If you've fallen asleep at your desk clutching a cup of coffee today, raise your hand! Never fear, we've got something better than caffeine to perk you up: a smutty scene from Megan Hart's next erotic tale, Flying, which releases tomorrow. It's about a woman who does something we wish we had the guts (and money) to do: she flies to a different city every weekend and hooks up with sexy strangers. Sounds like the perfect escape, and the perfect story for a Monday excerpt. Enjoy!
They don’t talk again about his collar…or lack of it. She expects that at any minute he’ll tell her he has to leave. They are in an airport, after all. Then he explains his plane’s been delayed by those very same storms that had started their conversation. She tells him she’s also been delayed because of weather, and as lies go, it’s so small it could almost be the truth.
There’s a moment when she can tip this the other way. She can thank him for the food and the iced teas he's paid for. She can walk away and let him keep the secrets he already has, instead of becoming one more he has to keep. Stella, momentarily moral, stands to wish him a good night and good luck.
Glenn stands too. He asks her where she’s staying. The moment for doing the right thing has passed, and who’s to say what’s right and wrong, anyway? He’s an adult. She isn’t forcing him.
All she's done is offer the temptation. He doesn’t have to take it. But as she gathers her bag and he helps her with her coat, Stella knows he already has.
“I have a reservation at the Mariott,” he tells her.
“Me too,” she says, and excuses herself to the restroom, where she makes one.
In the lobby, she gets her key while Glenn studies the nondescript paintings of horses and flowers with the intensity deserving art hung in the Met. She’s asked for a room on the lobby level—no elevators, no stairs, just the shortest of walks down a hallway smelling of antiseptic.
At the door, she turns to him with a smile. “Good night, Glenn. Thanks for walking me.”
Stella’s the one who offers her hand. Palm to palm, fingers link. There’s a long, slow and lingering squeeze. She tugs him, gently. One step closer. Then another. There’s only space enough for a breath between them, and she takes it. In these shoes, all she has to do is tilt her head and offer her mouth, let her tugging hand make him believe she’s pulling him when he’s the one taking the steps.
She doesn’t kiss him. That’s important. Stella lets Glenn start the kiss, and she lets him break it too. She keeps her eyes closed and can’t stop herself from smiling. Without opening them or looking to make sure they’re alone in the hallway, she leans back against the door to her room and puts his hand, fingers still linked with hers, inside her dress. Against her skin. She curls her fingers around his so that his knuckles brush lace and heat. He kisses her again, harder this time.