One
Tristan offered me a drink from the well-stocked bar over the kitchen counter. He slid the rolling shelf out and motioned for me to choose. The last drink I had on an airplane was a little mini of cheap wine from a cart. I went over to the cabinet and eyed an array of full sized bottles that would rival most bars. There was a chrome grate across the bottom half of the lineup that I guessed was to prevent anything from flying off the shelf if we hit any turbulence.
"I know better than to let you choose for me. You nearly killed me with that kamikaze I had at your house that first night." I grimaced remembering how potent the drink had been. I pointed to some premium vanilla vodka. "A little of that and some orange juice, if you have some."
"One 'creamsicle' coming up." I watched his hands as he made my drink and poured some scotch over ice for himself.
His hands captivated me almost as much as his face and voice from the first day I met him. Could it have only been two months ago? Two months for those hands to know my body better than I ever dreamed possible? "Between the kamikaze and the way I left you that night, I'm surprised you ever wanted to be with me again," he let one cool finger trail over the sensitive underside of my wrist as he passed my drink to me.
"You have a way of redeeming yourself." I tasted my drink. "Mmm, mmm. This is more like it."
Tristan lowered himself with his usual grace onto the dove gray leather sofa. Never had a man so impressed me with the way he moved. Everything Tristan King did seemed subtly choreographed--a personal ballet designed just for him. He patted the seat beside him, but I didn't immediately join him.
I'd had to buckle my seat belt before I got the chance to really explore the interior of the huge private jet. We'd done a quick walk-through before the pilot had called for us to take our seats and now that we were on our way, I wanted to poke around a bit.
"Do you mind if I look around?"
"Help yourself. It's quite interesting, really, to see how things are adapted for an aircraft's interior. The same kind of things you'd do on a ship."
"Have you got a ship, too?"
"I wouldn't call it a ship. But I do have a nice yacht."
That didn't surprise me in the least. I wandered around the kitchen/dining area first. There was a convection oven, a microwave, a refrigerator, several cabinets with dishes but no actual stove. "I guess you don't really cook on a plane, right?"
"No, whatever I need is ordered from a caterer who specializes in provisioning for aircraft. There are quite a few choices, if you're hungry."
"No, maybe later." I ran my fingers over the surface of the highly polished wooden table top. "Table for eight? You could do a flying dinner party."
"Like the table? The wood is very distinctive. It's called ebony burl and it's found mainly in Laos."
I studied the dark and light swirling pattern on the shiny tabletop. "It's very pretty." I walked toward the living room and Tristan watched me from the couch. He was seated on one of two three-seaters and there were additional loveseats and big comfortable looking recliners. The entire interior was done in shades of gray and ivory with lots of different types of wood accents. The effect was warmly masculine; rich but not ostentatiously so.
"The furniture converts into sleepers. Counting the master, eight people can sleep on board."
Between the living area and the bedroom was an office space with four chairs and desks. Beyond that, the master suite. I stood in the arch of the bedroom door surveying the big bed with its creamy spread and the fur throw casually, but purposefully draped over one corner. I felt Tristan come up behind me and encircle my waist, holding my back against him.
"Are you prepared to get nice and cozy tonight?" He playfully rubbed himself against my ass and I pressed back and wiggled.
"Tristan, who does all this for you? I mean, your pilot doesn't come on board and lay the fur on the bed just so, fill the vases with exotic flowers and make sure you've got a fully stocked bar right down to the Stoli vanilla."
"There's a service. They don't require much notice, unless I have special requests. This trip I had lots of special requests, so I had them start days ago." He got an impish look on his face. "Aren't you going to ask what my special requests were?"
"Do I dare?"
There was a closet on the right side of the bedroom and Tristan slid one of the polished panels aside. I saw a woman's wardrobe hanging there. I didn't have to look to know that the clothes were all my size and the dozen pairs of shoes below them would all fit perfectly. That's why I had been instructed to bring nothing but my passport. Tristan wanted to dress me like his own personal doll. It was romantic and disconcerting at the same time. But, I'd agreed to the game so I had to make the best of it.
"How lovely! I've never in my life had everything brand new at once." I really did try to sound sincere, but there was an element of the whole scene that was pushing the buttons on my bizarre-o-meter.
"If you hate the clothes, there are plenty of places to shop where we're going." He looked so little-boy-sad it made me feel like an ungrateful bitch.
"I don't hate the clothes. I haven't even looked at them yet. It's all just a little overwhelming, that's all. Being whisked into the sky, not knowing where I'm going and not having a thing of my own with me."
"I meant for this to be fun for you . . ."
I took his hand. "I know you did and it is fun for me. It just takes some getting used to, Tristan. Remember, I'm the girl who wears clothes that don't have a pedigree and drives an old red 'Eep.'"
He laughed at the reference to my Jeep with its missing first letter. "I did offer to replace the Eep, you know."
I just shook my head. The man was incorrigible.
"You could at least let me get you a new 'J'."
"You know what I'd really like?"
"Say the word and it's yours."
"I'd really like to take a bath in that big tub I spied in there. I feel a little grungy after the play and all."
"Absolutely . . . of course. Everything you need should be stowed under the sink." He pulled me close for a long deep kiss. His lips parted against mine and I felt his hot tongue snake into my mouth. He smelled almost edible. The slight peaty scent of his scotch-tinged breath and the lingering faint scent of masculine cologne was a powerful combination. Everything about him smelled like it should be bottled and sold as "MAN".
His hands pulled on the cheeks of my ass and pressed my groin into his. "I'll have a shower in the front bathroom and we'll rendezvous when we're all pink and shiny. Take your time, but hurry. My cock is already remembering all things you said you planned to do with me . . ." I was almost tempted to tell him to skip the shower.