not. It’s just...everyone else always wants to exchange numbers.”

Stella laughs. “And how many times do you ever get in touch?”

“You never know. I might call you up, see if you want to be my Lady Luck again sometime when you’re out this way.” Daryl smiles, but Stella shakes her head.

“I don’t think I’ll be out this way again for a long time.”

“Oh. So it’s like that.”

“Yes,” she says. “It’s like that.”

She’s hurt his feelings. She didn’t mean to, but of course that won’t make him feel any better. Now this is becoming awkward.

“You won’t even give me your number? C’mon.” He flashes her a smile meant to be charming, but the desperation in it leaves her cold.

“I don’t give my phone number to strangers,” Stella says without apologizing.

Daryl scowls. “But you’ll fuck one.”

Stella doesn’t give that the dignity of an answer.

“Was it good for you?” he cries after her as the door shuts, and Stella understands that none of this was really about her, at all.

For a moment she considers grabbing the door before it can close all the way and telling him yes, the sex was good. Fine. She came, twice as a matter of fact. She considers, briefly, soothing his ego.

But then she remembers that none of this was really about him in the first place.

CHAPTER SIX

Mondays. Universally despised, always hectic. This morning Stella had already slept through her alarm, waking up instead to the thunder of Tristan’s feet up and down the stairs as he hollered back and forth with his buddy Steven, who’d come to give him a ride. Since Stella had already told Tristan she wasn’t sure she wanted him riding with Steven, even if the older boy had been driving for almost two years, this was not the best way to wake up.

“Dad lets me.”

Yeah, and then there was that. Too tired to argue with him, especially since he’d missed the bus, Stella waved Tristan into Steven’s car and watched them pull out of the driveway with her heart lodged firmly in her throat. She was sure Jeff did let Tristan ride with Steven or whoever else he wanted to, so long as it meant Jeff didn’t have to take him to school. Whatever made Jeff’s life easier. But Stella wasn’t going to dwell on that right now.

Halfway through her shower, the water ran cold. “Son of a bitch.”

She twisted the faucet handle, jiggling it, which sometimes worked. Not today. She finished rinsing her hair, shivering, entire body covered in goose pimples, and didn’t even bother to shave her legs.

There’d been a time when it was like asking Tristan to cut off his arms and legs in order to get him in the shower, and now he took forever. That was part of the reason why Stella had started setting her alarm for later, to give the aging hot water heater time to replenish the supply.

Downstairs, when she pulled open the dishwasher to get a clean coffee cup, she found another surprise. Nothing was clean. Muttering curses under her breath, Stella stabbed open the soap dispenser...only to discover it encrusted with half-dissolved soap. She checked the dishes. Wet. Just not clean.

“Dammit.” She went to the sink to run the hot water. Barely lukewarm, even twenty minutes after her shower. “Shit. Double shit.”

Already running late for work, she took the time to run downstairs to the basement to make sure that the water heater hadn’t exploded or something equally dire. Staring at it, wishing she knew what to look for, Stella knew better than to fiddle with any of the settings. She did notice the small light by the temperature gauge wasn’t lit, but maybe it never was. She couldn’t remember ever really looking at the hot water heater before.

No time to deal with it now. She had to get to work. And, adding to the joy that had begun her Monday, the trip that normally took forty minutes took an hour and a half because of an accident.

A car had hit and flipped over the guardrails along the deep, V-shaped gully that separated the east-and westbound sections of the rural highway. It had caught halfway down the steep embankment, the front end a crumpled horror. It had caught on fire. There’d been no way to see if anyone was stuck inside, though the ambulance and fire trucks had given her hope that even if there had been, there wasn’t anymore. Traffic had backed up for a couple miles, moving slow, rubbernecking. Stella had been stuck inching along the accident site for a good ten minutes before reaching the opposite side and being able to speed up.

Ten minutes wasn’t so long, but by the end of it, she’d been sweating. Her hands shaking. Her breath catching hard in her throat, like needles in her lungs. In the rearview mirror, her eyes were wide and dark, the pupils dilated to cover her irises.

