Sexy Hart (Sexy Series) (24 page)

“Damn it. Let me think about it.”

“Okay,” I laugh, “You think up some secret place that no one else knows about where you and I can get down to it. In the meantime,” I say, taking his food tray and stacking it on top of mine,” I’m going to move these over here to the spare seat and get my cuddle on.”

“Not just a pretty face, Mrs. Hart.”
Whoa…
That’s the second time he’s called me that. The first time I managed not to focus on it because of the nature of the conversation, but this time, it really hits me like a tonne of bricks. Nice bricks, though, very nice bricks and I’m protected by styrofoam, but still - I felt the force of it, hard.

I bring my legs up to my chest and lean against him. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“About what?”

“About me being a Mrs.… Mrs. Hart.”

“Really? You know we got married, right?”

I laugh and swat his chest. “I just didn’t think about that bit.”

“Do you want to change your name? Clare Catherine Alden is a very nice name, darling, but I do think Clare Catherine Hart has an extra special ring to it - but I’m biased. In all seriousness, though, as much as I’d love for you to take my name, I really don’t mind if you’d rather keep yours.”

“Wow, this is so… real. No, I’ve always said I would take my husband’s name if I ever got married. It’s just suddenly dawned on me that it’s time to do that. Well, once we’re out in the open.”

“Of course, you don’t have to do it immediately, but I’m pleased that you will. It means a lot to me, you know.”

I smile up at his face, “Well I’m happy that it makes you happy. I’ll wear that name with pride, my darling,” I say, grabbing his gorgeous face and planting a big kiss on those tempting lips.

The kiss lingers, and as we separate, he smiles and rests his head back against his seat, gazing at me. “You’re beautiful.”

I blush, as always, and do my usual looking down business. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers smoothly, lifting my chin, “we’re going to have to work on this. I know you’re shy accepting compliments, but I’m your husband now and you’re going to be getting a lot of them.
Because you’re beautiful. I
will
notice this every day and
will
be telling you, so let’s try to work on your reaction. Okay?”

I giggle, shyly. “Okay.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, testing me, and I just can’t help it! I still look down. “No, let’s try again. You are one of the most pulchritudinous women I have ever met.”

I smile and continue to look him straight in the eye to respond. “Thank you, Oliver, that’s kind of you. Although, I will admit - I can to respond to that without blushing because I have absolutely no idea what it means.”

He laughs a deep, sexy, slow laugh that sends a taunting rumble to my jungle. His fingers slip around the back of my head and splay - something he tends to do to me a lot - before he speaks slowly and sexily, as if he’s drunk on something less ugly than alcohol. Love, maybe. “It means beautiful, my gorgeous girl; bewitching, delightful, easy on the eyes. Everything that you are, always have been and always will be.”

“Oh god, Oliver…” I say, shaking my head and looking away.
“I can’t not blush when you say things like that!”

“Okay, okay. We’ll keep trying. Maybe with time you’ll learn to accept and believe it, because it’s very true, and I won’t stop.”

“Okay, I’m okay with that. I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me sexy lady, I’ve got to see a man about a dog.”

“Say ‘hi’ from me.

He stands and stretches in the space in front of us before heading to the loo. I watch as he goes, taking in his delicious bottom in those sexy jeans, his broad, muscular, masculine back covered in a fitted navy t-shirt and the strong biceps that flex at his sides.
Mmm. Gorgeous.
I wriggle in my seat, easing the throb. I can’t wait to get him back to the UK and in a bed.

The trays finally get taken while he’s in the loo and I get comfy again, laying down, waiting for him to return. He’s taking a while so I can only assume he’s stuck behind one of the trollies but I finally see him emerge from the galley ahead of us and I smile instantly when I catch sight of his gorgeous, tanned face.

He reaches up to open the overhead locker to retrieve his jumper and I instinctively lick my lips at the sight of the trail of hair on his belly above his belt as his t-shirt lifts.
Oh… I want to lick him and kiss him and bite him…
He puts the jumper on and I stand to let him sit back down first so I can cosy up in his embrace again. “You were gone a while…”

“Yeah. Boner,” he says bluntly, by way of explanation.

