The Mile High Club Read online

  Billionaire Biker 2: The Mile High Club

  Jasinda Wilder

  ORLY Press

  www.orlypress.com

  This is an erotic short story, or episode. Each episode stands alone, like a TV episode, but is part of a larger story.

  WARNING: This story contains explicit sex and erotic scenes, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

  Billionaire Biker #2, The Mile High Club

  Detroit, Michigan

  The Detroit Metro airport was bustling. I held on to Shane's arm and let him drag me through the crowds, trying to ignore the doubts assailing my mind. It was one thing to talk about quitting my job, leaving my fiance, and going to Africa with a near-stranger. It was another thing altogether to actually do it.

  All I had was my purse and a backpack carry-on. Shane said we'd be better off buying luggage for me later than trying to go back to John's house. I didn't argue. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with my ex-fiance. I'd talked to my parents, and they were suitably horrified at the news that I'd quit my job and was flying across the world with a man I'd just met...into a war zone.

  If I was being honest, I was a little horrified too. All my life I'd been responsible and careful. I went to community college after high school and lived with my parents, and then eventually moved in with John after we'd been dating for two years. I got my RN from a university I could commute to from home. I never joined a sorority or lived alone, never went on drinking binges or had one-night stands. I never did anything unpredictable.

  And then I met Shane. He had a way of unlocking my inhibitions, a way of making me want to try new things and live on the edge. Of course, I'd only known him for forty-eight hours. Two days, or rather, a day and a night and the following day.

  I wasn't about to change my mind, but I was a little shaky.

  Shane seemed to sense this. "It's okay to be nervous," he said, smiling down at me.

  Standing six foot four and built like Adonis, with chiseled features and arresting gray-green eyes, Shane Sorrenson attracted the attention of every woman, and not a few men, in the airport. Being the girl on his arm, I found myself the subject of more lewd and searching gazes than I was used to. I tried to ignore the looks and keep my feet moving as Shane led me through the concourse and to the security line.

  He took one glance at the winding, backed-up line and shook his head. "I don't have time for this."

  Tugging on my hand, he led me to the front of the line where he leaned in and whispered something in a TSA guard's ear. The guard glanced in surprise at Shane, then nodded and waved us through, to the vocal aggravation of the rest of the line.

  That was my first hint Shane might be more than I suspected. What kind of man could, at a word, get waved past security? Shane shot me a cocky grin and dragged me across the airport to the international departures wing. Instead of finding a gate, however, Shane led us to an unmarked, locked door. He withdrew a keycard from his wallet, scanned it, and led me through a narrow, bright-white hallway.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  Shane just winked. "You'll see."

  Further questioning resulted in an irritated roll of his eyes, so I fell silent and tried to keep up with his wide-legged gait. The hallway twisted and turned until I couldn't have found my way back if I tried, but Shane seemed to know exactly where he was going.

  At length, Shane led us to a door marked with a red "exit" sign, shoved the crash-bar open and pulled me outside into the cool night air. The airport rose behind us in a looming, endless bulk. We were in a part of the airport I hadn't even known existed, row after row of blocky hangars with wide-open doors, whining jet engines, flashing lights, baggage cars whizzing past in all directions, taxiing aircraft...it was chaos. Shane led me on foot across the tarmac to a hangar door and into an echoing space filled with a small, sleek, matte-black private passenger jet. It was the kind of aircraft rock stars and actors and ultra-wealthy businessmen rode in, not lower-middle class ER nurses from Troy, Michigan.

  A man in a rumpled business suit noticed our entrance and jogged to meet us. "The jet is fueled, stocked, and ready to go, Mr. Sorrenson. The flight plan has been logged and we're just waiting for you and your...guest...to board."

  Mr. Sorrenson? I knew Shane was the CEO and co-founder of a company, but this man's deference surprised me. Shane seemed as irritated by it as I was surprised. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, as if wondering if I'd noticed.

  "I've told you, Bradley. Call me Shane. Mr. Sorrenson is my father."

