Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

ELENNA

"I should be mad at you too." I flopped down beside Orion and searched around for my seatbelt.

"You know, some people think it’s bad luck to sit in a different seat on flights," he said.

"Because I might accidentally-on purpose spill hot coffee in your lap?" I asked sweetly.

He looked back at me steadily. "It’s not bad luck if you do it deliberately." He clicked his seatbelt together and adjusted it over his lap.

"A lot of athletes have weird superstitions. Like, they think if they sit in seat 6A instead of 9B, they might play badly."

I knew that about hockey players. Aidan always insisted on sitting in row five. Even when the Demons were losing. Apparently that didn’t extend to where I sat, as long as I was seated and my seatbelt fastened.

"What do you think?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I don’t give a shit what seat I sit in. It never makes a difference in whether I suck or not."

There was definitely something he wasn’t saying.

I finally found my seatbelt and fastened it. "So, what is your superstition? Don’t tell me, you have to dance naked under the moonlight before every game?" A girl could hope.

He snorted softly and tightened his seatbelt. "No, I do that for fun."

I laughed and pushed my bag further under the seat in front of me with my toe. "Maybe it gives you luck and you haven’t realised it yet."

"Not enough luck. Next time, you can dance naked with me and we’ll cream the Knights." He reclined the seat as far back as it would go.

Cream would definitely be involved.

"Let’s put that on the maybe list," I said. "Seriously, what is your superstition? Lucky socks? A lucky cup? Avoiding black jellybeans?"

"I avoid black jellybeans because they’re disgusting." He grimaced.

What was I thinking with these guys? First Aidan liked banana ice cream, now Orion doesn’t like black jellybeans? What next? Maybe Finley liked Brussels sprouts. Ewww.

We stopped talking for a couple of minutes to watch the safety demonstration.

I thought, as I always did, that if there was ever an actual emergency, I’d completely forget every detail the flight attendant mentioned, but I listened anyway. Maybe it would sink in if I heard it often enough.

The plane started to taxi towards the runway.

"So, you were telling me about your superstition." I smiled over at him.

"Was I?" He looked back at me, his dark eyes hinting at humour.

"I mean, you don’t have to tell me," I conceded. "Your superstition might be that if you tell me, it won’t work."

"We could go with that, but the fact is if I tell you, you might laugh." He shrugged slightly.

"Try me," I said.

He placed a hand on my thigh, his fingers slipping between my legs.

Men. Give them a millimetre and they’ll take them all and run.

"The fasten seatbelt is still on, because we haven’t taken off yet," I pointed out.

"I like to live on the wild side," he said. He crept his fingers up until they grazed over the front of my jeans.

I shivered. "Superstition first. I promise I won’t laugh. It’s not like you dip your stick into the toilet."

"I know it’s big—" he started.

"I mean your hockey stick." I elbowed him. "Don’t tell me it’s not a thing, because I know it is."

"It’s not a thing for me," he said. "I keep all of my sticks as far away from the toilet bowl as possible." He paused for a moment. "I eat a Vegemite sandwich before each game."

"That’s not weird," I said. Okay, it was to some people, especially those who weren’t Australian, but it wasn’t especially strange to me. I preferred it on toast, personally, but each to their own. For the record, just a swipe of it, it’s not Nutella.

"With cheese," Orion added. He rubbed his fingers up and down the front of my jeans.

"Still not weird." He was making it more difficult to concentrate. If he said Nutella and cheese, I might be grossed out. Nutella went better with bacon than it did with cheese, as far as I knew. Excuse me if I didn’t try to find out. That sounded like a waste of both ingredients.

"And pickles," he said. His expression was completely bland. Unlike the object of his superstition. That sounded anything but bland. Repulsive was a better adjective.

"I feel like that should be illegal." I made a face in disgust.

"Do you think that would stop me from eating it if it was?" He rubbed up and down more firmly.

"Probably not," I agreed. "That sounds foul. Anything with pickles is bleh." I stuck out my tongue.

"You know what they say, the perfect relationship is between someone who hates pickles and someone who will eat them for them. You can eat all my black jellybeans."

That sounded like a perfect compromise. He was more than welcome to eat every pickle in the world if he wanted to.

"If you keep talking about black jellybeans, you’re going to make me hungry." He was going to make me come too at this rate. The fact he was clearly aware of, and seemingly determined to make happen sooner rather than later.

The plane reached the end of the runway and lifted off, leaving my stomach behind for a few seconds. It caught up just as we reached the clouds. They were heavy today, hanging low, threatening rain. From the look of the forecast, they’d follow us all the way to Dusk Bay.

"You should try Vegemite, cheese and pickles," he said. He moved his hand back up to my thigh as the flight attendant walked past. She must have heard his comment, because she stopped and gave him a funny look before moving on.

