In my ass.
Down my throat.
Between my thighs or ass cheeks.
Or anywhere else, for that matter.
It doesn’t matter where or when or how. I want it. Always.
Well, the when and how doesn’t matter now that I’m not so scared of running him off.
But no matter how much I tried to sway Draven into fucking away the flight time, the man never faltered. He had his libido locked up in a steel trap, and I don’t think a nuclear bomb could’ve unlocked it.
That’s okay. I’m a persistent little shit. I’ll break him somehow. Well, maybe not break him, because I still don’t want to piss him off. I want him to fuck me like a savage. That’s fun times. Funishment, over punishment, is the name of the game.
I’m kinda surprised he didn’t beat my ass for the mess I caused earlier. I mean, I know he said that red meant hard stop but that hadn’t been my experience in the past.
You really need to stop comparing Draven and Samuel.
The voice in my head couldn’t be more accurate. They were so different they weren’t even apples and oranges. The sun and the moon and every star in the sky versus slimy shit.
Puke.
At the foot of the plane’s stairs, there’s a car waiting. I go to get into the passenger side, and I’m confronted by a steering wheel.
“What in the hell is this shit?”
“What do ye mean, what is this shit?”
“This is my side of the car,” I say
He laughs, “I know ye’ve been to Scotland before because I saw ye here.”
“Yes, I’ve been to Scotland before, but I’ve always ridden in the back of a limo.”
More laughter at my expense and it’s starting to piss me off, but I bite my tongue.
“Just get in the car, lilla du.”
Walking around to the other side, I get in. I don’t know why it took me by surprise to see the steering wheel on that side of the car. I can’t believe I embarrassed myself like that. He must think I’m such a dumbass.
Once in the car, he pulls off the tarmac, turning onto the road. We pass several signs, and I realize that instead of landing at the airport in Edinburgh like I’d planned, we landed in England instead.
“Did you change our flight plan?” I ask.
“Aye.”
Trying to figure out why he would’ve directed the pilot where he did, I watch the scenery speed by.
“What’s spinning through that head o’ yers, lilla du?” Draven asks from behind the wheel of the car.
“Why did we land in England?”
He glances at me. “Why do you think?”
Huffing, I say, “I don’t know. That’s why I ask I asked you.”
His jaw jumps as he clinches his teeth and then he scrubs his face with his hand.
