"That's like blackmail." I had to smile at him. He was so funny when he got all high and mighty.
"You don't seem to understand how much pleasure I get in giving you things, and especially things you need."
"But it's so much. Who wears six different pairs of shoes in a weekend?"
"The clothes in there," he pointed a thumb back over his shoulder, "will be perfect for your new job. That's part of why there are so many pieces. I thought you could use them."
"That was very considerate of you. But . . ."
"But nothing." He bent over me and buckled my seatbelt and pulled it snug. "Safe and secure, just the way I want to keep you."
As he took his seat next to me, I mulled over that throw away remark. Yes, it seemed that all I had to do was say the word and he would 'keep' me in fine style as long as I didn't back him into a corner. The other interpretations of keep weren't part of his vocabulary.
He rested his hand casually on my thigh reminding me of the real reason I was on that plane at that moment. Sure, I wanted to hear what he had to say. But I also wanted to touch him again. God how I wanted to touch him again. Touch and be touched.
The days had seemed endless even as I occupied myself with looking for a job. I was spoiled by what we had together. Tristan had quickly and thoroughly conditioned me to unbridled and relentless arousal of all of my senses. He had taken me far beyond anything I had ever known or imagined could transpire physically between a man and a woman. He had brought me to great dizzy heights of desire. He exhausted me in complete satisfaction. His pull on me was like gravity and just as irresistible.
I waited for the airborne seduction to begin. It hadn't been even two weeks since we last lay naked together but I ached for his cock, his tongue and the music of desire he made when he fucked me. I was a disappointed to learn that the flight would be short and dinner awaited. I would not be joining the mile-high club again that night. The delicious and perfectly prepared duck was wasted on me, as was another one of Tristan's masterful wine choices. I pushed my food around my plate trying to make it look like I had eaten more than I had. It looked like he was doing the same with his.
We were both biding time. We were both resisting the urge to tear each other's clothes off and slam into one another's body. The very air in the plane was electric.
"Would you like to know where we're going?"
"I didn't think there was much point in asking. But, yes, of course I want to know."
"Chicago. City of the Big Shoulders, place of my birth, home to Michigan Avenue, Marshall Fields and Bradley Alexander King." He said his father's name formally, coldly. "I thought that as long as we are going to have a weekend picking at scabs, we might as well go for the biggest and bloodiest of them all."
"You're taking me to meet your father?" I asked incredulously. This was so not what I expected.
"Among other things, yes, a meeting with the King has been scheduled."
"But first, other things. Fun things. I want you to enjoy the Windy City and I want you to enjoy me." He held my hands in his and leaned across the table to give me a lingering, soulful kiss. His tongue searched my mouth igniting in just that touch a pent up fire inside me. "Will you try to do that?" He kissed me again.
"You make it easy to enjoy you," I answered. And he did. All the over thinking, all the analysis, worry and speculation seemed to fade when his mouth met mine.
Kwan announced the beginning of our descent. "Thank God," Tristan drew me close again and whispered against my ear. "I can't wait too much longer to strip those clothes off of you and fuck you senseless. My cock is begging to be buried inside your beautiful body."
My clit tightened at his bold words. I closed my eyes and let the lusty moment carry me away to where there were only two bodies, naked and alive, pushing and pulling, taking and being taken.
***
Tristan had told the front desk to hold our things until we called for them to be brought up to the rooms. The elegant elevator moved at the speed of the last ketchup in the bottle. I felt his hand massaging my ass as we crawled up to the top floor. The elevator was quite small and we weren't alone. I pressed back against him and felt his hardness giving me a preview of coming attractions.
"You always have to get the penthouse," I teased in a whisper over my shoulder. "It's going to take all night just to get there."
"The Drake's an old hotel. Opened in the 1920's."
"Maybe we're riding in the original elevator."
"I think you're right."
Our suite looked like it hadn't changed much since the twenties, either. Everything was new and perfectly clean, but decked out in brocades and satin, and furnished in Italian Renaissance style, the rooms had a decidedly old fashioned elegance.
From the windows of the suite I could see a patch of beach illuminated by the lights on Lake Shore Drive. I had never seen one of the Great Lakes and I was looking forward to getting a good look at the inland sea the next day. The half-moon glinted on some choppy water but didn't shed much light there.
Tristan came up behind me and circled my waist with his arms as we looked out over the lake together. "When I was a little kid, we had a lake house for a while near St. Joseph, Michigan. It's a real challenge to swim in that lake."
"Why is that?"
"Scrotum scrunching cold. Mom would force me to get out when my lips were blue." He turned me around to face him and possessed me with a kiss. Our desire, fueled by the separation, burst into flames between our hungry bodies.
As I knew it would, his touch wiped away any thought of hesitation. I was molten under his knowing hands. Our clothes quickly formed a heap at the foot of the big hotel bed. He fed the fire in me with his devouring mouth, first against my lips, then my neck, and down to nibble and suck on my nipples that strained for him.
I reached for his erection and he curled his long body so that I could take him in my hand. He was completely hard and the silky skin on his cock pulsed with heat. I looked at the beautiful instrument of my pleasure and sighed at the sight of it. All of his rigid length stood at attention. For me. For my body.
He held my arms above my head as he teased and nipped at the little buds. I arched my pelvis against his chest, urging him lower, pleading for his attention on my sex. He released my hands as he traced down my skin with torturing slowness. I could feel the brush of his cock against my thighs. I was wet with lust. I wanted to pull him back to my mouth and feel him mount me, but I knew his ways. He would tease me first, satisfy me before he satisfied himself and only then would I know the prize of penetration. He liked it that way. Torment, delicious torment, was always part of fucking Tristan.