  "Certainly, sir--I mean, Shane," Bradley said. "Do you have any luggage, sir?"

  Shane growled. "Quit calling me sir, goddamnit. And no, no luggage. Just the two bags."

  I stifled a giggle.

  "What's so damn funny?" He asked me.

  "Nothing. Just you." I squeezed his arm.

  "What about me?"

  "Why don't you want him to call you Mr. Sorrenson? Or sir? He's just being respectful."

  Shane snorted. "It's complicated. But he's not being respectful, he's being a suck up. I hate it."

  He stomped up the steep, narrow steps into the interior of the jet, cutting off any other questions I might have directed at him. I followed him up and into the jet. Within less than a minute, Shane was sitting in a deep, tan leather lounge chair with his cell phone to his ear. He gestured with a thumb at the chair next to his and turned away. He was all business, and he had been ever since he got the phone call early yesterday morning. As soon as he got the call, he'd gone from being a sweet and attentive lover to a laser-focused businessman with little time or patience for anything but getting to the airport and onto our flight.

  He'd gotten me a passport within hours, with a few phone calls, had arranged for my things to be picked up from John's house, boxed up and put into storage, and had whisked us away from his condo in a limousine.

  Warning bells were going off in my head, especially now that I was sitting in the back of a private jet. The seats were upholstered in expensive-looking leather, and the back of each headrest was embroidered with an elaborate 'S' monogram.

  'S' for Sorrenson?

  I sat in the chair Shane had indicated, staring wide-eyed at the extravagance around me. There was a fully stocked bar along one wall and an enormous flat-screen TV on another. Through one open door I could see a bathroom nicer than the one in my parent's house, and through another a bedroom nearly as large as the one in my apartment.

  After five minutes of barking orders into his phone, Shane hung up and turned to me.

  "Ever flown private before?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "I've never flown before, period."

  "You've never been on an airplane? Like, not even to Florida?"

  "Shane, I've never left Michigan. I went to Ontario once, with John, but that's it."

  He lifted an eyebrow, a gesture which I had already learned could express more than a thousand words. "Well," he said, "you're in for a treat then."

  I tried to formulate my question carefully. "Shane...this jet...it's yours? Your company's I mean?"

  He shrugged. "It's my family's. My dad has...a lot of money. It's just easier to fly private, I've found."

  "Who is your dad?"

  Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, as if resigning to part with information he'd rather keep to himself. "Henry James Sorrenson."

  Now that was a name I knew. His father was one of the wealthiest men in the country, a business mogul worth several billion dollars. His name wasn't in the news often, but John, being a banker, routinely read magazines and newspapers like The Wallstreet Journal and Forbes.

  "So, you're--"

  He cut me off, his words clipped and tense. "Just Shane. My father's business, my father's wealth
has nothing to do with me."

  "Shane, I--"

  "Did you really not know who I was? Or were you just playing dumb?"

  His ire was palpable. The sweet, caring, sensual man I'd met in the rain, riding a Harley, was gone.

  "Why would I play dumb? How was I supposed to know who you were, or who your father is?"

  "You'd be surprised. My family, my brothers...we tend to attract attention. Women know who we are, and they'll often do anything to get close to us, hoping--"

  It was my turn to interrupt. "If you think I'm just some gold digger, then why'd you bring me here?"

  "I didn't say I thought you were--"

  "That's what you're implying," I said, irritated now. "And I don't appreciate it. I get that you may be wary about people knowing who you are, but that doesn't mean every woman who throws herself at you is after your money."

  I stood up, regretting my impetuosity. "Call me a cab or something. I'm going home...or to my parents' house...just let me off the jet, please."

  I went to the door of the jet, which was closed now.

  Shane stood up and followed me. "We're already taxiing, Leo. If you really don't want to go, I'll still take you home. But...listen, I really didn't mean to say you were just after my family's money. Sit down, please."

  His large, strong hands pressed my shoulders, a gentle, insistent pressure. I wanted to stay irritated, let it feed my fear so I could give in and go back to home.

