A routine flight from Washington, D.C. to New York. Dulles to La Guardia; one hour and 20 minutes. He's on his last leg of a lecture tour. She is returning home from a business trip.
It's a small plane, only two seats across on each side, and he has the aisle seat so he can have more room for his long legs. When she boards, he has to stand to let her pass through to her window seat.
He immediately notices how beautiful she is. Petite and curvy but fit, with large brown eyes and full lips. No makeup, dressed comfortably in yoga pants, flip flops, and a t-shirt, but still stunning.
He steals another glance at her, then amuses himself flipping through the in-flight magazine until takeoff.
She's noticed him as well. Tall, slender, with intelligent eyes and wavy hair. He has a scholarly air about him, and it adds to his attractiveness. For her anyway. When he reaches for the magazine from his seat pocket, she can't help notice his large hands with their long, elegant fingers and tidy fingernails. She looks him over once, sizing him up. He looks pretty straight-laced, but there is an impish twinkle lurking just behind those blue eyes.
He wants to make conversation, but she puts in earbuds as soon as she is allowed. He won't be one of those people who can't take a hint.
She must not have had them up very loud, because as soon as drink service started, she removed them.
When the flight attendant reaches their row – they are in the very back – she orders a ginger ale, and he wonders if she is feeling a little airsick, since ginger often helps settle queasiness.
"Diet 7-Up, please," he says.
"Oh, I love your accent. Are you English?" the flight attendant asks, handing him his drink.
"Yes, I am," he answers.
"Well, I hope you enjoy the United States," she says.
"Thank you. I've been here for a month and have enjoyed it very much," he replies.
The attendant smiles and pulls her cart back up the aisle.
He sips his beverage, stealing another glance at his seat partner.
She looks away just in time to not be caught staring at him, nearly entranced by his smooth baritone voice and sexy British accent.
Their empty cups are collected a short time later, and he notices her left hand has no ring.
He pulls a small notebook from his bag and she notices his left hand has no ring.
She bends down to retrieve something from her bag, and he is treated to the sight of a strip of smooth brown skin just above the waist of her pants.
When she sits up, she places her book in her lap, then languidly stretches, her hands over her head. She peeks at him with one eye and sees him watching her, his eyes not knowing where to settle, his lips parted.
She wonders what that beard would feel like against her skin.
He looks away, shifting just a bit in his seat, feeling a little guilty for ogling her.
Then he stands up and heads into the restroom.
He opens the restroom door two minutes later. Before he can even step out, a small but strong hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the tiny room. "Wha—?" he gasps, completely taken by surprise.
She pulls the door closed behind them and slides the lock so it reads Occupied on the outside.
"Miss—"
"Shh." She presses her index finger against his lips and presses her body against his. Quick as a flash, she pushes his shoulders down until he sits on the closed toilet lid. A moment later, her lips are on his, capturing him in a searing kiss that sends a jolt straight to his groin.
He immediately responds, softly groaning and gripping her waist, his large hands nearly spanning her slender torso. His fingers shift and feel warm, soft skin beneath the hem of her t-shirt. They creep further, going in search for more.
She lets him pull her closer until she is straddling his lap. One of her hands goes questing and easily finds its target, palming his semi-hard length through his trousers as they continue to plunder each other's mouths. She rubs and gently squeezes him until he is fully hard, making a pleased sound in her throat when she feels how big he is.
She suddenly pulls away, scooting back and crouching down, making herself impossibly small in the cramped space to undo his belt and open his pants. They both shove at them until he is freed, and she takes him into her mouth, licking and sucking for a few blissful moments.
She stops as suddenly as she started, and he makes a small exclamation of surprise and mild disappointment.
But his eyes light up when she produces a condom wrapper that has been hidden in her bra. She opens it, tosses the wrapper into the sink, then rolls it over his shaft. A sly smile crosses her face as she stands.
