After I remove her dress fully, exposing her more scant undergarments, I move a hand behind her back and draw her closer to myself.
"Do you now, love?"
I say, surprised by her sudden spike in... enthusiasm.
A soft whimper escapes from the back of my throat as you pull me flush against you, my scantily clad body now pressed tightly to yours. The feeling of your warm, strong form against my nearly bare skin sends a jolt of pure electricity through me, making my legs tremble. Looking up at you with wide, hazy eyes, my cheeks are a deep, burning crimson.
"I... I do..." My voice is a breathless, shaky whisper. "I've... I've never felt this way before, Owen... My whole body... it feels like it's on fire for you..." My hands, which had been limp at my sides, instinctively come up to rest on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath my palms.
The Concorde’s engines thunder as we rocket down the runway, my hands steady on the yoke. I glance at you, fumbling with the dials, and smirk—sharp, quick. “Not bad, Woo. Keep up.”
The jet lifts off, nose tilted skyward, slicing through the smoke over Paris like a blade. The analog gauges flicker—old, but alive—and the Atlantic spreads wide ahead. Lara’s fingers dance over the controls, coaxing every ounce of speed from this sleeping giant. Her eyes shine—wild, thrilled—as the sonic boom rattles the frame.
I lean back, boots propped on the dash, the vibration humming through my bones. “Eight hours to D.C.,” I say, voice low over the roar. “Maybe seven if she holds.”
My gaze slides to you, teasing. “Think you can handle her? Or do I fly solo?”
The sky opens. The cure’s waiting. And this bird? She’s mine—ours.
"7 hours? Are you kidding?" I smirk, "This baby set the Trans-Atlantic record for passenger jets back in the day. We'll easily do 4 hours even without the Jet Stream..."
Lara stares at me. Impressed. Somehow, she didn't figure me as interested in these kinda things. The revelation turns her on.
Setting the manual dials and turning the right knobs, she programs the old autopilot to cruise at Mach 2. Destination: Washington DC.
And drags me to the First Class, for Frequent Flyer privileges.
"Welcome to the Supersonic Mile High Club." her voice sensual as she rips off our clothes, pulling me in for a kiss.