Fall (VIP 3)

I want to tell her more, tell her how glad I am that I found her, and the thought of losing her scares the ever-loving shit out of me, but I can’t say any of that now. I have to taste her.

Her mouth is soft and plush, a sweet peach of a mouth. I groan like a man dying of thirst and finally tasting the rain as I slide my tongue in her warm, wet heat to get another taste. God, she’s delicious, addictive.

Kissing Stella is a full-body experience. She moves with me, her lips surging against mine, her little tongue a slick, sly tease. I feel it at the base of my cock, in heated flutters along my abs, raking up the backs of my thighs. I’m floating, and only she can ground me.

My hand finds the smooth satin of her back where she’s slightly damp and warm. The curve of her waist fits my palm perfectly, and I stroke here there, loving the way she shivers, the delicate little squeaks of want she makes in her throat.

I know, honey, I want it too.

I press closer, sliding my thigh between hers, when a loud voice cuts right through my haze of lust.

“We got kids here, Stella,” a man says gruffly. “And they didn’t come for a show.”

Stella jerks as though pinched and steps back from my embrace. But she leaves a hand on my chest. It’s a simple, proprietary act that has me biting back a smile. Though it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to sport a shit-eating grin right now. An older, weathered man is glaring at me like he knows exactly where my mind was and he does not approve.

“Hank,” Stella says, a little breathlessly, “I didn’t see you there.”

“No doubt, as you were otherwise occupied,” Hank says drolly. He might be fifty or sixty. It’s hard to tell. Deep crinkles fan out from the corners of his eyes and run down the crests of his cheeks. A veritable paragraph of frown lines ripple along the dark-brown skin of his forehead. I don’t know if they’re always around or forming because of his scowl, but I’m betting the former.

Stella laughs, her cheeks going pink. “Yes, Hank. I was.”

He proves no less immune to her smile than I am, and his furrowed brow smooths a little. “Have a good flight?”

“An excellent one.” Her palm glides down my chest and centers over my heart. “This is my friend John.”

Hank’s eyes narrow. “Friend, eh?”

“Good friend,” Stella amends, completely unfazed and adorably happy.

Since Hank is just standing there, glaring a hole through my forehead, I step forward. “Good to meet you.”

He takes my hand and gives it a death squeeze. But I’ve played guitar since I was a kid, so my hand is too strong to crush. We end our standoff with Hank letting go and giving me a nod before turning to Stella. “Saw you up there. Your pitch was off by a degree on the hammerhead.”

Stella’s nose wrinkles. “I know.”

“Stella could compete if she wanted to,” Hank says to me, and despite what Stella seems to think about Hank not being the fatherly type, the man is clearly proud of her. “Or be an instructor. Just a matter of getting a license.”

Stella blushes. “Then flying wouldn’t be just for me anymore. It would be tied to expectations and work.”

“If you love it, it isn’t work,” Hank states.

He’s right, and he’s wrong. I love making music, playing my guitar, and singing. I couldn’t wait to dive headlong into being a star. But it has become work. Expectations and the stress of fulfilling endless commitments take a toll. Suddenly the thing I love isn’t pure anymore. It has a life of its own, and it can drain me if I’m not careful. So I get why Stella doesn’t want to turn her passion into her work.

My hand cups the back of Stella’s neck in a silent show of support. But she doesn’t need it. Stella shakes her head softly and laughs a little. “That would be a great argument, Hank, if I hadn’t heard you complain about students on a daily basis for years.”

Hank laughs, a wheezy crackling sound, like he doesn’t do it very much. “True that, Stella girl.”

The wind kicks up, rushing along the ground and whipping at the tops of the low-lying trees surrounding the airport. It’s getting darker, the sky leaden with gray clouds.

Hank glances up, frowning. “You going back to the city?”

“That was the plan,” Stella says.

“We’re not going to make it.” Even as I speak, it begins to rain a light sprinkle. It’s going to be much worse any second now. I glance down at Stella. “We’re on a bike. Trust me, you don’t want to ride in a rainstorm.”

She studies the sky. “We’ll have to hunker down at a restaurant for a while. Do you mind?”