“What?” I cry, laughing, totally surprised by his response.

“What?” he chuckles, “You can’t pee with a boner. You should stop being so hot and maybe I wouldn’t have that problem.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” I say, mock-seriously, “I will be more considerate in future.”

“I should think so, too.”

He cuddles me close to him again, inhaling my hair deeply and kissing my head. “I’m not feeling so great.”

“Really?” I ask, worried. “What’s the matter?”

“Don’t worry yourself, darling, just my belly feels a bit odd, that’s all. Can I take this out?” he asks, changing the subject and fiddling with my hairband.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” I say, reaching up to free my mass of hair but he holds my hands before I manage to get near.

“No, let me do it, I won’t hurt, I promise.”

I bring my hands back down to rest on my tummy as he carefully unties my ribbon and unwinds the band, pulling it gently down and out of my hair. He lifts his hips below me to slip them into his pocket and then runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp.
Oh. My. God.
I literally sigh out loud and a shiver passes through my entire body as his fingers work their magic. “Uh… Oliver…” I moan, intoxicated by the strength, rhythm and mastery of his fingers.

He continues to play with my thick hair as he whispers in my ear, “Clare, darling, please don’t make noises like that when I’m trying to work through some serious sexual frustration. Okay?”

I grin. “Okay, I’m sorry… it’s just oh… so…
good.
”

“Oh dear. I’m really not feeling right.”

“Oh no, really?” I ask, immediately sitting upright, forcing my head away from his wonderful hands. “Do you feel sick?”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay, come and give me a cuddle.”

I lay back down, cautious not to put pressure on his belly and make him feel any worse. God, I hope he doesn’t puke. I can’t imagine having to vomit on an aeroplane. Gross.

He slips his hand down to rest on my bottom and he squeezes it, pulling me hard into his body, rubbing my hip against his groin. I look up at his face and his eyes are closed but his mouth is smirking. “Careful. Oliver, I don’t want to press on your tummy.”

“Oh, Clare,” he says with a long sigh, his eyes still closed, “you’re so caring and thoughtful. And sexy and tasty and hot and all of those amazing things that makes you, you. I want to make love to you so much.”

“Me too, but let’s not think about that right now, you’re feeling poorly and I want you to feel better.”

He nods like a child. “Yes. Me, too.”

The lights in the cabin dim after a short while, prompting everybody to have a sleep or watch a film in relative quietness. I notice less and less people moving around after half an hour or so and that appeases me somewhat; I don’t want anyone or anything disturbing Oliver. I think he’s sleeping and I really want him to sleep off his tummy ache. I pray we don’t encounter any turbulence to force us to sit up and put our seat belts on.

I close my eyes, finally allowing myself to relax against him when he taps my shoulder. “Hmm?” I ask, immediately. “Everything okay? You alright, Oliver?”

He grimaces and shakes his head. “No, I’m feeling bad, I think I need to go to the loo and do what needs to be done.”

“Oh god, okay,” I say, standing up to let him move.

He stands slowly, one hand resting on his tender stomach. “Will you come with me?” he asks and I could cry for him, that’s the cutest thing anyone has ever asked of me during a really quite icky moment.

“Of course I will,” I say, resting my hand on his back and walking with him, slowly, to the toilets.

As we approach, a member of the crew asks if Oliver is okay and he briefly explains that he’s feeling unwell and needs to use a bathroom right now. He happily guides us to the available one, understandably wanting to get Oliver out of the way, and he crouches down before the bowl looking more than ready to spew.
Oh god, am I going to have to witness this?

“Can I get you some water or anything?” the steward asks with a look on his face that says,
‘please say no - I just want to get a mask and some anti-bac hand sanitiser and get the hell away from you infectious people’.

“No,” Oliver says, shaking his head, “but Clare, can you shut the damn door, if I have to do this, I’d rather do it in private.”

