Flying. Megan Hart

      Stella pulls her dress up and over her head, then carefully hangs it over the back of the room’s other chair. She strikes a pose, showing off everything she has to its best advantage, and it must be working for him, because Daryl’s eyes go wide. He wipes a hand over his mouth.

      “Damn,” he says. “Look at you.”

      This is the rush. This is the gasping breath after being underwater for too long. This is coming out of the dark and into the light, if only for a little while.

      Stella needs this.

      “Kiss me,” she says, and Daryl is happy to oblige.

      He turns them both so he can sit on the edge of the bed with Stella standing between his legs. He breaks the kiss and leans into her, pressing his forehead to the stiff satin covering her belly. His hands roam over her ass, squeezing. He looks up at her, brow a little furrowed, lips parted and a little wet from their kisses.

      “What?” Stella traces a fingertip over one of his thick, dark eyebrows. His eyelashes are amazing, enviably long and thick, the sort a woman would kill for.

      “Didn’t think it would be this easy, that’s all.”

      She wonders if she ought to be a little insulted by this. Stella presses her thumb to Daryl’s lower lip; when he opens for her, she tucks it inside his mouth. He sucks it gently, biting the tip. She bends to kiss him, replacing her thumb with her tongue. She looks into his eyes.

      “We both want something,” she says. “Looks like it’s the same thing. Is there something wrong with that?”

      “No....”

      Some men, she knows, want to fuck women who act like whores. Some men think all women are whores. There is a difference. Stella’s not a slut or a whore no matter how many times she flies with strangers. No man can make her feel that way about herself, no matter what he says or how he acts. She cups Daryl’s chin in her palm, holding his face still while she studies him.

      “Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

      “No!” Daryl laughs and grips her hips, pulling her closer. “Hell no.”

      “You want to fuck me,” Stella murmurs, watching his pupils dilate as she speaks.

      “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

      She smiles, breathing assent against his mouth. “So fuck me, Daryl.”

      With a low growl, he pulls her onto the bed, rolling them both so he ends up on top. His weight’s a surprise, though the press of his erection isn’t. He pushes his hips against her, grinding. His mouth finds hers, a little too hard. Stella puts her hands flat on his chest to hold him back from her for a second. Daryl breaks the kiss to look at her, holding her gaze while he rocks his cock against her clit.

      They kiss for a long time, longer than she expects. But she doesn’t mind. They move together on the bed, grinding, rocking, rolling.

      Daryl moves a hand between her legs at last, slipping his fingers inside her panties. Stroking her clit. Then, pushing inside her. “Shit,” he breathes. “You’re so wet.”

      Kissing him, Stella shivers at the press of his thumb on her clit, the push of his fingers inside. One, then another. He fucks into her, and her body responds at once. Muscles going tight, breath short. She writhes under his practiced touch, giving herself up to this pleasure for a minute or so before she opens her eyes and finds him staring at her.

      “What?” She goes still.

      “I want to watch you come.” Daryl licks his lips. “I get off on making a woman come for me.”

      Stella pushes up on one elbow to reach his mouth with hers. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

      Daryl laughs then, relaxing. “Some women... They don’t like that.”

      “They don’t like to have an orgasm?” It’s hard for her to talk with his fingers working their magic. Her voice is low, throaty, trailing into a moan.

      “They like to come, sure, but they want to get right to the fucking. They want to rush things. They want my dick inside them too soon.”

      Stella arches into his caress, putting her arms over her head to find the solid support of the headboard. She spreads her legs wider, rocking into Daryl’s thrusting touch. His thumb slides on her clit in perfectly rough and staggered circles, teasing her.

      “I want to watch you come,” Daryl says again.

      “Keep doing what you’re doing,” Stella whispers. “And you will.”

      Daryl pauses long enough to slide her panties down and off, then gets back between her legs to kiss the insides of her thighs. Stella tenses, thinking he’ll use his mouth on her and waiting for that new sensation, but Daryl takes her clit between his thumb and forefinger instead. He squeezes gently. Pleasure builds, and Stella rides it. Her orgasm is a column of rising flame, consuming her. Ecstasy floods her, taking away the world and everything else beyond this sensation.

      Gasping, breathless, Stella cries out. When she quiets, the soft huff of Daryl’s breath caresses her inner thighs. She can’t move, doesn’t want to even shift to look at him. She is satisfied, replete. Until he begins to gently pinch her clit again. The pressure is soft and steady. It’s always harder for her to come a second time, but she’s willing to let him try. Stella breathes, relaxing into her desire. There’ve been times when she’s gotten anxious about her ability to have an orgasm, when it’s taken too long, when it has slipped away from her no matter how skilled or attentive her lover was being. There’ve been times when she’s had to push a partner aside and take over for herself, or sometimes even simply give up grasping at the elusiveness of her climax. But she’s never, ever faked it.

      “Wanna see you come again,” Daryl murmurs.

      Stella sighs. “I’m not sure...”

      “Relax.”

      She tries. When he moves his mouth onto her, Stella lifts herself to his tongue. Lips and teeth press her. His fingers move inside her. It’s taking too long, and the first was too strong. She’s not going to make it again....

      “Shhh,” Daryl says against her cunt. “Just feel good.”

      Stella’s flown with selfish men. Egotistical, arrogant men who haven’t cared if she’s come at all, much less more than once. Not often—it’s been her experience that most men, even the ones who pick up women in airport bars, like to be sure they can get the women off. But she’s never been with a man so insistent. So determined. And all she can do, really, is lie back and let Daryl try to get her to come.

      After another few minutes, he moves up her body to kiss her mouth. “No?”

      “Sorry,” Stella says, though she’s really not.

      Daryl laughs a little. “Damn. I tried.”

      “You did.” She rolls to straddle him. He’s not completely hard, but that changes after a minute of stroking. “Your turn.”

      “Let me just grab something.” In another minute he’s back, shucking out of his briefs and tearing the wrapper on the condom to sheathe himself.

      Stella watches him, her breath catching at his look of careful concentration as he smooths the condom onto his cock. How he grips himself at the base. How beautiful men are with their hard pricks in their fists, when their bodies have become tuned toward nothing but pleasure. She loves these moments maybe even more than the actual fucking, these moments when she watches her partner getting ready for her.

      Daryl fits himself inside her, keeping his weight balanced on one hand as he uses the other to guide himself. His cock is thicker than she’s expecting. Longer too. It makes her gasp when he seats himself all the way. He pauses for a few seconds, looking down at her.

      “You feel so good,” he says. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

      He