Christmas With Cassandra

He also wanted to get the fuck away from the west coast for a few days. No real reason. Cabin fever, we have to suppose.

Nobody, however, had cabin fever in the plane. As soon as they were free to get up without any danger, Nala was sprucing up in front of the bathroom mirror and waiting for the Mile-High drug to needle into her brain. She had a hot boyfriend who knew how to please her, and she had made a big point to him that very morning that she had just finished her period . A very tough, nasty period that had almost made her miss two of her finals because she felt like such epic shit for almost three days straight.

Now she felt much better! Funny how not having one’s uterus explode in all spherical directions helped a girl out like that.

“Hey,” she said, stepping out of the bathroom and leaning against the wall. Vincent looked up from his cell phone and found his girlfriend already halfway to O-Town. (It didn’t take much.) “You know, skip, there’s this bed over here and…”

She didn’t have to say anymore. Vincent was off the couch and hauling her into the bedroom with strict instructions for nobody to bother them outside of an emergency.

We all know, dear readers, that it’s bad when we can’t even bother to take off our clothes – or if we have to consciously take off our clothes because it’s not as good with all of our clothing still on our bodies. That’s what happened to Vincent and Nala the moment that bedroom door locked. Nala was so voracious for her boyfriend that not even the engine blowing out in the plane could have knocked any sense back into her.

In fact, so wired by the experience was she, that she always found it perplexing that her boyfriend wasn’t immediately hard the moment the Mile-High arousal fucked her up. What, wasn’t he as much of a victim as she was? (He was, as soon as he realized how ready to go his girlfriend was. Then it was only a matter of getting certain friends up for the challenge.)

Thing about this sort of aerial affliction is that it’s ongoing. Certain body parts may tire after a while, but the body as a whole is convinced that there is no such thing as satisfaction. So no matter how many times (or how fast or hard) Vincent fucked her, or how many scratch marks she left on his back, or how many times turbulence made the (many, many) orgasms even better, poor Nala was never satisfied. By the time Vincent rolled off her with hands of mercy in her face, she was grumbling that even though her pussy was also begging for mercy, the rest of her body was demanding more sex to make the itch finally go away.

What a hell to live in! And she couldn’t even blame ovulation! Oh, God, if this was her hell before ovulating next week… at his mother’s house…

“I need a break,” Vincent insisted. He didn’t forbid his girlfriend from cuddling up to him, but he made it clear that nothing was coming near his pelvis until the refractory period was finished. “Seriously. Things are numb down there.”

She glared at his curled fingers. “You’ve got two hands, buddy. Your dick’s not the only thing on you that can penetrate me.”

“Don’t be irate.” Oh, Mr. Fancy-Smart-Tech-Guy could use the word irate after two hard orgasms? Good for him. Didn’t make Nala feel any better. “I said give me a break.” He slapped a weary hand on her sweaty thigh. “I’ll make sure you don’t leave this bed anything but satisfied. Have I ever let you down before?” All he needed was for Nala to recognize his physical limitations! Difficult to achieve when her body was rioting like this!

“Fuck it.” Nala kicked back the tangled bed covers. The plane dipped just as she was getting up and grabbing a towel off the nightstand. “I gotta pee anyway. I know you’re rich, but I don’t want to have to get antibiotics the moment we touch down on the east coast.”

He lazily waved her off and rolled over. Nala disappeared into the small bathroom attached to the bedroom and hoped that vigorously preventing a UTI would help sate some of her otherworldly sexual desires. (It didn’t.)

Her jeans buzzed the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, towel trailing behind her naked body. At first, she was confused as to how such a thing was even possible, until she realized that not only was her phone still in her back pocket, but that her boyfriend was so rich that he could get her cell phone service on his private plane.

