20: FUCK ME 30,000 FEET UP

SLOANE’S POV

Look, I’m three glasses of champagne deep and so fucking wet I’m probably leaving a slick mark on this leather seat.

I don’t even care. Let the whole first-class cabin know what my boss does to me just by existing.

Brad’s been staring at me for twenty solid minutes. Good. I wore this tight black dress and no bra for one reason: to make him suffer.

He's sitting across the aisle, Mr. Brad Carter, CEO, looking like a fucking GQ model in a five-thousand-dollar suit.

For six months, he's been all business. Professional. Distant. "Ms. Rivera, have those reports on my desk by noon." "Ms. Rivera, reschedule the investors' meeting." Never Sloane.

Always the formal bullshit, even when we'd work late and I'd catch him staring at my legs under the conference table.

But tonight at the Tokyo gala, something shifted. His hand lingered on my lower back while introducing me to clients. His fingers brushed mine when passing me champagne.

And when that sleazy VP from accounting tried to corner me, Brad's jaw went tight and he pulled me away with a possessive grip that made my panties fucking melt.

Now we're thirty thousand feet up, and that professional mask is... slipping.

His tie is loose, and his eyes are dark, tracking my every move like I'm his next meal.

Good. I'm starving too.

I lean forward, letting him get a good look down my dress. My nipples are hard little points pressing against the silk, begging for his mouth.

I see his knuckles go white where he’s gripping the armrest.

“You’re staring, Brad,” I purr, swirling the champagne in my glass.

His voice is a low, rough growl that goes straight to my clit. “You’ve been teasing me all goddamn night, Ms. Rivera.”

I almost smirk.

“I haven’t done a thing,” I lie, taking a slow sip and letting a drop linger on my bottom lip.

“Bullshit. That dress. The way you crossed and uncrossed your legs at the gala. You know exactly what you’re doing to me.” He shifts in his seat, and I can see the thick outline of his cock straining against his expensive slacks.

It’s a fucking monster. My mouth actually waters.

“Maybe I just like the view from over here,” I smirk.

His laugh is dark.

“You want a view, baby? Or do you want this?” His hand drops to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric, and a jolt of pure, filthy need shoots through me.

My thighs squeeze together, my pussy clenching around nothing.

The plane hits a bump and my knee brushes his. We don’t pull away. The air between us is so thick with lust I can barely breathe.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his fingers inching toward my thigh.

The word that comes out is a breathy, “Don’t.”

His touch is electric. His big, warm hand slides up my skirt, over my stocking, and his fingers find the soaked lace of my panties. I bite my lip to keep from moaning.

“Fuck, Sloane,” he breathes my name, his thumb pressing hard against my clit through the wet fabric. “You’re fucking drenched for me already.”

I can’t speak. His middle finger hooks under the lace and slides inside me, and my head falls back against the seat.

He curls his finger, hitting that perfect spot, and I have to stifle a cry.

“Shhh, baby,” he whispers, his mouth hot against my ear. “You don’t want them to hear, do you? Don’t want them to know what a dirty little slut you are, getting your pussy fingered by your boss at thirty thousand feet.”

His filthy words make me even wetter. His finger pumps in and out, and he adds a second, stretching me, filling me.

My hips start to move, riding his hand right there in the open. I’m so close.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, his voice rough. “Come on my fingers. Let me feel that pretty pussy squeeze.”

I can’t hold back. An orgasm rips through me, violent and shocking.

My body convulses, my pussy clenching around his fingers as I muffle a scream against his shoulder. He doesn’t stop, working me through it until I’m a trembling, feverish mess.

He pulls his fingers out with a wet sound and brings them to his lips, sucking them clean, his eyes locked on mine.

“Fucking sweet. Just like I knew you’d be.”

I should be satisfied. But I’m not. I’m fucking ravenous. I see the empty bathroom light is on.

I stand up on shaky legs, smooth my skirt, and walk toward it without a word. I don’t have to look back. I know he’s following me.