  Back to boring, predictable familiarity...

  He must have felt my resistance softening, because he turned me around and pressed me against the door, one finger tipping my chin up to look at him. His eyes burned into me, and that was all it took. One glance, one rake of his eyes down my face to the rest of my body.

  Normally, sex was the very last thing on my mind when I was on my period, but something about Shane, something about the time we'd spent in his bed had unleashed a hunger in me. Even now, when my moods should be unpredictable at best, all I could think about was how good he'd made me feel, and how I wanted it again. His hands had touched me like he owned me, like he knew every secret of my body. He knew how to draw pleasure from me as if we'd been lovers for decades instead of days.

  A rumble shuddered through the cabin, and Shane pulled me with him to the chairs. I let him sit me down and buckle me in, and then he held my hand as the rumbling increased to a roar and I became aware of a pressure on my chest, a fluttering in my stomach. The window next to Shane was open, showing a long black wing with lights blinking at the tip, and white lines flashing past in a long blur, and then the ground fell away and the pressure on my chest and stomach turned nearly unbearable as a sense of heaviness crept through me, crushing me into the seat. The jet shook and bounced, rattling so hard I worried something was going wrong, that the airplane would come apart around us.

  I clamped down on Shane's hand, trembling, all my nerves and fears coming to the fore as I realized we were leaving the ground, leaving America, leaving all I knew.

  "It's fine, we're just taking off," Shane murmured to me. "The shaking will stop in a minute."

  I swiveled my head to look at him, and the calm in his gray-green eyes soothed me. After a few minutes, the ride evened out and the shaking did stop, as Shane had promised.

  He unbuckled himself and then me, drawing me up by my hand. Gesturing at the bedroom, he said, "Why don't you go lay down and relax. I'll bring you a drink."

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "Lay down and relax, hmmm?"

  He pushed me toward the bedroom, swatting me on the behind as I went. "Yes, relax. There's time for that later, when you're not...inconvenienced."

  "Inconvenienced?"

  "Yeah, well...you know what I mean." He shrugged, looking embarrassed.

  Men were so funny about periods.

  I climbed up on the wide bed, which turned out to be softer than my own bed at home. I turned back the blanket, marveling at the sheets, which had probably cost more than everything in my entire wardrobe combined.

  It was a disconcerting feeling, realizing I owned nothing. I had my cell phone, but that too was in John's name, and it wouldn't work once we left U.S. airspace anyway. I was totally reliant on Shane, and we were going to a foreign country, to a war zone...

  What the hell had I agreed to?

  Shane came in just then with tumblers of alcohol. I took the one he handed me, sniffed it, tasted it, and discovered a top-shelf gin and tonic.

  "To new beginnings," he said, clinking my glass with his.

  "To new beginnings." I took a long drink, grateful for the heady buzz that rushed through me almost immediately, starting in my belly.

  Shane's eyes searched mine. "You're scared."

  "Um, yeah," I said with a laugh. "Wouldn't you be? I'm leaving behind everything and everyone I know, with a man I just met. I don't own a single damned thing, except my bra. The clothes I'm wearing, the carry-on full of clothes and toiletries...it's all yours."

  "Having second thoughts?" Shane sat down next to me on the bed, cross-legged.

  "Second thoughts, like I'm regretting it? No, not really. It's an adventure, and I'm excited, but yeah, I'm scared. Especially since I know we're not exactly going on a vacation. We're going to a war zone."

  Shane put his hand on my thigh and squeezed gently. "I'll keep you safe. You know that, right?"

  I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Sure. I mean, I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you. Which is kind of the crazy part about all this. I do trust you, even though I barely know you. I shouldn't trust you. When you told me I was coming with you, I should have laughed in your face. I could have gone back to my parents' house. It would have been embarrassing and difficult, but they would've taken care of me until I could figure things out."

  "I didn't tell you, Leo. I asked you," Shane said.

