“Excuse me,” she said sweetly, instantly hardening my dick with her saccharine sound. Yep, she wasn’t the goth girl. The dark makeup wasn’t her thing.
“Sorry, miss,” I said as I stood so she could take the seat next to me, using the book in my hand to cover my erection. This was going to be a long flight. I could smell her, and it wasn’t just the perfume or soap, but natural scent. I wanted to sit while she stood, and bite on her pussy. There wasn’t that much room for her to pass, so her covered breast just lightly grazed my arm. My body felt the touch as though I was bum rushed by her naked body. It was too much, and it was nothing more than an accidental boob graze.
“Thank you,” she replied before sitting. Her face pinked when she looked at my neck. It was clear she thought it was a hickey.
I tried to avoid looking at her or smelling the light perfume she had on, but it was difficult. My dick was so damn hard, and my mind blank. I watched as she pulled a Kindle out of her purse and started to read. She just focused on her reading, like nothing was wrong, like she didn’t fuck up my equilibrium by just existing. My pants were already in need of an adjustment, and she nonchalantly carried on reading whatever it was she was reading. I wanted to tear the device from her hand and give her something else to hold.
I looked over and caught the word “suck it” in text. She was reading something naughty, and that didn’t help the hard-on in my pants. All thoughts went to telling her to “suck it.” She must have caught me staring, so she tilted her Kindle away so I couldn’t read it. I didn’t know if she was embarrassed or annoyed, but either way, I didn’t care. She was annoying me with her mere presence, and if she parted her mouth one more time while she was reading, I was going to embarrass myself.
We took off, and the stewardess made her rounds. “Sir, can I get you anything to drink?” the stewardess asked with a smile.
“Whiskey on the rocks?” I said as I looked at what she had on her cart. Perfect. I could use the cool burn of some Jameson.
“Yes, we have that, sir. Anything for your girlfriend?” she said, tilting her eyes at the beauty next to me.
I turned to her, but she didn’t pay any attention to the stewardess, so I asked, “Hey, babe, you want anything?”
“Huh? Oh, a water,” she said distractedly as she looked up from her book, then the stewardess handed me the whiskey.
“Okay, here you go.” She handed me the bottle, and I gave it to my supposed girlfriend. She missed the whole girlfriend comment and me calling her babe. I nodded to the stewardess, and she moved along.
“What are you reading?” I asked, knowing damn well she was reading some dirty shit that was getting her hot and bothered, judging by the blush on her cheeks and the constant fidgeting of her thighs. I wanted to put a hand on them to stop her movement. Not because it was offensive or anything, but because I was ready to lift her onto my hard cock and let her ride out that ache.
“A romance novel,” she whispered.
“I thought you wouldn’t tell me,” I admitted.
“Why? Because I don’t know you?” she replied.
“No because I saw the words ‘suck it’ in there,” I said with a grin. She blushed prettily. “Don’t be embarrassed. I thought it was really fucking hot. I’m Dean, by the way.” I stuck out my hand to her.
She shook it and replied, “Angel.”
I felt the shock from our hands touching, and my dick jumped. The broad was sin, and we were headed to a city known exactly for that. I didn’t let go of her hand—instead, I gave it a tender caress and watched her shiver. Hell, yeah! She was attracted to me—a lot. Her pulse was racing.
I looked into her hazel eyes and murmured, “Angel? It doesn’t suit you.”
“Well, that’s my name,” she said angrily, pulling her hand from mine.
“Don’t get offended, sweetheart. I just find you sexy as fuck, and to me you’re like the devil coming to torment me. Then again, the devil was once an angel.”
“Why, because you already have a woman, and you’re looking for a side chick?” Angel said, eying the bruise on my neck. She sounded offended, and I liked that because she had some self-respect despite her overly done dark makeup.
“This isn’t a hickey,” I denied, but she didn’t buy it.
“Yeah, right. What is it, then?” Angel asked me skeptically.
“I was playing baseball and didn’t move fast enough out of the way of a line drive, and it hit me in the neck and collarbone,” I admitted.
She looked at my build, which wasn’t helping the massive hard-on I was dealing with, then asked a logical question. “Are you a professional baseball player?”