The second the bathroom door locks behind us, he’s on me. He slams me against the door, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and pure domination.

His hands tear at my panties, ripping the lace.

“Goddamn,” he groans, looking at me—skirt shoved up, pussy bare and glistening for him. “You’re a fucking dream.”

My hands go to his belt, fumbling. He’s harder, faster, yanking his belt open, the zipper rasping down.

His cock springs free, and fuck. It’s even bigger than I imagined. Thick, veiny, and rock-hard, with a bead of pre-cum already leaking from the tip.

I wrap my hand around him, stroking his length, and he groans, his head falling back.

“You like that, boss?” I whisper, my thumb swiping over the slick head. “You like how I’m touching your big, hard cock?”

His answer is a guttural sound. He spins me around, bends me over the sink, and slaps my ass with his cock. The sound echoes in the tiny room.

“Tell me you want it,” he demands, the head of his dick pressing against my soaking entrance. “I want to hear the filthy words come out of that pretty mouth.”

“I want your cock,” I gasp, pushing back against him. “I want you to fuck me raw in this dirty bathroom. I want you to fill my tight little pussy up.”

“Such a perfect, filthy slut for me,” he growls.

And then he rams into me. One brutal, breathtaking thrust that steals the air from my lungs. He’s so big, he stretches me to the limit, filling me completely.

“Oh, FUCK!” I scream, my nails scraping the porcelain.

He doesn’t wait. He sets a brutally delicious rhythm, slamming into me, his balls slapping against my clit with every thrust.

The sink rattles violently. The mirror fogs. The room smells like sex and sweat and us.

“Harder!” I beg, my voice breaking. “Fuck me harder, Brad! Make me feel it tomorrow!”

He obeys, his grip on my hips bruising, his cock pistoning into me like a machine. I’m so close again, the pleasure is a tight coil in my belly.

“I’m gonna come!” I cry out.

“Not yet,” he grunts, and he pulls out, spinning me around.

He drops to his knees, his face between my legs, and his mouth is on my pussy, his tongue spearing inside, lapping up my juices, his stubble rough against my sensitive skin.

“Oh my GOD!” I sob, my hands fisting in his hair. He devours me, his tongue flicking my clit, sucking it into his mouth, and I come apart again, screaming his name as I flood his mouth.

He drinks every drop, groaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Then he’s up, lifting me onto the counter, his cock poised at my lips.

“Open,” he commands, his voice ragged.

I open my mouth like a good girl, and he feeds me his cock. I suck him deep, my throat relaxing, taking him all the way to the base.

I can taste myself on him—salty and perfect.

“Fuck, your mouth,” he groans, his hips thrusting gently. “I’m gonna come down your throat.”

But he pulls back. He turns me over again, bending me over the sink. This time, he spits on his hand, slicks up his cock, and presses the head against my other hole.

My eyes widen. “Brad—”

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, his hand rubbing my back. “I’ll go slow. Just relax for me.”

He pushes, and there’s a burning, stretching sensation that makes me gasp. But then he’s inside, and the feeling is… incredible. Taboo. So fucking deep.

He starts to move, and the dual sensation of being filled there while my clit rubs against the cold porcelain has me seeing stars.

“You take my cock so well,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. “Your tight little ass is mine now, Sloane. All mine.”

I’m a whimpering, begging mess. I come again, a screaming, shaking orgasm that makes my legs buckle.

He follows with a grunt, slamming into me one last time, his cock pulsing as he empties his hot, thick load deep inside my ass.

We collapse against each other, panting, dripping with sweat. He pulls out slowly, and his cum drips down my thighs.

He turns me around and kisses me, deep and slow, tasting our mixed flavors.

We straighten our clothes in silence. He looks as composed as ever, just a little flushed. I’m a wreck—my makeup smeared, my hair a mess, my body humming and thoroughly used.

Back in our seats, as the plane begins its descent, he leans over, his lips brushing my ear. His voice is a low, possessive whisper that promises so much more.

“The car is waiting. I’m not done with you yet.”