“Oh,” I realise I’m standing right in the doorway. I shuffle in behind him and take one last look at the steward who pulls a horrified face and mouths ‘rather you than me in there’ before helping me close us into the confined space. I lock the door and stroke his back as the light flickers on. “Are you okay, Ol?”

He shocks the living daylights out of me by spinning around and standing up, fast as anything, and pushing me against the back wall, bending so his lips hover over mine. “I’m fine, Clare, but like I said, I’ve got to do what needs to be done…”

He presses his lips against mine forcefully and immediately runs his hand down my leg and lifts my skirt, pressing his fingers against my knickers in milliseconds. “Whoa.. oh!” I cry, in absolute, excited surprise.

He growls against my lips, kissing me ferociously, our tongues deep and searching.

He pulls my lace thong to the side and his fingers instantly find me more than ready. “Oh, holy fuck…” he breathes, pulling away from my lips, “…I’m so rock solid for your body, darling, you feel so…
so-o-o
good.”

“Uh huh…” I moan, high pitched, grabbing the back of his neck and forcing his lips against mine again. I slip my other hand down to the crotch of his jeans and tingle when I feel the huge, hard wood waiting for me, and as his fingers circle my clitoris gently, I let out a quiet wail.

“You want to do this, baby? Huh? You want to let me do this? In here?” he mumbles desperately against my skin, working his fingers in my knickers, his other hand caressing the back of my neck and head.

“Oh, fuck, Oliver, yes… I want this so badly, I need you… so, so badly.”

He grunts as he returns his bruising lips to mine and uses both hands to yank my knickers roughly down my thighs until they fall to the floor. I hitch my skirt higher around my waist and turn us both until I’m leaning back against the sink, and then I lower my hands to frantically undo his belt and jeans which, again, I’m quite the pro at.

I tug his trousers down, followed by his trunks, and I wrap my hand around him. Lifting one foot to the side of the toilet, I push by bottom up until I’m half sitting on the edge of the vanity unit, I vaguely notice that it’s wet and cold, but it’s hugely insignificant as I focus on the hot, throbbing cock in my hand.
Oh Holy Mary, you know I’m on the verge of an orgasm when I start using the ‘cock’ and ‘pussy’ language.

I put the other foot up against the doorframe behind Oliver so I’m fully open and ready to take him, deep and hard.

“Fuck me, Oliver, fuck me, put it inside me and fuck me hard… so hard…” I beg and he makes a loud, animalistic, frenzied growl as he forces his tongue in my mouth and positions his hot, ready cock right by me.

“Push… push, I want it, I want to feel it…” I mumble into his mouth.

‘Feel what, Clare?”

“Feel it… your cock, put it in me now - damn it, I’m so ready,” I cry, bossy and urgent, “my… my…. uh!” I moan as he bites down hard on my lip, “my pussy is so wet, Ol…”

“Fuck!” he roars and harshly pushes himself inside, fast, forceful and deep. We both cry out in a whisper, not entirely forgetting that we’re in the toilet of an aeroplane.

“Jesus, Clare, what you do to me… oh god I’m going to come so quickly,
your beautiful body… holy shit.” He thrusts deeply, rhythmically inside me, clutching my bottom in his hand, “You look… so… hot…” he says, intermittently, as he tries to look behind him at my parted legs, sprawled in this tiny cubicle.

“No…
”  I beg, “don’t, just fuck me, fuck me deep until you come inside me so hard that I can feel it, every last drop,” I moan, clearly feeling especially dirty today.

“Oh my god, oh holy fuck Clare, I’m going to come,”

“Yeah!” I moan as I feel his erection harder than ever, thrusting as deep as I’ve ever felt it, I know I’m going to bruise… but I’m going to like it. “Yeah, me too, I’m going to, too…” I wail, relatively quietly, considering.

“Come with me?” he asks, breathlessly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, burying my face in his shoulder, my fingernails digging into the flesh of his back. “Now… Oliver, now!” I whisper, urgently, feeling the blood rush to my private parts, the huge, heavy buzz becoming stronger and stronger until… oh, yes, “Yes!” I cry as it crashes into me, bursting, exploding, erupting, blasting…
Oh bejesus…