He tried to stay her hands, but she shook her head and flicked open his fly. Giving her lips a hungry lick, she pressed her palm against the raging hard-on waiting inside and squeezed until he saw stars.
“Davrin can only cover me for a few minutes. You can thank me later.”
He should have warned her there was zero chance of alater,but it was all he could do to stifle his groan of relief and hold himself steady when she dropped into a squat and pulled the aching length of his cock free.
Petal-pink lips curved into a saucy smile, and she met his gaze, swirling her tongue across the tip to lap at the pearls of pre-cum surfacing with every pump of her tight little fist.
Holy shit, it had been a while. A long while.
Lucy had cut him off ages ago. Even after accepting his proposal, she’d still maintained separate rooms, claiming work and planning stress was a mood killer. He’d believed her, because why wouldn’t he? She was always either at home or working. It never occurred to him to question the late nights and business trips, because apparently he was an idiot.
Wherever she and her lover were, he hoped the water gave them the shits.
Maybe he should appreciate that she’d stopped sharing his bed once she’d fallen into someone else’s. Unfortunately, his dick wasn’t one for charity, and his ego refused to thank someone for onlymostlyfucking him over.
Hannah grabbed his hips and swallowed him to the root with a quiet, heady moan that pulled his full attention back to where it should be. Why in the hell was he thinking about Lucy when he had a woman on her knees, enthusiastically proving she knew what she was doing? What he needed to worry about was lasting longer than two seconds and not passing out.
“Holy fuck, that’s good.”
Her unrelenting hold on his hips goaded him into fucking her mouth hard, and she met each thrust with gusto and these tiny whimpers that made his balls spasm.
Owen thought he should stay away from brunettes? He didn’t know what he was missing. Maybe he was being tooquick in writing Hannah off. What might she be capable of when time and space weren’t an issue?
“Shit, I’m close,” he warned, head thuddingback against the mirror when she sped up instead of backing off.
His cock swelled, dark and glistening with saliva as his balls drew up tight. She uttered a pleased little hum, clearly proud of what she was doing to him, and the vibration made the base of his spine itch.
What a fucking vision. Beautiful tits heaving with every breath. Lips swollen from the thick cock abusing her mouth. Her eyes watered, previously meticulous makeup now staining her cheeks as he dug his fingers into her mass of dark hair and loosed the prim little knot.
He wrapped the ebony waves around his fist to complete the debauched librarian fantasy and thrust harder. Dopamine-infused ecstasy coursed through his body, and he chased the sensation. Let it build into an unbearable pressure that surged from his balls to the tip of his dick. He imagined his orgasm blowing the back off the fucking plane and would have laughed if he’d been capable of drawing enough breath.
At his feet, Hannah made delicious sucking and gagging sounds, her enthusiasm a steady beat alongside the sound of his heart in his ears. She wanted the endgame almost as badly as he did, and it was goddamn intoxicating.
What came next was not him, but a slow-motion catastrophe he expected would be a hilarious story in the future. The very distant future.
In the very immediate present, a sudden sharp and searing pain cut him off at the knees. He lurched forward with a low, agonized groan. Jesus fucking Christ, she’d castrated him.
Confusion warred with nausea.
Hannah toppled backward against the toilet with a startled yelp as the plane rocked and dipped a second time. Evan wincedat the impact, but couldn’t let go of his throbbing cock long enough to offer help.
That answered the question he couldn’t gather the wits to ask, because air and space were the immediate priority, neither of which he was getting in this coffin of a bathroom.
He unlocked the door and took a rubber-legged step into the galley. Another pocket of turbulence struck, crashing Hannah into his back. They stumbled, a flailing mass of limbs and four-letter words, and landed strewn upon the floor.
Evan stayed there, crouched on hands and knees. He’d teased the guy next to him about hating flying, yet he was the one who was about to be sick.
“This never happened,” he rasped while struggling to his feet.
“What didn’t?”
Hannah was back at her cart with her hair and uniform in perfect order. Only the makeup still staining her eyes assured him he hadn’t passed out and jerked off in some vivid, bourbon-fueled dream.
She wiped her face clean with a wet cloth and reapplied a touch of lipstick. With a small smile and a quick pat to his shoulder, she pushed the cart forward and disappeared through the curtain.
“Catch your zipper?” his neighbor asked, blue-grey eyes the picture of innocence. He was smirking.
“Ha ha.”