Nala snatched up her phone and saw a name she never really expected to see flashing on the screen. “Hello?” she greeted, wondering if it was even worth trying to get her boyfriend hard again by this point. Vincent had his back to her, so probably not. In truth, he also had his legs crossed just in case she got any ideas. It wasn’t that Vincent didn’t want to keep fucking her brains out, but a man had to honor the limits humanity bestowed upon him. Besides, Nala did get some pleasure knowing that she was the one responsible for such a virile young man acting like this. She told her friend Clara that she had a certifiably “bomb-ass pussy” and would keep saying that until the day she died.

It was not Clara on the phone. It was another supposed friend… although Sylvia Rogers was more like a frenemy that kept Nala on her toes. (And she loved those kinds of friends, so it was win-win.)

“Nala, darling, I hope I’m not interrupting you!”

Nala sat on the edge of the bed and glared at her boyfriend. “Not anymore you aren’t.”

“Anyway,” like Sylvia cared to begin with, “I need to keep this brief because I’ve got so much shit to do,” liar, “but hear me out for a few minutes. You’re going to die.”

That meant Nala was going to be completely unimpressed.

And she was.

When Sylvia finished her spiel, Nala shut off her phone and tossed it into the pile with her jeans. She turned around on the bed and jammed her finger into Vincent’s back. “Hey,” she grunted, “what was one thing we promised when we decided to make this relationship a thing?”

Vincent snorted himself out of his post-coital doze and looked at her through sleepy eyes. He stretched both arms above his head, his foot poking out of the blankets. “To have lots of fun?”

“The other thing.” Nala’s tone better have told him that she wasn’t fucking around. “The one where we promised to not keep any secrets from each other.”

His limbs relaxed with a puff from his lips. “I am not keeping any secrets from you, so I don’t know what this is about.”

“Oh, so you were never going to mention that kid of yours out there?”

Okay, Vincent was awake now.

He jerked up, almost smacking his foot right into Nala’s leg even though the comforter would have prevented that from happening. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have any kids.” The only time Vincent had any reason to believe that a child of his was coming into the world was when his ex-girlfriend was pregnant. Unfortunately, that ended with a miscarriage. (And this wasn’t counting her second pregnancy by another man, not that it had mattered to Vincent. He still would have treated the child as his.)

“Oh, so you don’t remember someone named Cassandra?”

“What the fuck?” He was officially up now. “What does she have to do with anything? I haven’t seen her since before you and I met.” The only reason he said it like that was because even his mathematical brain couldn’t function at the moment, let alone count back to when he first met Cassandra.

Nala furrowed her black brows. “Cut the crap, Vincent. She’s an ex-girlfriend of yours.”

“I would hardly call her a girlfriend. I hooked up with someone named Cassandra, yes, but that was a long time ago. She was one of my rebounds after… you know.” He didn’t want to say it. “After my fiancée died.” Vincent had gone through a few women in such an angry furor that some of them he couldn’t even remember anymore. Cassandra, however, was well entrenched in his memory. “What does she have to do with anything? Who was that on the phone? Who is telling you something?”

“Doesn’t matter who told me. However, I was informed that she has a kid with an unknown father, and congrats, Vincent, you might fit the timeline.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nothing about his reaction was forced. If anything, Vincent’s genuine shock came from his inability to believe that he could possibly have a child he didn’t know about out there in the big world. Shouldn’t a man have a sixth sense for that sort of thing? That if a woman gave birth to his child – without having told him – that he would know something? He wasn’t a religious guy, and he tended to be logically closed-off to a fault, but he was prone to inklings that cosmic interventions were a thing.

“If I had a kid… first of all, I would know about it. Second, I would have told you early on. That’s not something I would feel the need to keep a secret about.”

Nala believed him, if only because her boyfriend was total father material and he really had no reason to keep a potential son or daughter away from her. While Nala was far from being ready to talk about having kids of their own (and oh dear Lord was she far away from motherhood) she didn’t have a problem with any predilections her boyfriend had. No, what pissed her off was that this fact was presented to her for the sole purpose of riling her up.