THE WORD ENOUGH DOES NOT exist when it comes to Tara. I have learned this the hard way. It may have taken us into the early morning hours, but I kept my word. I have fucked her all over this hotel room. After we broke the bed, figuratively, I bent her over the arm of the couch then had her sprawled out on the living room floor, spread eagle and pleading for more. I’m a different person when I’m with Tara. Desires I didn’t even know existed spring to the surface, and she is the only woman who can satisfy them. Even now, as dawn breaks over the high rises and the Sunday morning light brightens the room, I am still dying for more. Even now, as I have her pinned against the window buried inside her, I know my appetite will not be fulfilled. I’ll still want more. With Tara, I always want more. And that is completely detrimental because this weekend was about fucking her out of my system, not making her a vital part of it. I grip her wrists tighter as my cock thickens and another earth-shattering climax looms near. She is completely subdued beneath me, her legs forced apart by my brutal thrusts, her nipples clamped, her breathing strained.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she pleads with her eyes screwed shut.
“You need to come?” I jab my erection into her, circling my hips, slowing my motion. She expels a distressed sigh. It makes me even harder, which I didn’t think was at all possible. I pull out, only leaving the very tip of my pulsating cock in her saturated pussy.
“What if I use my tongue to make you come?”
“No,” she protests, replying exactly the way I want her to.
“No?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“You want my cock?”
“Yes!” She tries to move her hips to gain more of me, but I have her trapped.
“Tell me. Tell me you want to come all over my cock.” I lick her neck in a long, slow, heated drag.
“I want to come all over your cock,” she says with conviction.
She’s so close; her flesh so swollen and hot I could probably just nudge her with the head of my dick and she’d shatter.
“CJ, please.”
I don’t know when begging began to turn me on, but like I said before, I’m a different person with Tara. Or maybe it’s Tara turning me into a different person. I’m not sure which or either. I just know I’m enjoying this new, sexually liberated side of me.
“Beg for it.”
“Please, god please, just fuck me! Fuck me hard, make me come!”
Who am I to say no to an earnest plea like that?
I give Tara what she’s begging for. What, in reality, we are both begging for. A blissful, blinding release. I don’t hold on for long, as my entire being seems to become engulfed in Tara’s heavenly body. We both spasm with pleasure, our cries of explicit tournament equally loud. Then there’s nothing. Nothing for a long while except white noise and clear morning light.
Melted against her fevered body, exhausted both physically and emotionally, I unclamp each of Tara’s nipples and kiss her through the dull pain as blood rushes back to the abused little points. Once her harsh breathing subsides, I dispose of the condom and then lift her off the windowsill and into my arms. She’s limp against my chest as I walk across the room and deposit her on the bed. I smile like a stupid fool as I lie down next to her. Her skin is flushed, her cheeks are pink, and the corners of her lips are curled up into a satisfied smirk.
“If I told you you’re beautiful right now, would that be completely corny?”
Tara flutters her eyes open to look at me, that sweet little smirk permanently etched on her mouth. “I don’t think it’s ever corny to be called beautiful if the person saying it really means it.”
“Well, then, you’re beautiful.” I snuggle up behind her so we can spoon. She sighs sleepily.
“Thank you,” she replies graciously as she yawns. The exhaustion is mutual. I drop my head on the pillow and inhale the clean scent of her hair. It’s almost therapeutic, like eucalyptus at a spa. I close my eyes and drift off, dreaming of plumeria flowers and New York high rises and a beautiful blonde imploring me to stay.
THE SOUND OF A RINGING phone wakes me. At first, I think it’s a dream because I don’t recognize the sound, but then, I realize it’s not my cell. It’s the phone in the hotel room. It repeatedly rings only pausing for a few seconds before it starts up again. I reach over a sleeping Tara to answer it.
“Hello?” My voice is raspy.
“Sir, this is Raoul from the front desk. This is your courtesy call. Your limo to the airport will be here in a half hour.”
I rub the sleep out of my eyes, disoriented. Limo to the airport? What time is it? I glance at the clock. It’s nearly six pm. I scheduled a red-eye back to Oahu so I could sleep. That plan has been shot to shit considering Tara and I slept the entire day away.