At work, she sat in the parking lot for another five minutes longer than necessary in order to get herself under control. In the office, she went directly to the restroom so she could splash her face with cold water, which had her remembering the frigid shower from the morning.

Frustration, at least, was better than fear.

Despite the morning’s rough start, the day itself went smoothly. It almost always did. Sitting for hours in front of a computer, editing out zits and wrinkles, listening to music or audiobooks on her iPod... It certainly wasn’t the sort of job Stella had ever imagined herself doing, but it suited her. Her manager was nice and accommodating, and you couldn’t beat the hours. Four ten-hour days a week. Jeff had liked to snark at her for that... But again, Stella put that memory aside. It no longer mattered what Jeff thought and hadn’t for a long time.

Today’s queue of photos was the easiest she’d had for weeks. The customers were all dressed appropriately, nobody had any weird requests and the packages they wanted to order were all standard. Stella worked her way steadily through the jobs, one after another. She worked so efficiently that, despite arriving late, she finished her queue early, and rather than stay and fuck around waiting for more jobs to show up, she decided to leave early.

She called Tristan on her way home, but typically he didn’t answer. Nor to her text, which did annoy her, though it was possible he was out running, not just ignoring her. Benefit of the doubt, Stella told herself. Give him the benefit of the doubt. She called Jeff next, already wincing at the sound of his voice.

“What?” Jeff said.

She shouldn’t be offended—it was how he always answered the phone, for anyone but his boss. Even his mother had been subject to his lack of phone etiquette. Stella had never heard him answer a call from Cynthia, though. Maybe she got the princess treatment. God knew she did with everything else.

“Is Tristan with you? I can swing by and pick him up on my way home. I’m getting out now.”

“Why are you getting out now?”

She owed him no explanations, Stella reminded herself, but that didn’t mean she had to be a total douche canoe to him about everything as a matter of course either. “I finished early. Is he there?”

“Cynthia took him shopping.”

“Oh.” Stella paused. “Well, I have some errands to run. I can swing by and get him when I’m finished, if she doesn’t want to bring him all the way to my place on her way home.”

“I’ll have her text you.”

Stella sighed. They disconnected without saying much of anything else and for a moment, melancholy, Stella tried to remember when they’d loved each other. She couldn’t, really. Everything that had happened since colored all the good memories in shades of black.

Her errands didn’t take as long as she’d expected, which was why she was surprised to pull into the drive to the blaze of lights in the house and the front door half-open. Irritated, Stella yanked it shut behind her. “Tristan!”

“He’s upstairs,” Jeff said from the kitchen, where he sat at her table with one of her diet sodas and a pile of her mail, along with her latest issue of Entertainment Weekly.

She hadn’t seen his car, dammit, forgetting he preferred to park along the opposite side of the street so he didn’t have to back out of the driveway. She hated the sight of Jeff in her kitchen—which had once been his kitchen, that was true enough. But by the end she’d hated the sight of him in it then too.

“Did he eat?”

“Yeah. Cynthia made pot roast.” Jeff drained the last of the soda and put the empty can back on the table, then tossed the magazine onto the pile of mail.

Of course she did. Stella gave him a tight smile. “Great. Thanks for bringing him home.”

Jeff pulled something from his back pocket—a piece of paper he’d folded into thirds. He flattened it on the table and pushed it in her direction. “Here.”

“What’s that?” Stella asked warily, not taking it.

“I brought over a spreadsheet.”

“Of what?” She crossed her arms, keeping her expression carefully neutral. Jeff had always been fond of spreadsheets.

“Of expenses.”

Stella’s eyebrows rose. “Expenses? For what?”

“Tristan,” Jeff said, and Stella’s jaw dropped. “I’ve been keeping track.”

Now she took the paper and looked over it. True to form, Jeff had made columns for medical expenses, sports equipment, orthodontia, clothes, school supplies...and gifts. Stella looked at him. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”