10
Tristan Broussard
I openmy eyes and see three red glowing numbers. Five-one-three. Not the three numbers that I need tosee.
“Shit, bebelle. Get up. Weoverslept.”
“Hmm?” shegroans.
“Get up, Emma Lia. We’re late.” Damn. I can’t believe that I fellasleep.
It was really late—or early—when Emma Lia and I stopped fucking around. I didn’t set the alarm because I was going to stick it out for the hour rather than go tosleep.
So fuckingstupid.
I told Emma Lia to get a little rest, and I’d wake her when it was time to get up. But she felt so good curled around me. And I was so relaxed after coming three times. I couldn’t stop myself from drifting off into a bebelle-induced post-orgasmiccoma.
“Can we makeit?”
“It’s chartered. They’ll wait, but we need to get a move on so they don’t cancel onus.”
Emma Lia goes to her drawer of clothes and yanks out a top and bottom. “Sorry, but it’s going to be a leggings, tunic, and messy hair bun day. I won’t be looking mybest.”
“Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. You’re always beautiful tome.”
Emma Lia catches my attention when she pulls a pair of black lace panties up her legs. She wiggles her butt to adjust them after they’re in place. So fuckingsexy.
“I smell like your cum.” She grins. “And like sex. Lots ofit.”
Sweat and cum,my cum, mixed with Emma Lia’s feminine juices. Nothing in the world like the mix of thosescents.
“I need a shower,” shesays.
“No time. Your pussy gets to smell freshly fucked by me until we get home.” I don’t hate that she’ll have my mark on her allday.
A wicked grin grows on her face. “A nice reminder of last night’s fuck-a-thon.”
It was indeed a fuck-a-thon.
I have no idea how we pull it off, but we’re walking out the door within fifteen minutes of crawling out ofbed.
Emma Lia holds up her hand for a high five. “Nice teamwork, Mr.Broussard.”
I like hearing her call me that. Reminds me of our Mr. and Mrs. scene when we arrived. “We make a greatteam.”
The minute we’re in the air, Emma Lia’s head leaves my shoulder and we recline our seats. “See you in NewOrleans.”
“Sweet dreams, bebelle.” Mrs.Broussard.
I sleep off and on during our flight home, but mostly off. I’ve never been a great sleeper during travel. Not the case for Emma Lia. She is curled into a ball and leaning against the window. Her breath is steady, and every now and then I hear a softsnore.
I’m feeling restless, so I forgo closing my eyes and crack open Emma Lia’sThe Thorn Birdsnovel. Once we reach full altitude, the flight attendant makes her way back to check on us. “May I get you or your wifeanything?”
Here we go again with the wholemy wifething, but I don’t mind the charade. Especially when it involves my fucking Mrs. Broussard into oblivion. “I think that my wife is fine, but I’ll take a Jack andCoke.”
The flight home feels so long. Probably because Emma Lia sleeps most of the way, and I’m left to entertain myself. “I enjoy traveling, but it always feels so good to comehome.”
“Traveling always makes me feel icky. And it doesn’t help that I didn’t get a shower this morning,” shesays.
