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As we sit down, Jack reaches for the middle console, clearly intending to pull down the armrest between us. But my hand shoots out faster, stopping him.
“Oh, don't be silly, my love! We'll be ever so cozy like this.” I pointedly snuggle closer as Walt beams approvingly across the aisle, settling in with his Wall Street Journal.
Jack tenses, then forces a terse smile. “Of course, you're right, sweetheart.” The endearment sounds strangled as he straps himself in.
Let the blissful torture begin.
I peek up innocently at him. “Time to start our romantic getaway, fiancé!”
Jack shifts subtly away from my lips that purposely hover too near his ear. He inhales sharply, holding in the breath for a moment before exhaling with a huff.
Oh, yes. Friendly snuggling with his pretend bride will surely drive my mountain man wild by the time we land in St. Maarten.
“So, tell me, my dear. How did my brooding son manage to snag an enchanting young thing like yourself?” Walt questions, peering at me curiously over his newspaper.
I smile sweetly at him while lightly trailing a fingernail up Jack's thigh. A shudder escapes him, and a side glance at his crotch reveals a rising swell. Resting my hand on his leg for a moment, I allow myself to revel in his heat and the proximity I have missed so sorely. A few inches higher, and I would feel his hardness under my palm. The muscles of his thigh are pulsing under my touch.
“Well, it all started when Jack intervened during a rather close encounter with a bear while I was hiking the Appalachian . . .”
Jack shifts subtly as my hand drifts upward, skimming along the inner seam of his pants. I am so terribly close to his crotch. I have to force myself to focus on Walt. Wet heat is spreading between my legs, pulsating and demanding.
“You’re kidding. A bear!” Walt exclaims, oblivious to the drama unraveling in front of him. Jack is quiet, and I hear his slow and steady intakes of breath. “No one informed me my future daughter-in-law came so perilously close to danger! Please, tell me more.”
I launch brightly into the story, encouraged by Walt's rapt attention. There is not much need to exaggerate or embellish, the story tells itself. The bear was indeed that big, that hairy, and Jack was that fierce scaring it away. But I trail off with a dismayed pout, my hair falling artfully across my shoulders. Pointedly taking a sip of water, my hand catches, and some liquid spills on Jack’s lap.
Oops. How unfortunate.
“Oh shoot, your pants are wet, my love! So clumsy of me.” Without waiting for his response, I grab my napkin and reach across to pat the spreading stain, swiping gradually upward as I continue chatting with Walt.
When I graze along his crotch on an upward napkin swipe, a hiss I’m sure he would have wanted to keep to himself escapes him. He jolts sharply enough that Walt raises an eyebrow.
“Sorry, lovebug, are you ticklish there?” I press my lips into an air kiss, then swipe my tongue suggestively over my lips before finishing mopping him up with much more attention to detail than warranted. By the end of the ordeal, Jack visibly strains not to squirm under my ministrations. A sideways glance confirms that my plan is effective, at least judging by the fact that the swell in his pants has now turned into an unmistakable, impressive bulge.
“There, all dry now!” I beam innocently across at Walt while Jack attempts to discreetly rearrange himself.
As we continue chatting, I trail my fingers up Jack’s thigh again, raking my nails this time. The blaze in Jack’s eyes is scalding me.
Curious whether I can bring it up another notch, I cross my arms and shimmy out of my knitted cardigan. Jack’s searing gaze now sweeps down my low-cut camisole as I neatly fold my sweater. I arch my back slightly to lazily stretch like a cat in sunshine. “It’s so warm in here,” I observe, fanning myself with a napkin.
So far, so good.
“So, Walt, are you a golfer?” I ask.
As he launches enthusiastically into a country club story, I rest my free palm on Jack's forearm, thumb idly tracing abstract whirls and loops along his taut, rigid strength. He flexes reflexively beneath my dancing fingers, my skin buzzing as I remember those hands balled in my hair. Jack swallows subtly while my fingertip continues to trail him languidly, mapping each rise and dip of his sinewy muscle. I can almost feel his blood pulsing.
But my reaction is not far behind Jack’s. I hastily cross my legs tighter, cursing internally while trying to create some relieving friction. Walt remains immersed across the aisle, oblivious to the silent combustion happening under his very nose. Unlike me, Jack’s rock steady exterior betrays nothing.
By the time Walt concludes the hysterical tale of his golf cart joyride with a knee slap, Jack feels desperately hot. The heat pulsating from me can’t be making this any easier on him. He shifts minutely away, but the flame in his eyes briefly flicks over my breast before he manages to look away, pasting on a smile for Walt.
“Delightful story! Well. I'll just visit the little girl's room while you go back to your reading.”
Inside the tiny lavatory, I grip the sink and stare at my reflection. My breathing is quick and shallow as I will my swirling blood to simmer down.
“Get it together,” I whisper, splashing water on my face.
He felt like a powerful panther stretching, then freezing, ready to pounce.
I take a few deep breaths with my eyes closed, trying to regain my composure. Another splash of water, and I straighten my shoulders. As I force myself to look up again, the glint staring back betrays the whirlpool churning inside, craving so much more than Jack is willing to give me.