  I rolled my eyes. "You told me. Sure, you gave me an option, but you knew it wasn't much of one. Crawl back to dickhead of an ex, or go with you. Not much to think about there."

  "Why do you trust me?"

  I thought long and hard before answering; it was a fair question, and one I wanted to answer for myself. "It's a lot of things. You took care of me when I was in trouble. You didn't take advantage of me. I mean...you did, but not until after I made it clear I wanted you to." I flushed at the memory. "Who am I kidding? I threw myself at you."

  Shane gave me a wicked grin. "Not arguing there, sweetheart."

  "Shut up. I'm sure I'm not the first woman to throw herself at you, and I know I won't be the last."

  Shane's eyes darkened. "You may not be the first, I'm not gonna lie about that. Women have thrown themselves at me my whole life, but it's always been as much about my name and my dad's money as for me, if not more." He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me. "As for being the last? After being with you, Leo, I'm not so sure anyone else could ever measure up." He took a drink, and set it aside on a bedside table.

  I flushed even redder and burrowed into him. "You're just saying that."

  "Am not."

  I looked up at him, frowning. "You made me feel things I didn't know were possible." I took a sip and feathered my fingers through his hair. "But me? I don't know anything. I've never done anything, never been anywhere...I've only been with John. I'm no virgin but I might as well be, for all I know about any kind of sex...stuff, other than plain old missionary."

  Shane laughed, amused but not mocking. "Leo...do you have any idea how you made me feel? Yeah, I've been with more people than you, but...it's not always about experience, or what you do or don't know. You want it. It's like you've never felt anything before, and you can't get enough. The way you react to everything I do...it drives me wild."

  "All this talk about sex is making me horny," I said.

  "Me too, but you're...you know."

  I could feel him growing hard underneath me. I wanted to touch him, feel him. We couldn't do exactly what I wanted, but there were other things. I set my tumbler aside next
to his and rotated on his lap. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressed my mouth to his and tasted the gin on his breath. I searched his mouth with my tongue, the icy breath of alcohol tingling my mouth. He tightened his grip on me, ran his palms up and down my back; his fingers traced the inch-wide gap between my shirt and jeans to touch my skin.

  I moaned at the heat of his palms on my flesh, pressed my chest into his and ground my hips against him.

  "What are you doing?" Shane whispered, trying to pull away. "You're teasing me."

  I peeled my shirt off and unlatched my bra. "Teasing? Me? Never." I tossed the bra aside with a flourish.

  Shane's eyes burned, and his hands slipped up my spine, tickled around my ribs and skated across my nipples. He was rock-hard beneath me, pressing against his zipper.

  "Tease." Shane pinched my nipples between his fingers. "Making me want you when I can't have you."

  "Can't have me?" I ran my tongue across my upper lip and scooted back off his lap. "You can have me, just not there. I'm sure you can figure something out, can't you?"

  I pushed him onto his back and unbuttoned his pants, brushing his shirt up away from his torso. Shane drew the shirt off and set it aside, watching me. I unzipped him and tugged his jeans off, leaving him lying in only his underwear. His cock was pressing against the double opening of his boxer-briefs. I straddled him, leaning over him and planting kisses along his torso, each nipple, his sides, down the crevasses of his stomach to the V of muscle. I removed his boxers, touching his legs and hips with my lips as I did so. His back arched when I wrapped my fingers around him. My hair was loose and hung down to tickle his belly as I bent to touch the tip of my tongue to the groove running beneath his engorged head.

  My breasts slipped and slid across his skin with every motion. I ran my tongue across his tip, licking the pearl of liquid oozing out of him; he moaned and rolled his hips. I grasped him at the root and spread my saliva across him, mixing it with his own leaking fluids, and then took him in my mouth, pressing my tongue against my lower teeth.

  "What...what about you?" Shane gasped.

  I looked up at him. "What about me?"

  "You're doing this to me, but I can't--can't do the same to you..." he said. He was having trouble thinking, formulating sentences.