A Mile High in the Sky

                                    

                                          
My identity has been replaced.
Not in the legal sense, but by my job title.
"Pilot, my daughter is asleep in the bedroom, so could you try not to be too loud or climb too fast?" white haired, suit-wearing Lester Dawson asked, making the question sound like more of an order.
I internally rolled my eyes. "Well, this is an airplane, so a certain degree of noise is going to occur, but I'll try not to rev the engines for fun."
He completely missed the sarcasm in my voice.
"Thank you," he said, nodding dismissively.
I eagerly headed to the cockpit without bothering with my usual pleasantries: "I'm Austin Moon, your pilot for today; hopefully we have a nice flight together. Once we reach altitude, I'll come back and see how everything's going."
Leaving the cockpit before landing was not on my list of things to do on this flight.
I pulled open the door to my sanctuary for the next few hours and slipped in—locking the door before sighing happily.
If I had a happy place, this would be it.
It was bigger than most cockpits should be - probably because the Dawson's had actually - I shit you not- built this plane from scratch, and customized every inch of it.
"Ahem," a throat cleared behind me.
My sanctuary had been invaded.
I spun around, and my eyes went wide. There, in the co-pilot's seat, was Lester Dawson's most prized possession. His brown-haired, doe-eyed, stunningly gorgeous daughter, naked, with my uniform hat on.
I could do nothing except openly gape at her.
My eyes started at her face, her rosy cheeks, moved down to her neck, her chest, where my eyes lingered on her plump breasts, peaked with rosy nipples, down legs, which were crossed, shielding my view of the part of her that I suddenly wanted more than anything else.
Down, boy.
My heart was pounding one hundred and twenty beats a minute in my chest. Not only because she was without question the hottest woman I'd ever laid eyes on, but because I was fired and possibly arrested the moment she decided to come in here.
"I looked all over the plane, but I can't find the form," she said innocently, like that was all the explanation I would require.
I swallowed hard. "Form for what?" I choked out.
She looked up at me and smiled a little. "To induct me into the Mile High club," she purred.
All the air vanished from my lungs; my heart paused in its frantic beating. I plopped back against the door hard, cracking my head on the metal frame.
This is not really happening, I told myself. You've inhaled jet fuel fumes.
"Get dressed," I ordered weakly, my voice cracking, while pulling myself away from the wall. "And leave my... the cockpit."
"Kira Starr." she said casually, toying with the ends of her hair rather than fulfilling my demand to get the fuck out before I took her against the wall.
My teeth clenched, and once again, the air abandoned my body.
Kira Starr, daughter of record labelist, Jimmy Starr
The nineteen year old socialite had crossed paths with me a couple of weeks ago when she and her rich bitch friends needed a pilot to take them from Miami to Manhattan and back again because, "Miss Sparkle can't be expected to go out on the beach without this season's bikini!"
The dog didn't have its bikini, so they rented a private jet at three a.m. to go and get it before appearing at the MTV beach house later that morning.
"What about her?" I growled as the frustration came back to me.
"She told me I could expect a certain quality of service on this airline. Well, with this pilot, really." She looked over the tarmac as she spoke, watching the luggage being loaded onto an identical plane to mine.
Did I mention I'd fucked Kira on the way back down South?
Apparently, she'd felt the need to share that sordid little detail.
"And you can," I agreed. "You can expect the highest level in quality of care with me. First and foremost: safety. And to make sure this flight is as safe as possible, my attention needs to be on the flying itself. Not on you."I told her, my eyes trailing over her body again.
"Was she good?" she questioned, indifferent.
"I've had better."
"So she wasn't good?"
"Not really," I muttered while sliding into my seat to give her an open path to walk out—when she eventually got the message and left, that is.
"She'll be interested to hear that. King Quality Airlinespilot trash-talks client - after sleeping with her. I'm sure everyone will be rushing to book a plane then."
"Sounds more like a headline than gossip." A nervous twist began tightening in my stomach. Lester's little angel apparently wasn't above blackmail.
"Well..." She shrugged lightly, her tits bouncing a little, glancing over to me for a moment. "You know the tabloids. Anything the young and famous do or say is front page news these days."
"And she may just mention that in front of the wrong people?" I surmised. My eyes dropped to the floor as it really sunk in how severely fucked I was fast becoming.
It was then I noticed the clean floor—not unusual under normal circumstances, but it raised the question of where her clothes were.
"There's no such thing as bad publicity," she replied coolly. "Although, if there were, this would definitely be bad for you."
"Miss Dawson—"
"Ally," she interjected.
"Where are your clothes?" I continued without acknowledging her, "Call me Ally." line.
"In the cabin," she answered. "I can leave if you like; I'm sure Daddy will understand why I'm coming out of here... naked." She stood up, exposing herself to anyone looking through the windshield.
I reached for her arm, but stopped myself; she was probably the sort of girl to scream at the drop of a hat. "Wait!" I hissed.
She stopped and turned back to me, arms folded and nothing done to cover herself.
"Why do you want me fired? Or imprisoned?"
"I don't."
"So what the fuck are you doing?" I waved my hands across the space, looking at her with wide eyes. She couldn't possibly think this wouldn't get me into trouble.
"Having fun. And making it up as I go along." Her lips curved up in a playful smile. "I just want you to have fun with me."
I scoffed. "Naked?"
"Everything's more fun when you're naked."
My eyes flickered over her toned skin and long, lithe muscles. Oh the fun I could have with her naked body, I thought to myself. "Sit down, put your harness on, and start trying to figure out a way to get back into that cabin—without being seen—and clothed again."
"You're asking me to stay in your, sorry, the cockpit now?"
I didn't answer her while strapping myself into the seat. She sat back down and secured herself behind the five point harness as well without another word, just a smug twitching on the corners of her lips.
Here goes the most trying flight of my career. I taxied out onto the runway, glancing at her once more before lift-off, and then sighed hopelessly. I'm a dead man.