Love & Cherry Blossoms Read online

  “Thank you.”

  Making my way up the steps, I’m instantly in awe over the design of this plane. Mood lighting—which is the same color as the airline’s colors—shines down on you, while white lights run up along the stairs. When I reach the top, I’m confronted by a lounge that could rival any cocktail bar in any major city. In the middle, a long bar sits, with stools surrounding it. Fancy lights hang from the ceiling, emitting a soft light, creating the best mood. On the far wall, another bar sits, which seems to be dedicated to the top-shelf alcohol, stocking everything from Hennessy to Belvedere, with a price tag you wouldn’t find in your local liquor store. On one side of the lounge are a row of booth seats, and on the other side are more private booths, really catering to those who wish to join the mile high club.

  “May I help you?” I spin around to see a stewardess waiting with hands clasped in front of her.

  “Sorry, I was just taking in the lounge. It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “Thank you. The airline had a top interior designer design it,” she tells me.

  “They did a remarkable job.” I hold out my ticket and she glances at it.

  “Let me show you to your seat, Miss Bradford.”

  We stand in front of a pair of curtains, and with a single tug on the drawstring, they move as if I’m at the theater, giving me a view of the first-class cabin. I’m a business-class girl all the way, but ever since Taylor gushed about how good first class was, I thought I would splurge and spend the money. I must say, so far, it’s been worth every dime. I’m met with a small walkway, in between two rows of the suites. I chose the back row specifically for privacy. Not that I think it will be an issue, as I will be shut off from the world, but you just never know. The stewardess slides the door to my suite open, allowing me to step in. It’s incredibly spacious. With a leather armchair that sits along the left wall, connected to a track along the way so it can move the length of the suite. A minibar is located to the left just as you walk in, with a foldable bed to the right, and a decent-sized TV hanging above it.

  Smiling, I tuck my bag next to the chair and sit down on the leather armchair that feels like I’m sitting on a cloud.

  “Would you like a drink to start with, Miss Bradford?” The stewardess asks, breaking me from my trance.

  “Yes, please. I’ll have a Baileys and milk with half ice if I could.”

  “Most definitely. I’ll get that for you now.”

  A few minutes later, she comes back with my drink in hand. I take it from her and decide to take a little wander around while the other passengers board. I close the doors to my suite and something firm smacks straight into me. God dammit. My drink spills all over the front of my blush-pink singlet top. Looking up to see which fuckstain is the reason for the new design of my top, and yep… it would be Mr. No Words Can Truly Describe How Sexy You Are, wouldn’t it?

  “I am so sorry.” His deep voice hits me right in that spot, removing all previous contention I had toward him.

  “It’s okay,” I sigh out. “You’re lucky I always bring a fresh change of clothes with me, otherwise you would not still be standing right here.” Yeah, as if. This guy could pour pig slop on me and I’d probably be okay with it.

  “I truly am sorry,” he apologizes once more with a slight bow.

  I wave off his apology. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

  I turn around and head back into my suite, closing the door behind me.

  Rule Number One of Flying: Never, and I mean never, get on a plane without a change of clothes on you. It doesn’t have to be runway level, but enough so that if by chance your luggage does get lost, you have something to wear in the meantime.

  Picking up my comically large handbag, I remove a top, stripping out of the soiled one, and slipping the clean one over me. Stepping out, I go to locate a stewardess to advise them of the spillage when I see that he’s waiting for me. Eyes roving over me, causing all kinds of butterflies to create a hurricane in my belly.

  “I took the liberty to notify the staff of the accident. They’ll be sending someone over to attend to it.”

  Just as he says that a steward comes striding through with a cloth. “I’m so sorry about this,” I say immediately, feeling bad for the mess, even though it wasn’t my fault.

  “No need to apologize. I’ll get this cleaned up right away for you,” he advises.

  “Have you checked out the lounge yet?” the reason for the mess asks me.

  “I saw it when I came up here, but I haven’t had a chance to check it out.”

  With a glance at his watch, he asks the steward, “How much time do you think we have until we’re due to take off?”

  “About forty-five minutes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Care to join me? I’ll buy your replacement drink,” Mr. Sexy asks me.

  I let out a short laugh. “Smooth. The drinks are free, you know. Is this your first time?” I tease.

  “No. No, it is not. The offer still stands. Would you like to join me?”

  “Can I trust you though? You seem to have a problem with spilling drinks.”

  He chuckles. “I promise not to spill any more drinks on you unintentionally.” He ends with a wink.

  Fuck me dead. Is it getting hot in here? I walk off in the direction of the bar. “Come on, maybe they’ll have a sippy cup. This is the last clean top I have and clearly, you’re too much of a hazard for me.”

  “In that case. I may just unintentionally spill another drink on you,” he says smoothly. His voice sounding like honey, coated in chocolate.

  “What takes you to Japan?” Mr. Sexy asks. We’re sitting on the bed in my suite. The TV amazingly has a movable stand.

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Japan. I chose this time of year because of the cherry blossoms. It’s been on my bucket list to see them since I was ten.”

  “Wow, that’s some major bucket list item to have at the age of ten,” he remarks.