“Thank you,” I respond gruffly before hanging up. This is not turning out how I planned. I wanted to spend more time with Tara. Go out to lunch, take a walk in Central Park, something before I left for good. But I guess last night took a toll on both of us. The moment of truth came sooner than expected, and now, we have to face it. I stare down at her sleeping form, memorizing each tiny feature on her gorgeous face. The way her platinum blonde hair falls across the pillow and how she tucks her hand under her chin as she sleeps. After a few moments, I reluctantly wake her.
“Tara,” I whisper in her ear. “Time to wake up, shortcake.”
She moans, protesting against opening her eyes.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” I nudge her this time. “You have to wake up. I have a plane to catch.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “What time is it?”
“Almost six at night.”
Her eyes pop open. “It’s that late?” The sun has nearly set as she looks out the window.
“I’m sorry.” I apologize, for what I don’t know. But I am.
“It’s fine.” She sits up and rubs her eyes. “I’ll get dressed.” The sleep is present in her husky voice, and I find it as sexy as those thigh-high boots she wears.
“What time is your flight?” she asks as she moves around the room collecting her clothes.
“In a few hours. The plane will be waiting when I get there.”
“Oh right, I forgot. You don’t fly commercial like the rest of us commoners,” she jokes. “Private jet is your airline of choice.”
“It’s the only way to fly,” I confirm sardonically.
I’m mostly packed; I just need to throw a few T-shirts, my toiletries, and a pair of pants into my bag. I catch Tara on her phone when I walk out of the bathroom after we’re both dressed. She looks concerned as she scrolls through it.
“Everything okay?”
She draws her attention away from the screen and plasters on a smile. I find it difficult to decipher if it’s genuine or fake, but I would really like to know which way her emotions are swaying. Every second drawing us closer to walking out the door seems to be another tiny slice on the surface of my skin. If I smiled right now, it would most definitely be fake.
“Fine.” She slips the phone into her back pocket. She’s casual this evening, dressed in jeans and an NYU sweatshirt. “Disappear for an entire weekend and people tend to look for you.” She laughs, coming to stand next to me. I use the opportunity to wrap her in my arms.
“But wasn’t it worth it?”
She sighs heavily, hugging me back. “It was definitely worth it.”
“Good.” I kiss her on the head. We stand there hugging much longer than a normal embrace would be. I know the time has come for me to let her go, but it’s so much harder than I expected it to be.
“Take a ride to the airport with me?” The question flies out before I can stop it.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
Me. Too.
Way too much.
I should cut the cord right here. Instead, I take her hand and lead her out of the room. We don’t talk much in the elevator, or the lobby, or the limo. The silence says it all. On the way to Teterboro, the small private airport in New Jersey where we house the jet, Tara just rests her head on my shoulder while I gaze out the window, stroking her hand with my thumb. Every mile closer to the airport feels like another boulder dropped on my chest.
How am I supposed to get on that plane and leave this girl?
Then I’m reminded. That is exactly what Tara is, a girl. A girl who still has so much life to experience. A girl who doesn’t need a thirty-three-year-old man with a demanding and secretive job holding her back. My entire life I have been strong. My entire life I have always risen to the occasion, and this situation is no different. I know right and wrong. I know what needs to be done, no matter how badly it hurts, because that is who I am. Selfless acts reap no rewards except a conscience of clear. One of my West Point professors told me that once, and although I didn’t exactly understand it at the time, I fully understand it now. Serving in the military, being part of a brotherhood, I know the world is bigger than just me. In this instance, the world I am speaking of also includes Tara—and what’s best for her, which, regrettably, is not me. The limo pulls onto the tarmac, and my chest actually constricts. Why, if this is the right thing, does it hurt so damn much?
The plane’s doors are open and waiting as Tara and I step out of the car. I can barely breathe looking up at the vehicle that is about to fly me away from her.
I have to do this.
I cup her face in my hands and pin her against the doorframe of the limo unable to speak.
I have to do this.
I have never been good at good-byes. It’s why I haven’t seen my family in nearly three years. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t want to say good-bye. In my line of work, you never know if it’s going to be the last time you see them. Or should I say, they see you. But I have to say good-bye right now. I owe her that at the very least.
“Thank you for coming to see me.” Tara surprises me by speaking first. It helps with the pressure building in my abdomen.
