Dr. Stud

“This is what you need. Boarding pass. Haven’t you ever been on an airplane before?”

“Well, no, actually,” the little brunette admits.

Shawna takes a stamp and bangs on the front of the paper immediately, shoving the entire sheaf back at her.

“Wait, is that it?” I object. “You just go ahead and stamp her pass right away? Just like that? You were not that nice to me.”

Shawna picks the radio up from her shoulder holster and holds it next to her chin menacingly. “Sir? Do we have a problem here? I am not going to ask you again.”

“Jeez, fine, no problem,” I say as I back away, heading to the next section of the line. Two more eight-foot-tall security guards give me a look like they want to piledrive me in the middle of the body scanner, just for fun. I’m not ready to die today, so I tell myself to shut up and do this.

Despite all the friends I don’t seem to be making, I do manage to make it through security. The gate is not too far away, and the flight leaves in thirty-five minutes. I suppose if Brock wanted me to also miss the flight, he’s going to be a little disappointed.

Carefully I make my way as quickly as possible down the wide hallway, careful to avoid the golf carts full of senior citizens as well as the sprawling crowds of families with small children. They tend to spread out at inconvenient times and do things like vomit or yell or erupt slushies unexpectedly. All I want at this point is to get to the gate and get in my seat. That’s it.

And here she is, coming up right behind me. The little brunette. She’s scowling, constantly glancing down at her boarding pass as she rolls her luggage behind her. I hear those heavy boots clomping on the terrazzo floor.

We finally make it to the gate with a few minutes to spare and I let her shoot in front of me. She walks right up to the open door and hands her boarding pass to the attendant, who swipes the barcode and instructs her to go through the door. As she saunters down the ramp, I can’t help but notice that loose swish in her hips as her skirt sways back and forth. She has got that nice flexibility some girls have. There’s a certain snap to her joints that makes me think about pushing her knees back to her shoulders.

There we go. That’s the sort of thing that will get my mind off Brock.

The first-class section on this plane only happens to be about half-full, and only comprises six seats in any case. Still, as soon as she checks h

er ticket and glances up at the number above the row, I know exactly where she’s headed. Right next to me.

“Here, let me put that in the overhead bin for you,” I say, coming up close behind her. She doesn’t flinch, but instead glances back over her shoulder at me, those big brown eyes innocent and inviting at the same time.

“That would be nice, thank you,” she murmurs. Her breath is like sweet coffee. Coffee with vanilla perhaps. I bet she tastes like candy.

She settles into her seat and clasps the belt over her hips obediently.

Slowly I sidle past her, watching how her eyes track across the front of my trousers. Saucy little minx, isn’t she? Just checking out my cock, just like that? Brave. I like that.

As the engines rev up, I can feel her glancing at me and past me, looking out the window at the ground crews as they get out of the way. The plane starts to back away from the gate and her fingers immediately grasp the armrests.

Amused, I watch her out of the corner of my eye. I can hear her breath coming out of her nose in short gusts and notice the white ridges of her knuckles. She’s absolutely new to this, and it’s sort of thrilling. She’s like an untested animal, thrown into a situation where it doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t seem to be totally lost, but neither is she confident. Alert.

As we taxi down the runway, the jet picks up speed. The engines blare, then roar. The woman begins to make a noise, a low groan that is both urgent and sexy at the same time.

Finally we hit the right speed and the nose of the plane tips up. Our bodies are crushed against the not-quite-luxurious seats. I sort of wish I were sharing this with her on my jet, which is twice as fast and really luxurious. That would’ve really knocked her socks off.

She glances out the window, only to see the horizon disappear as the plane takes off. She gasps and reaches out, clutching my hand with her tiny, hot fingers.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she mumbles, clearly terrified.

“It’s all right,” I chuckle. Her nails are digging against my palm. “Here, just try to relax, okay? Look at me.”

She nods stiffly, forcing her eyes to meet mine. I find myself smiling, enjoying the thrill of her fear. Not in a crazy way. Not in a serial killer way… it’s just that she seems so real right now, so unguarded and present in a way most people never are.

I have got to admit, it’s getting me really fucking hard.

Tears gather on her lower lids, reflecting tiny blue slices of sky. Her lower lip trembles and her nostrils flare with every breath.

“That’s good, that’s good,” I coach her. “We’re just talking off. Absolutely normal. You’re perfectly safe.”

She nods, refusing to stop looking into my eyes. It’s so intense to be sharing this with a stranger; I hope it doesn’t end right away. I want to see more of what this is like. Her eyes are deep as wells, dark as coffee. I bet her boyfriend or whatever enjoys gazing into those eyes, falling into them.

“Just breathe,” I tell her, pleased to see that she does as I say. “That’s good. You want to tell me your name?”