Prim and Proper Fate (Twisted Fate Series Book 2) (13 page)

Timing was everything, he supposed. And he’d be damned if he’d let this opportunity get away, no matter how uncomfortable the situation might get.

Apparently, Prim felt the same way, because her hand was on his cock, massaging him through his jeans, which had become way too tight. He tore his mouth away from hers to gasp out loud.

“Fuck, Prim. Are you telling me—”

“That I want you?” she murmured as she nibbled along his neck and slipped her other hand under his T-shirt. Her hand skated across his chest, her fingers raked through his chest hair and then tweaked first one, then the other nipple, while the other hand continued methodically pushing the strains of his zipper.

“Holy hell.” He groaned and cupped the back of her neck with one hand and her ass with the other, pulling her flush against his body. Every one of her soft curves molded perfectly with the sharp angles and hard edges of his body. He never imagined they’d fit so well together.

His lips made a renewed assault on hers as he ground her hand between them. She made a sexy little purring noise that was nearly his undoing. When he backed off a fraction, she unsnapped then unzipped his jeans, and then she slipped her hand inside his pants and found the golden prize.

He nearly poured his seed into her fucking hand.

“Prim.” He wheezed as she stroked him closer and closer to orgasm. “Hang on. Give me a sec. Fates!” He grasped the hem of her skirt, jerked it up, and and then smoothed his way up her thigh to the edge of her silk panties. Damn it, he wished this were happening somewhere else. Anywhere else. He would like for her to be horizontal, where he could strip her naked and admire her beautiful body with his eyes and his hands and his lips. He wanted to kiss her everywhere. He wanted to taste her.

He settled for ripping those silk panties from her person and sliding a finger through the wetness between her legs. She gasped and arched into his touch, spreading her legs as much as the tiny compartment would let her. He wanted to fuck her so badly his balls ached, and he had no goddamn idea how they were possibly going to make it work in this airplane bathroom. Of all places for this to happen.

He groaned again and muttered a few words under his breath that in any other circumstance would have caused Prim to toss a silencing spell at him.

“Are we really doing this?” she asked as she shifted on the sink, somehow managing to spread her legs a fraction wider. It was just enough.

“Oh, hell yeah.” He shoved his jeans and boxer shorts down to his hips. “There is no fucking way I’m stopping now.” He grabbed her hand, still wrapped around his cock, and guided it toward her opening.

“Thank the Fates.” Her voice was breathy, sexy, full of need. She lifted her hips and grabbed his shoulders. It took one thrust, like a hot knife through butter, and he filled her, her body instinctively clamping down around him, pulling him deeper still. She shuddered and twisted her fingers in his hair, and he grabbed her hips to hold her still for a minute, so he could breathe through the impulse to ram it in two or three times until he mindlessly exploded. As desperate as he was for release, he wanted to enjoy the ride. He wanted
her
to enjoy the ride.

When she started wiggling and whimpering, he ground his teeth and willed himself to hang on. The pleasure was like nothing he’d ever experienced before in his long life, but he did not want to go there alone. He wanted Prim to meet him there. He wanted her to crest that hill with him.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. Oh. Oh. I’m coming. Oh Fates, I’m coming!”

“You are?” he said, dumbfounded. He’d barely put it in. He’d barely—

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, move already!”

“Oh, shit.” He finally got into the game, dug his fingers into her hips and thrust for all he was worth. Her inner muscles squeezed and pulsed as she climaxed, and he met her there a couple thrusts later, pouring his seed into her as her nails scrabbled at the back of his T-shirt and the heels of her shoes dug into his ass and she made sexy sounds into his ear.

If the plane went down at that moment, he would die a happy shifter.

Prim dropped her head back and leaned it against the mirror behind her, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. One arm draped over his shoulder, while the other hand rested casually on his hip. Brandon lifted one hand to cup her neck, massaging a little.

