Rm w/a Vu(123)
Understanding, Greyston raises his head from my neck and removes his fingers from between my thighs. He rolls the latex over his length, then pulls me to the very edge of the counter and lifts my right leg until my foot is flat against the wall behind him. Once I’m positioned, eases me back until my shoulders rest against the mirror behind me. Then he grips my hips firmly before slowly entering me as I bite back a groan, trying not to alert the flight attendants of our indiscretion.
“Jesus, Juliette, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he tells me, his eyes trained on the site of his cock disappearing inside of me.
Curious, I shift my weight and look down, wanting to see what he sees, and when I do, I cannot bring myself to look away. Watching him thrust in and out of me is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I can feel my entire body tense in preparation of my climax.
“I’m…not…” Greyston growls between thrusts. “Fuck! I’m not going to last much longer.”
A deep tingle begins to emanate throughout my entire body, and I fall back to the mirror, unable to hold myself upright anymore as I creep closer and closer to pure bliss. Greyston’s right hand leaves my hip, moving up to grope my tit roughly before moving down my arm until he ensnares my wrist and lifts it above my head, holding it against the mirror. Then, his other hand leaves my body, going straight for my other wrist, and he guides it between us.
“Touch yourself,” he commands, his hips moving a little less rhythmically as he watches.
Nodding, I let my index and middle fingers glide over my swollen clit; it’s so sensitive that I have to bite my lip hard to keep from crying out. I watch Greyston’s face as I pleasure myself, and he is focused raptly on our joining bodies, picking up the pace and racing toward his orgasm. His grunts and groans fill the small space, and I’m sure we can be heard, but I don’t really give a shit as my fingers press harder and swirl faster over my tender flesh. Occasionally, they’ll graze his length as he pulls out, and he’s quick to slam back into me over and over again until his eyebrows pull together. His jaw clenches, and his hold on my wrist tightens as his hips stutter and jerk against me. It takes me a couple more passes over my clit before I’m coming, too, every muscle in my body contracting around him.
Smiling lazily, Greyston peppers kisses across my sternum before pressing them firmly against my lips. “Fuck that was hot,” he growls, biting my lip. “Best fucking club I’ve ever been a part of.”
Quicker than I should be in my post-orgasmic daze, I decide to play with his choice of words a little. “Been a part of many fucking clubs, Mr. Masters?”
He chuckles, pushing himself up and releasing my wrist from above my head so we can right our clothes. “Behave yourself.”
Smiling mischievously as I tuck my breasts back into my bra and pull my shirt down, I shrug. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
He laughs quietly, helping me down from the counter and pushing my skirt back down my thighs. He quickly washes his hands while I clean myself up, and then I do the same. He listens at the door for a moment before opening it a crack and slipping out. I immediately lock the door to keep anyone else from coming in while I wait a few minutes before emerging as well. When I feel enough time has sufficiently passed, I open the door and head back to my seat. I try to ignore the way the flight attendant stares at me, but I feel like she knows what we were up to. I begin to panic, my heart racing and my breathing speeding up. I pass by her, and she doesn’t say anything, so I breathe a sigh of relief and find Greyston in his seat.
As I pass in front of him, it doesn’t escape my notice that his eyes linger in the general area of my zipper, and I can only imagine he’s thinking about what I’m not wearing underneath.
Once I’m securely buckled next to him, I lean in. “Am I going to get them back?” I whisper, and he laughs.
“I told you they’re a souvenir of my initiation.”
“And where’s mine?” I demand playfully.
He only smirks, leaning forward and grabbing the magazine from the seat back in front of him. “You check your neck?”
My eyes fly open, and I reach for my phone, turning camera on and flipping the view so I can see myself. When I do, I see the lovely quarter-sized hickey he left on me. “What are you, fifteen?” I ask with a laugh, trying to tug the low neckline of my shirt up to cover it. “Who does that?”
“Men who are in the moment and trying not to alert the staff that they’re getting lucky in the washroom.”
I think about this for a moment and decide his reasoning is solid. “Fair enough.”