The Perfect Spiral (by Ashley Constantine) novel Chapter 6

“I need my kiss,” he whispered to me.

I curled my hand into the fabric of his shirt and yanked him toward me until our hips collided. “So get what you need then,” I said. He crashed his lips against mine, and I immediately responded to his kiss. It was heated, and I automatically wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling my body closer to his, deepening the kiss.

He let out a low moan, which prompted me to run my hands through his hair. He trailed his own hands down my body until they reached my butt. Giving it a quick squeeze, he continued down to the back of my legs, then bent slightly, his hands sliding beneath my thighs. Then he lifted me onto the edge of the sink like I weighed nothing at all.

I felt small in his arms—delicate, but not fragile. He stepped between my legs, and I could feel how hard he was already. Our tongues fought each other for dominance. His hands cupped each side of my face, making the kiss more passionate.

We broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily and in sync. I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, his thumb brushing my cheeks so lightly it sent a chill down my spine. “I can’t get enough of you, Alex.” With a final kiss, he brought me down from the sink.

I wanted more. I wanted to strip off both our clothes and take advantage of the hardness in his pants. I imagined how good it would feel. From the rumors I’d heard, Wes left women more than satisfied in that department. I deserved that too, didn’t I? Consequences be damned.

Just as I was about to reach for his zipper, I was brought back to reality by Andy’s piercing voice from down the hall yelling, “Time to stop humping and head to the airport! Let’s go!” He closed his eyes and let out a low, frustrated groan, resting his forehead against mine. I let out a breathy laugh, equally annoyed and relieved.

Saved by the best friend.

We pulled up to the airport drop-off area and Wes, being the gentleman that he is, took our luggage without even asking if we needed help. As he unloaded the car, Andy and I stood there, unabashedly checking him out. His muscles flexed with each movement, and I found myself wishing I had more luggage just so I could watch him longer.

He was wearing a NY Giants SnapBack, and he looked incredibly hot in it. I’ve always had a thing for guys in hats, especially SnapBacks.

When he was done, I planted a kiss on his cheek, causing a faint blush to spread across his face. “Safe trip, Alex. Happy Thanksgiving too, tell the family I say hi especially the little ones!” He pulled me into a hug and added, “Call me in the morning so I know you made it safe.”

I nodded into his chest. “Will do, Wes. Thanks for the ride, and… for everything.” He seemed to be debating saying something, but just smiled and got back into his truck. With a final wave, I headed into the airport to check in.

The line was long, but we had plenty of time. We made our way to the front to check our bags with the lady behind the desk, her hair slicked back into a top knot. “Can I have your boarding passes and passports?” she asked. “Alex Thompson?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You both have been changed to first-class.”

Our eyes widened in surprise. First-class? “What? Um, I think there must be a mistake, I didn’t book first-class tickets?” I said, shaking my head. My mom would kill me if I’d accidentally booked them!

“Yes Miss, I see you booked economy seats, but someone called in to pay for first-class seating arrangements.”

“Do you know who?” She shook her head. Who the hell bumped us up to first class? I turned to Andy. “Do you have a sugar daddy I don’t know about?”

She laughed. “Pft! I wish! If I did, I’d get him to buy me a lot more than just two first-class tickets.”

“Here you ladies are, check the screens to see where your gate is so you’re on time and have a safe flight,” she said, beaming at us. We thanked her and walked through security, then spent some time browsing the shops.

When we finally boarded the plane, we sank into plush cream leather seats that reclined and had walls on the sides for privacy. We looked around at the typical first-class passengers: businessmen with briefcases, young rich teens with Beats headphones around their necks, and blonde trophy wives with large sunglasses, all feeding their husbands’ egos.

“Want to join the mile-high club with me?” Andy joked, raising an eyebrow playfully. I burst into laughter, and she joined in.

Once the plane took off, we were giddy with excitement. We’d never been in first-class before. A flight attendant approached us, handing us two vodka sprites and a card.

Knox.

“You’re staring at that card like it has a cancer diagnosis – what’s it say?” Andy asked as she sipped her drink. Wordlessly, I handed it to her. She read it, then nearly spit out her drink all over the counter.

“He didn’t even tell me,” I muttered. “He just does it, like it’s some kind of flex.”

Andy raised an eyebrow as she said, “And we’re mad about free stuff because…?”

“Trust me, Knox doesn’t give. He makes statements. Lavish, look-at-me statements. He likes when people feel indebted to him. It’s not generosity—it’s a game.”

“I’ll play the first class game anytime,” Andy said as she signaled the flight attendant for another drink. I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe she was right. I couldn’t deny that the drinks were amazing, the food decadent, and the fully-reclining seat in first class was the best sleep I’d had in months.

We got home late that night, still slightly buzzed and drunk on luxury (and free drinks). The second our bags hit the floor, we crashed.

Knox was the last thing on my mind before as I fell asleep. It annoyed me—how easily he’d gotten under my skin. But even worse? The tiny flutter of excitement in my stomach every time I thought about him. That’s what really bothered me.

The next morning, I woke up early, excited to be home. The house was quiet, no one else was around. My mom liked to sleep in and my brothers were probably at the gym, no doubt trying to impress the fitness babes by out-benching each other. I decided to let Andy sleep while I made breakfast. I padded down to the kitchen barefoot.

I danced around the kitchen, singing along to my pop playlist while I made banana pancakes for breakfast.

“Nice outfit.”

I’d recognize that smug, sexy voice anywhere. Knox Carter.

I turned to find him shirtless and sweaty, every inch of his athletic body sculpted like a Greek statue come to life. Broad shoulders, rock-hard pecs, and that impossibly chiseled six-pack gleamed under the morning light. The sharp V of his hips disappeared beneath low-slung shorts, and I could see exactly why Calvin Klein hired him as an underwear model.

It wasn’t until I caught his eyes raking down my body that I remembered what I was wearing—his jersey, my nightshirt. Great. I pulled the hem of his jersey down my bare legs self-consciously.