  “What can I say. I was an ambitious kid,” I say with a shrug.

  “What about you?” I ask, taking a sip of my amaretto sour.

  “I live there.”

  “You’re so lucky. You get to see them every year,” I say dreamily.

  “They are beautiful. I take it you will be attending the festival?”

  I hit him with a look. “Really? I just told you that I’m going there at this time of year specifically for the cherry blossoms and you ask me if I’m going to the festival? What kind of noob do you think I am?”

  He lets out a guffaw, throwing his hands up in defense. “My mistake. I should never have underestimated you.”

  “That you shouldn’t have. People only ever make that mistake once with me,” I respond with a nod.

  “I’m sure they do.” Lustful darkness in his tone does nothing to quell the raging girl boner I have for him.

  “This movie is just… I don’t have the proper adjective to describe this,” he states bluntly, brows furrowing.

  “This movie is a classic.”

  “Are we watching the same movie or are you on something, because this is not something I, nor the general populace, would ever call a classic.” He places his warm hand on my forehead. “Are you ill? This movie is horrific. There are so many plot holes and the people can’t act. Does this guy even know where the vagina is?”

  I spit my amaretto sour out on a laugh. He laughs, giving me a smile that meets his eyes as he hands me a napkin. “The point of this movie is that it’s so bad, it’s funny. You need to get into these. Just remember what I told you; this movie isn’t supposed to be an award-winning film. It was made as a drama but ended up a comedy, and now it’s one of the most popular movies out there with a huge cult following.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can handle any more of their so-called acting.”

  “I promise you. You will end up liking it.”

  “This is payback, isn’t it?” he asks with a single cocked brow.

  Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, help me. I mel
t a little. It’s an act that a lot of guys do because they think women will throw their panties at them, but if I’m to be brutally honest; not all men can pull it off, especially not to the degree Mr. Sexy can. I wish I could bottle it up and take it away with me.

  Shaking away whatever inappropriately intimate feelings from within me, I force my attention back on the TV, because staring at him any longer will have the same effect as looking right into a solar eclipse. I shuffle around and his hand grazes my upper thigh. Instantly, I heat up at his touch and wonder how it would feel on other parts of my body. Would he be gentle and soft, or rough and passionate?

  An involuntary moan slips through my lips. “Are you okay?” I look over at him. Hooded coffee eyes bore right into me. Shadowed with the same need I’ve been feeling ever since I ran straight into him.

  “Mm-hmm,” I respond, not daring to say words.

  “Are you sure? You’ve gone a little red,” he practically whispers. The heat of his body caresses my own and I struggle to keep my breathing under control. If you could move away from me just a little, that would be great.

  I’ve never been a member of the mile high club, and I’m not about to start. It’s not the having sex with a stranger thing that bothers me. That’s never been an issue. It’s the whole, clinging to some semblance of an extraordinary sex life by adding the lack of air, change in air pressure, and the art of public sex, to assist with the orgasm. The people that fall prey to this are the ones that can’t get a good dicking on land. I don’t know about you, but I want to be comfortable when having sex, and doing it in a cramped space on a toilet up in the sky, is not something I imagine being comfortable or sexually appealing. It smells bad in there, and no doubt the last person that was in there was probably someone who just took a dump. Despite all this though, I’d be willing to say “fuck it”, and take him right here, right now.

  I attempt to gain some control, watching the movie that has ceased to induce any sense of entertainment for me. He’s incredibly dangerous; and I don’t like that. He’s the kind of man that could have me burning all my proclivities. When you have someone that pushes your boundaries and rules, it’s usually time to run and never look back. I’m a strong, independent woman. I see what I want and I go for it. I have the mental strength of a lioness and a rock-hard will, but somehow this man clouds my mind and makes it difficult to breathe properly. A low growl comes out, and I dare a side glance at him.

  Worst. Mistake. Of my life.

  Orbs of delicious and sensual browns hold me captive, forcing me into their trap. His hand brushes against my leg once more and a light yelp escapes my lips. I breathe out slowly. The only reason you’re reacting so much to him is that it’s been over six months. Precisely. Any sex-starved woman would have this kind of reaction to a man like him. It’s the only thing I can tell myself to excuse the way I’m being. When Taylor and I started TK Relationship Services, we were busy. We started off helping one person and found success. It didn’t take long for word to get out. It spread so quickly we were receiving thousands of emails from people wanting help. Not long after, the networks came knocking. Once that happened, things blew up. When we were in the business of revenge, my workload wasn’t as intensive, so you’d usually find me at the bar or club on the weekends, finding a guy to satisfy me. The past year, I’ve struggled to find enough energy to keep myself awake long enough to get ready to hit the clubs. The last time I tried, I readied myself with a glass of red—which was my first mistake—and while deciding to get ready, drank, and drank, and by the time it hit nine, I was passed out on my bed.

  Right now, this woman is starved of any attention from the opposite sex.

