antihero | Author Deborah A Bailey

“Oh, no.” Carla pushed off the bed and picked Duke’s shirt she’d abandoned on the floor. Pulling the buttoned-up clothing over her head, she shoved arms into the long sleeves. The cotton fabric fit, skimming her curves and chaffing her nipples, the length almost to mid-thigh.

A look in the narrow mirror above the vanity showed it didn’t look too bad. A wide belt would turn the outfit into a fashionable boyfriend shirtdress if only she had one.

Without undies or shoes, the outfit was the least of her problems. Duke had taken everything else, and she wouldn’t stoop to wearing his boxer-briefs or footwear or whatever else he had in the lockers.

Tap. Tap.

Carla swivelled at the sound. “Who is it?”

The door slid sideways, and the stewardess who’d attended to her previously stood there with a pair of double-plait, toe-thong, tan leather sandals in her hand. “Mr Odili wants you to have these.”

“Whose are they?” Carla took the clean, polished items. However, the scuffs beneath the heels showed they’d been worn.

“They are mine. Mr Odili requested a pair of shoes for you. These are the only spares I have in my cabin bag.”

“Oh. Thanks. But I can’t take your stuff.”

“It’s okay. He has already paid more than they’re worth. So, you can have them.”

“Thank you.” They were little more than flip-flops, and not to Carla’s style. But beggars, and all.

Obviously, Duke hadn’t planned for her presence. Hence the lack of alternative clothing when hers had been taken. Still, his improvisation was sufficient, and the problem was solved.

“You need to take your seat and put your seatbelt on,” the woman said, waiting beyond the threshold.

“I’m coming.” Carla glanced at her reflection once more, using fingers to detangle and tidy the mass of curls falling around her face. She shoved her feet into the flat shoes, followed the air hostess into the aisle and halted.

In the first bank of four cream leather seats, the men were in conversation. The private jet had one chair on either side of the narrow aisle with reasonable gaps between opposing chairs for legroom and the collapsible lacquered tables used for dining or working. On the left side, Maddox—she assumed—faced her. Duke was adjacent on the right side while Mason sat opposite, his back to her.

Duke lifted his head. Black eyes ringed with heavy lashes stared at her, piercing straight to her soul.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her knees jellied. She gripped the top of the empty seat to her left.

Blinking, he looked away, his attention back on whatever Mason was saying in a low tone. His middle finger rubbed back and forth over his lips.

Only minutes ago, his hand had been on her bum setting her skin ablaze, and inside her fuelling her climax. Could he still smell and taste her essence?

As if he read her thought, his pink tongue flicked out and swiped the pad of his long finger. He might as well have swiped his tongue on her clit.

Desire flared in her veins. Her core clenched. Suppressing a moan, she closed her eyes, clamping her thighs together.

“Ms Owo.”

Carla’s lashes fluttered open at the sound of her name. “Yes?”

Four pairs of eyes were on her—the three men who had stopped talking and the air hostess pointing at an empty chair in the next section.

“Take your seat.”

Had she moaned loud enough to attract attention? She would just die if she had.

Laughter lines crinkled Duke’s eyes and his mouth tugged up at the corner in slow amusement.

Her cheeks heated. She hurried and tumbled into the first chair without any elegance. Her bum ached from the spanking, but she was glad the men couldn’t see her.

Still aroused, her pulse raced, her breathing irregular and shallow. At this rate, there would be a wet patch on the shirt since she had no knickers to absorb the moisture slicking her thighs.

Why did the man get her easily excited? He knew how to push her button.

She strapped on her seatbelt and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to take calming breaths. Otherwise, she would walk down the aisle, sit on Duke’s lap and ride his dick, the rest of his team be damned.

About Kiru Taye

Author Kiru Taye Kiru wanted to read stories about Africans falling in love. When she couldn’t find those books, she decided to write the stories she wanted to read. Her stories are sensual, her characters are flawed and sometimes she adds a dash of exciting suspense.