“Mm-mm,” was her response to that action. He stared at her until she opened her eyes and looked back at him, uncertainty in their depths. He wanted to reassure her she had nothing whatsoever to be nervous about, but he’d spent too many years of his life as a realist, and besides, there was plenty about this situation to stress about.

Gavin—not cursed. Sydney—miserable. Prim—a Fate. Brandon—not. And let’s not forget, he was supposed to hate Fates. And Prim hadn’t exactly been overly friendly toward him until just recently. Hell, for all he knew, she was a one-night stand kind of girl. Although he dismissed that idea as soon as it formed. She was far too high-maintenance for casual relationships.

Not that he was exactly looking for something non-casual. Hell, he wasn’t looking for anything at all. His objective was to find Gavin, to put that damn curse back on him, and to return to the pack they’d formed. Beyond that, his only objective was to begin to enact Sydney’s idea of going on the offensive, of attacking and systematically destroying the Rakshasa so they didn’t decimate the humans and kill Sydney. Didn’t sound like there was much room in that scenario for something more than a casual fling. He didn’t like how depressed that thought made him feel.

“I hate to be the downer here, but we should probably, uh, get back to our seats.”

Prim looked down at their joined bodies, regret etched into her face. He chose to assume the regret was the result of having to end the interlude, not because it happened in the first place. While he tried to talk himself into the idea that this was casual, his body made it clear it wanted Prim, whatever the circumstances. Which meant he had every intention of this happening again, although preferably in a more comfortable location.

He grabbed a wad of toilet paper, pulled out, wiped off, and tucked himself back into his jeans. Then he leaned as far back as he could to allow Prim to adjust herself. Awkwardly, he snagged her torn panties off the floor.

“I think these are toast.”

“I think you’re right. Why don’t you go ahead? I need a minute to freshen up.”

“Right.” He fumbled with the latch and all but fell out of the tiny compartment when the door finally popped open. The same elderly woman who’d been in the other restroom was standing in the hall.

“Oh good,” she said, reaching for the door. She paused when she saw Prim, still seated on the sink, one high heel pressed against the toilet seat, her skirt hitched up around her hips. Her gaze strayed to Brandon and he quickly stuffed the torn panties into his pocket. The woman’s eyes grew round as she turned and hustled back down the aisle. Brandon could have sworn he heard her say, “Lucky bastards.”

Prim would have liked to stay in that tiny room until the plane landed. Anything to avoid walking out there and sitting next to Brandon, after what they’d just done. The walk of shame across a college campus had nothing on this experience.

In the restroom on an airplane?

He’d joked about joining the Mile High Club the last time they’d flown together, and she’d been offended. Today, she practically attacked him in a space that wasn’t even technically big enough for one person to pee properly. Wait, there was no practically about it. He’d been so surprised when her hand began caressing his erection, she could have whipped it away and stuttered some excuse and that would have been the end of it. Instead, she massaged harder, she kissed more insistently, and then she began undoing his pants. She was pretty sure he still wasn’t overly certain what was going on by that point. The entire interlude had been her fault.

The real issue at this point, beyond her own embarrassment over her actions, was that shortly before she attacked the man, she’d decided that he would be perfect for her Chala. She’d kept Lily hidden away, not wanting to lose her, not wanting her to die, but now Brandon, Sydney, and William knew about her. It was time to come clean, time to be honest, time to let Lily join the real world. The very idea caused her heart to stutter a few times in her chest.

How would she explain what she’d just done to Lily? “Oh, I was just taking him for a test drive, sweetie. I wanted to make sure he would set your skirt on fire. You deserve the best, after all.”

Ho boy did he set
her
skirt on fire. Her body still tingled, and she was pretty sure that was the fastest orgasm on record. Certainly in her personal record books. She’d come so fast, he’d barely had time to put it in. She tried to tell herself it was because she hadn’t had proper sex in over 170 years, but she knew better. First of all, sex in an airplane restroom was by no means ‘proper.’ And secondly, Prim knew damn well the length of time since her last real interlude had precious little to do with it.