  His hand continues to brush up against my leg, making small movements before allowing his fingers to glide lightly down until he meets my knee. I keep my concentration on the screen in front of me. I should stop him. Tell him I’m not that kind of woman, but the way this feels, I can’t seem to pull up enough restraint to want to stop him. Goose bumps appear in the wake of his featherlight touch, as his fingers move gracefully against my bare skin. He nudges me to uncross my legs and I do so because I don’t seem to have full control of my actions right now. It’s as if the horny woman inside of me has locked up the sensible woman and is moving those levers in my head to get what she wants. When his hand moves smoothly and softly up the inside of my thigh, my breath hitches with delight, and a chill shoots up my arms and spine. I shudder from the sensation and the unbelievable feelings he’s eliciting. Instinctively, my legs open a little farther to give him better access and he takes this as an invitation to go further. He runs his finger along the seam of my panties and a furious shudder has me crying out.

  “Shh,” he whispers in my ear. “We wouldn’t want to draw attention to ourselves now, would we?”

  I shake my head and dumbly say, “Mm-hmm.”

  “That’s a good girl.” He drags his finger up the middle of my now soaking panties, and for some reason, I find myself embarrassed for the reaction I have to his touch. “You’re so wet for me. I can’t wait to taste what you have.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Dirty talk has never sounded so damn fuckable. I lick my lips and he brings his mouth to my ear, sucking my lobe. I squirm in my seat and a light chuckle tickles my ear. This toying with my senses is riddled with tension being pulled as if it were a rubber band. He pulls and pulls at it, and just when I think it’s about to snap and he’s going to dip his hand underneath my panties, he diverts and moves down farther, tickling the inside of my thighs.

  I mewl, and he laughs lightly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Um,” I murmur ineloquently.

  “Do you want me to stick my fingers into your wet cunt and fuck you with them?”

  If there is a higher power up there… please, for the sake of myself, come save me?

  It’s downright ridiculous. All I can do is let out a whiney moan as a response because I don’t have the right functionalities to make my brain conjugate words. He walks two fingers up my panty-clad pussy excruciatingly slowly. Just when I think I’m about to finally know what his fingers feel like… he stops. What the hell?

  “Relax,” he croons as if knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “Move down the bed a little, I want full access when I finger fuck you until you cream all over them.”

  My eyes go wide at his words. I have never come across anybody that was so dirty. This guy uses dirty talk as if it’s his job. He slaps my pussy lightly when I take too long, and I scoot down the bed.

  “Good girl,” he says seductively.

  How did we come to this? How did we go from two strangers talking about my trip, to this? How?

  He finally dips his hand underneath my panties and his finger glides smoothly through my slit. I buck from the foreign digit, working me up like a jack-in-the-box. His fingers move up and down before finally settling on my clit, moving in slow concentric circles. I let out a heavy breath. My body temperature rising rapidly as he works my body like he’s an artist and I’m his blank canvas. The pressure builds and my belly tightens. With a ragged breath, I grip onto the cushioned bed; the sheet scrunching up. The force hits me hard, and I cry out at my orgasm, pummeling into me with a ferocity I’ve never felt before. Okay, I may have been way too judgmental toward members of the mile high club. This is just, wow. My head is clouding over with such euphoria and a massive hit of serotonin, rendering me into a stupefied state. Soft lips slam onto mine, muffling my cries as he re-positions himself. Pushing a single digit into me, and moving in a synchronized rhythm along with his tongue, a beautiful song is created that has fireworks going off. Curling his finger, he rubs along that spot within me that sparks off the sensations. A second digit soon meeting the first.

  You can have sexual experiences in your life that have you yearning for more, and then you can have those sexual experiences that make you forget that anything exists in this world. It sounds like a major over-exaggeration, I know, but honestly, this guy. I
n a short time, the pressure builds up again. I clench against his fingers as he increases the speed, my mewls getting trapped in his mouth, growling his delight. Breathlessly, he breaks the kiss. The loss of his mouth on mine causes me to bite my bottom lip as he stares at me intently. I feel as if he can practically read my soul, and I attempt to keep the eye contact, but when the weight of his gaze becomes too much, I pull away, dropping my head back. Two more pumps of his fingers and I spill over the edge. He swallows my scream once more and my hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly while his fingers work me slower this time, allowing me to come down from my high. Twitching slightly, I feel as if I’ve been rocked up to space and left to drift along without any ability to come back down to Earth.

  “H-H-H-Holy sh-sh-shit,” I stammer breathlessly.

  My eyes grow wide as he slowly lifts his fingers to his mouth, sucking my orgasm from them. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmurs with his eyes closed. “A single drop of you on my tongue and I’m wanting more. Now open those pretty thighs up wider for me, baby, so I can have more.”

  Chapter Three

  Kerri

  Kerri

  You what?” Sara and Taylor exclaim loudly.

  “Fucking hell, guys, the decibels.” I groan, covering my ears.

  “You just told us you let some stranger finger and go down on you. Of course, we’re shocked,” Taylor explains.

  I shrug my shoulders. “What’s the big deal?”

  Taylor’s jaw drops at my blasé attitude toward my sexual encounter.

  “Are you kidding me? This coming from the person who very proudly states that and I quote verbatim, ‘the only reason people join the mile high club, is because they can’t get a good enough dicking on land.’” She folds her arms across her chest and shoots me a look.