She turns her back to him, and his brows furrow for just a moment until she begins lowering her yoga pants and panties at the same time. He can just make out the black thong tangled with the gray of her pants, but he is much more interested in the glorious backside in his line of sight. It is perfectly rounded, shapely but firm and smooth, two beautiful brown globes begging to be touched.
So he does. He reaches out and slides his palms over her cheeks before grasping her hips and pulling her towards him.
He wants to lean down and kiss the curve of her backside. To lick it, even bite it and spank it to watch how it bounces. But there is neither room nor time. All he can do is guide it as she sinks down over him, sheathing himself within her.
"Mmm," she hums, dropping her head back.
"Ohh..." he replies, sliding his hands forward. One moves up, over her bra to squeeze her breast, while the other seeks out her slick warmth below.
She begins moving, sliding up and down on his lap, grunting softly when his fingers find their target and begin skillfully circling and rubbing in time with their motions.
His other hand discovers what feels like a clasp between her breasts. He blindly pops it free with a clever flick of his thumb, then palms her breast, his hand rubbing lightly over her nipple.
"Oh," he grunts, biting his lower lip as she increases her speed and intensity. He pinches her nipple with one hand and starts moving the other faster.
She whimpers, so close. Her nails are digging into his thigh, and her other hand moves to cover his hand at her breast.
He lifts his hips up to meet her down thrusts, and it is just the extra she needs to tip over the edge. She comes with a breathy grunt followed by another whimper as she attempts to be quiet. She grabs his hand, stilling the delicious torture of his fingers just as he plummets after her.
He wraps his arm around her waist, holding her, pressing his face into her back, riding out his wave.
When he relaxes again, she gracefully stands, disengaging from him. He gets one last look at her rear as she bends over to pull up her pants. She fastens her bra, checks her hair in the mirror, and turns around.
"Thanks," she sweetly says, leaning over to give him one more kiss before slipping out through the door.
He absently reaches up, locks the door again, and sits, dumbfounded, for a good minute before cleaning himself and the bathroom up and returning to his seat.
She is reading her book when he rejoins her, cool as can be.
He looks at her, wanting to say something but not knowing what.
"That was fun," she quietly comments, not looking up from her book.
He clears his throat. "Um… yes. It was," he answers. He still can't believe they just did that. He is a professor. A scholar. Until ten minutes ago, the most adventurous place he's had sex was on top of the duvet. He's never done anything risky in his life, sexually or otherwise.
"What's your name?" she asks, turning the page.
"Ichabod Crane," he says, automatically offering his hand and immediately feeling foolish about it in the wake of what they've just done.
She finally looks up from her book and stares at his hand, an amused smirk on her face. Instead of shaking his hand, she leans down and takes the end of his thumb in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, then lightly biting before releasing it.
His eyes widen and his mouth opens. He feels a stirring in his trousers again. "Miss…" he croaks.
"Abbie," she supplies, finally closing the book he suspects she was not really reading at all.
"Abbie," he repeats, smiling. "You are… amazing."
She smiles and places her hand high on his thigh. "You're pretty amazing yourself there, professor," she purrs, rubbing his inner thigh.
He stares at her small hand for a second before sputtering, "How did you know…?" He's lost track of how many times she's rendered him either completely or nearly speechless.
Abbie simply smiles again and squeezes his thigh.
The captain's deep voice sounds over the intercom to announce their descent, and she doesn't say anything else.
As he stands to leave, Crane feels her hand caress, then squeeze his backside, but she breezes past him, leaving him nothing but a very fond memory.
That is, until he's checking into his hotel and reaches into his pocket. He withdraws the card and sees the back first.
She's written a phone number and a message: "Sleepy Hollow isn't very exciting. Call me when you get bored." His eyebrow rises and his heart races. Then he flips over the card and his jaw drops. Special Agent Abigail Mills, Federal Bureau of Investigations.
"Sir?" The girl behind the front desk brings him back to reality. "Your key," she says, sliding the card across the counter, a worried look on her face.
"Oh. Of course. Thank you," he mutters.
"Are you all right?" she asks.
He looks at the card again. "Never better. Thank you," he answers with a sly smile.