I waited until she was a safe enough distance away so she wouldn’t think I was laughing at her. Rather, I was in full agreement with the expression on her face. I presumed she wasn’t going to suggest that to the in-flight caterer anytime soon.

"You don’t know what you’re missing." He squeezed my leg.

"Yes I do." I wasn’t talking about sandwiches any more.

I glanced over to the seats beside us. The players seated there weren’t paying us any attention, as far as I could tell. That would change quickly if Orion put his hand down the front of my jeans. Or if we got naked and fucked, here and now.

He unfastened his seatbelt when the light turned off and pushed himself up to look back through the plane.

"Devlin Air’s toilets are bigger than the average plane," he remarked as he lowered himself back down.

"I’ve noticed that," I said. "But we should really talk about this whole thing with the?—"

"Later," he said.

I fixed him with a look.

He gave me the same look back, with additional extra stubborn hockey god, and a sprinkle of smoulder.

"You realise how unfair that is?" I asked.

He leaned over and let his breath brush my neck. "I want to get you off. If that’s a crime, I don’t give a shit."

"It’s not a crime," I said. "Pickles are a crime." They weren’t, they should be. Seriously, I didn’t care if people ate them, as long as they left me alone with my pineapple pizza.

He chuckled and pulled the buckle of my seatbelt to unfasten it.

"People will notice," I said.

"Do you care?" he asked.

"Not really," I said after a few moments thought. "No one should be ashamed of orgasms."

"No they shouldn’t," he agreed. "As long as they don’t see. You coming is for my, Aidan and Finley’s eyes and no one else. I’d hate to have to throw my teammates off the plane."

"That would end badly for everyone," I said.

I slipped out of my seat and walked up the aisle, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Orion was right behind me. Aidan and Finley were sitting together at the front of the plane. Knowing them, they were fully aware of what was going on. Were they hard? Did their balls ache at the idea of Orion and I fucking? My clit throbbed thinking about it.

I slipped into the vacant toilet, which was still a tight fit. There was barely room to turn around, much less fuck around. Somehow, Orion squeezed in too and locked the door.

He pressed me against the wall beside the sink and popped the button of my jeans through the buttonhole. He grabbed the waistband of my jeans and black panties and slid both down my hips far enough for him to get his hand in between my thighs.

He teased my pussy with his fingertips, rubbing over my already wet entrance and up to my clit.

At the same time, I pulled down the front of his track pants and wrapped my fingers around his hot, engorged cock.

He groaned and rolled his hips, sliding himself in and out of my grip. "Fuck, Elenna."

"Please," I said breathlessly. It was a tight space, but I wanted him, needed him. My pussy was wet and ready. So fucking ready.

There was barely room, but he managed to pick me up and place me on the side of the sink. He manoeuvred until he was standing between my legs, and wrapped them around his waist, pulling me onto his cock.

I closed my eyes and moaned softly. "I love the way your cock feels inside me."

"I want to make you see stars," he said.

I half opened my eyes. "I can see a whole fucking constellation right now."

He chuckled. "That’s me. Orion the hunter."

I closed my eyes again. "You caught me." Literally and figuratively. I couldn’t have run away if I wanted to, I was jammed too tightly into the corner.

"You’re the one who caught me," he said. "Elenna means sun; I’m stuck in your orbit."

A constellation was a bunch of suns, but I didn’t bother to contradict him. Instead, I enjoyed the way he felt inside me as he started to move. Slow thrusts at first, but gradually becoming faster and more frantic. Neither of us wanted to rush, but our bodies couldn’t seem to stop. We drove each other harder and harder, bucking and grinding until we reached the edge and hurtled over at the same time.

I gripped on to his shirt, clinging as a dozen constellations burst in front of my eyes. The hunter, the bear, the Southern Cross. They all blurred together like the death of one universe and the birth of another.

We sagged together, puffing and panting, holding on like neither wanted to let go.

Finally, when we caught our breath, he slid out of me and tugged his track pants back into place. He took a step back as best he could and helped me fix my jeans.

"I feel like I’m supposed to say something corny like welcome to the mile high club," he said, a smile threatening to appear on his lips.

I laughed silently. "That would be corny, but I think the gracious thing for me to do would be to say thank you, you too." I did up my button and smoothed my shirt and jumper, just in case.

He cupped my cheeks and leaned in to kiss me. He looked as though he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

"We should get out of here before someone needs to use the toilet," he said. "And before we miss lunch."

"We wouldn’t want to miss lunch." I straightened his shirt and unlocked the door.

"Definitely not." He followed me back down the plane to our seats, both of us ignoring any glances we got all the way back.