Her reaction had been all about the man with whom she’d had the orgasm. Lily was a lucky woman. Prim only hoped she appreciated what Prim was about to give her. Because Prim suspected she’d have a very difficult time giving him away.

The airline attendant’s voice crackled across the loudspeaker system, warning everyone to return to their seats and fasten their seatbelts as they were nearly to New Orleans, so Prim reluctantly left her tiny sanctuary. She walked up the aisle on unsteady legs, and as soon as she was close enough, Brandon snagged her around the waist and pulled her into his lap. Oblivious to her struggles, he nuzzled her neck and licked the v of cleavage exposed by the collar of her shirt.

“Brandon, really,” she protested, even as her body warmed and hummed and whispered suggestions about doing it again. She was becoming a wanton. One time in 170 years and suddenly she was a sex-starved youngling.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t resist. I meant to do that earlier, but it was a little hard to move in that bathroom.” Prim’s face flamed as he lifted her and positioned her on the seat next to him. His hand slid possessively over her thigh, between her knee and the hem of her skirt. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I am already so fucking hard again because I know you’re sitting there without any panties on right now.”

She tried to be indignant, but the truth was, she was hot, too. It would be so easy to simply slide back onto his lap, hitch up her skirt a little . . .

“Ma’am, please fasten your seatbelt. We’re preparing for landing. Thank you.” The attendant’s gaze swept over them, lingering on Brandon’s hand, which had inched higher on Prim’s leg, and then she moved on.

“Brandon, please stop manhandling me.” She fastened her seatbelt. “It isn’t really appropriate right now don’t you think?”

“It wasn’t really appropriate in an airplane bathroom either, but we made it work.” He grinned. Clearly all was forgiven. She would have to remember that, if she ever made him angry again. Wait–scratch that. She wasn’t supposed to think that way. She was going to give him to Lily. Lily would be the one who would get to soothe his anger with sex.

Lucky Chala.

The plane landed without incident, other than Brandon’s insistence on whispering suggestions as to what they could do together when they found a few moments alone, and Prim nearly bolted from her seat in an effort to get away from him. She was half-afraid she’d try to drag him into the nearest utility closet and once again have her way. Unfortunately, she knew damn well he wouldn’t protest. Brandon was making his opinions on the situation abundantly clear: he wanted her, he assumed (correctly) she wanted him, and as far as he was concerned, they should act on their mutual desire. Soon. Often.

How was she supposed to resist
that
?

Apparently, sex was good for Brandon’s disposition. He didn’t complain once when they stood at the luggage carousel, watching the plethora of bags go round and round. He checked the voicemail on his cell phone while they waited for Prim’s luggage.

“One from Killian, wanting to know if we’ve seen Lily,” he said, arching his eyebrows.

She thinned her lips and said nothing. She was furious with the Fate for daring to take advantage of her Chala. In desperation, when she’d finally given in to Brandon, William, and Sydney, and agreed to help find Gavin, she’d taken Killian into Lily’s wing of her home and shown him the secret she’d kept hidden for all these years.

“A Chala?” he’d whispered, staring at the woman’s porcelain doll features, the elegant curve of her neck, the smooth, sun-darkened skin exposed beyond the hem of her dress. Whether by accident or not, Lily had turned into a slightly shorter version of Prim herself. She should have known better than to leave the most precious person in her world in Killian’s care.

“How old is she?” he’d asked, speaking as though Lily were not perfectly capable of talking for herself.

“She will be one hundred seventy-one on her next birthday. When I found her, I truly believed she was the last Chala on earth.”

“The First doesn’t know about her.” It had been a statement, not a question.

“No. Her mother was a Chala. They were under attack. She knew she was going to die. She gave Lily to me and asked me to save her. She wasn’t even mine.” Lily had stood silently through the explanation, through Killian’s blatant perusal of her person. Prim could tell she was annoyed, but she had taught the Chala well. Manners were important, regardless of the situation. She had grown into such a lovely, respectable, intelligent young, albeit old, lady. Prim had never been so proud of any of her Chala as she was of Lily.