“You’re welcome.” I kiss her ardently. “Thank you for clearing your schedule for me.” I need to joke in order to deal with this.
“Anytime.” She giggles sweetly between kisses. I wish I could bottle that sound and listen to it in the middle of my loneliest night.
I have to do this.
I release Tara reluctantly and press one last kiss to her forehead. The hum of the idle engine behind me persistently reminding me I have to go.
“See you around.” She looks up at me and smiles weakly. I return the expression. I mentioned to her once that I didn’t do the good-bye thing, I always just say see you around. It’s the last thing I said to her before she walked into the airport in Hawaii.
“See you around,” I reply, attempting to sound cheery, but failing miserably. I leave Tara standing next to the car and board the plane. The captain is waiting by the cockpit door as I enter.
“Evening, sir.”
I roll my eyes. “Sid, you don’t have to be so formal. It’s just me.”
“I know.” He chuckles. “Just wanted you to feel important for a quarter of a second before I told you to sit the fuck down and buckle up.”
Now, there is the pilot I know and love.
“Much better.” I sigh.
I flop into the plush leather seat and gaze out the window at Tara. She’s still standing outside the car, staring up at the plane. My heart hurts just looking at her. I try to focus on anything else, but it seems the further away I am from her, the more magnified her presence is. I glance at her one last time as she climbs into the limo and shuts the door. The moment she disappears, it feels like my world flies out of control. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I pull out my phone and deliberate for a split second before I type away.
Me: Tell me a secret . . .
Moments tick by, too many for my liking before she responds.
Tara: I wish you would stay.
Those five words are all it takes to seal my fate and solidify my decision. I’m not ready to leave, yet. I’m not ready to leave Tara yet.
I shoot up from my seat and bang on the cockpit door. No, not protocol at all; we have a two-way intercom if we need to communicate, but who is thinking about things like that at a time like this?
“Sid! Cut the engine!” I pound on the door.
Several seconds later, an irritated Sid appears in front of me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, son? I was about to taxi out!” he snaps at me. I love Sid. He’s no-nonsense and tells you exactly how it is whether you want to hear it or not.
“I need to get off the plane. Open the door.”
“Did you hit your head or something? We have a flight plan. I have a family to get back to.”
No, it’s not typical for a pilot to talk back to his passenger, but this is a special circumstance since I’m the one usually flying the plane. I knew this weekend was probably going to take a toll, so I employed Sid to fly me to and from New York. There was no way I was going to want to fly thirteen hours home after spending close to thirty-six hours with Tara.
“Then go home. I can fly back commercial.”
He looks at me dumbfounded before his expression changes to understanding. A perverted understanding.
“You’re fucking pussy whipped.”
“Look who’s talking. You’re about to explode in your pants if you don’t get home to your wife.”
“Damn straight, son. Have you met my wife?”
Yes, she’s drop-dead gorgeous and half your age.
I huff. I’m not interested in arguing with Sid.
“Call me whatever you want, just open the fucking door already.”
Arrogantly, Sid slips back into the cockpit to hit the door release. As soon as I hear it click, I open the hatch.
“Hey!” He grabs my shoulder before I bolt out.
“I never said there was anything wrong with being pussy whipped, especially if that’s the pussy.” He nods toward the door, and I catch Tara climbing out of the limo.
I grab his wrist amicably. “Buddy, you have no idea how right you are.” Then I vacate the plane, heading straight for Tara. My heart feels like it’s about to burst in my chest as I rush to her, pulling her right off the ground into my arms.
“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asks as the cold December air bites the shell of my ears and both my cheeks.
“My schedule just opened up.” I plant her back down and then attack her mouth, kissing her so forcibly our teeth clink.
“Hey, chucklehead!” Sid’s baritone voice cuts through our reunion. “You forgot your shit!”
He tosses my duffle bag out of the plane onto the tarmac. “Have fun, you two,” he shouts right before he disappears.
Tara’s questioning look says it all.
“Don’t ask. I’ll tell you all about him on the way back to the city.” I jog over to grab my bag then slide into the warm limo next to Tara. I draw her to me and return my lips to their rightful place—her collarbone . . . and her neck and her mouth, and maybe even her pussy before this ride is over.
Whipped is definitely the right word to describe me.
What the fuck have I done?