Exclusive Interview by Ava Lore Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ava Lore
Casually he stepped back and made a huge show of inspecting the bathroom door. "It says it's unoccupied. You should go in and take care of business. Are you feeling well?" His voice suddenly turned to one of concern.
"What?" I said.
He turned and spoke to someone. "My friend is feeling ill," he said. "I'm going to help her out."
"Sir, I'm afraid that's not allowed..."
A stewardess. He was talking to a stewardess.
I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I suddenly doubled over and began to cough. "Kent!" I managed to say between gags. "Kent, help..."
"I have to," Kent said. "Write me up, get the marshall to come over and make sure we're not terrorists, but she is about to yak everywhere.”
Strong hands landed on my coat and hauled me upright. Then he opened the restroom door, dragged me inside, and closed the door behind us.
The bathroom was crowded, and the opposite of sexy, but now his rock hard body was pressed completely against mine and arousal raced through me. "Jesus," I said.
"I ain't Jesus. I'm way better in bed," he said, and pulled me toward him, his lips crashing down to meet mine.
My god, the man knew how to kiss. Soft, pouted lips worked against mine, his hot, rough tongue flickering over my mouth, and I opened before him with a moan. His hands ran over my body, in out and everywhere, hot and demanding. His thigh pressed between mine, straight into my pussy and I rocked my hips over it, rubbing myself against him.
What are you doing? I screamed at myself from the darkness of my head. This is your potential boss. Stop thinking with your metaphorical penis!
But I couldn't. His touch woke something in me, something primal and needy that I couldn't remember ever feeling before, something that meant I couldn't stop, no matter how smart it would have been to pull away. He pulled out of the kiss and pressed his lips to my ear. The roar of the engines in the tiny bathroom were so loud I could hardly hear him, but the gust of hot, wet breath over the shell of my ear made every nerve on my body stand up and pay attention.
"No time for a good fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "But always time to get off." And he lowered his hands to my jeans and unbuttoned them.
"Oh, god," I said, or I think I said it. His fingers were calloused and rough, and after he'd yanked the zipper down he turned me around without tenderness and shoved his hand down my pants, insinuating his fingers between my panties and the mound of my sex.
I was panting, riding high. He smelled rich and dark, like cigarettes and rum. His other hand grabbed my breasts and squeezed, kneading and tweaking in time with the thrust of his hips. His enormous cock, burning through his trousers and my jeans, nestled in the crack of my ass, and he ground it against my curves as his fingers slipped between my pussy lips and began to move.
I put my hands out and braced myself on the vibrating walls, crying out as one calloused finger dragged over my sensitive clit. His mouth was on my ear, moving quickly, flicking the complex folds with his tongue as though he were imagining going down on me, lapping at my clit with the tip of his tongue. His finger was almost too much, dipping further inside me.
"You're so fucking wet for me," he whispered. His voice, deep and resonant, echoed inside my head. I swallowed and closed my eyes as he ground his cock against my ass, his dipping and diving fingers sending me straight into the stratosphere.
I wanted to fuck him, badly. I panted and mewled against him as he thrust his cock against me over and over. His free hand wandered over my breasts, down my rib cage, up to my throat. Long fingers closed over my windpipe and he pulled me into him, restricting my movements. I should have panicked, but I didn't. The feeling of being constrained, of being subjected to his carnal desires whether I wanted them or not, thrilled me darkly.
He held me fast, slipping another finger between the slick folds of my pussy. I felt every
"What?" I said.
He turned and spoke to someone. "My friend is feeling ill," he said. "I'm going to help her out."
"Sir, I'm afraid that's not allowed..."
A stewardess. He was talking to a stewardess.
I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I suddenly doubled over and began to cough. "Kent!" I managed to say between gags. "Kent, help..."
"I have to," Kent said. "Write me up, get the marshall to come over and make sure we're not terrorists, but she is about to yak everywhere.”
Strong hands landed on my coat and hauled me upright. Then he opened the restroom door, dragged me inside, and closed the door behind us.
The bathroom was crowded, and the opposite of sexy, but now his rock hard body was pressed completely against mine and arousal raced through me. "Jesus," I said.
"I ain't Jesus. I'm way better in bed," he said, and pulled me toward him, his lips crashing down to meet mine.
My god, the man knew how to kiss. Soft, pouted lips worked against mine, his hot, rough tongue flickering over my mouth, and I opened before him with a moan. His hands ran over my body, in out and everywhere, hot and demanding. His thigh pressed between mine, straight into my pussy and I rocked my hips over it, rubbing myself against him.
What are you doing? I screamed at myself from the darkness of my head. This is your potential boss. Stop thinking with your metaphorical penis!
But I couldn't. His touch woke something in me, something primal and needy that I couldn't remember ever feeling before, something that meant I couldn't stop, no matter how smart it would have been to pull away. He pulled out of the kiss and pressed his lips to my ear. The roar of the engines in the tiny bathroom were so loud I could hardly hear him, but the gust of hot, wet breath over the shell of my ear made every nerve on my body stand up and pay attention.
"No time for a good fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "But always time to get off." And he lowered his hands to my jeans and unbuttoned them.
"Oh, god," I said, or I think I said it. His fingers were calloused and rough, and after he'd yanked the zipper down he turned me around without tenderness and shoved his hand down my pants, insinuating his fingers between my panties and the mound of my sex.
I was panting, riding high. He smelled rich and dark, like cigarettes and rum. His other hand grabbed my breasts and squeezed, kneading and tweaking in time with the thrust of his hips. His enormous cock, burning through his trousers and my jeans, nestled in the crack of my ass, and he ground it against my curves as his fingers slipped between my pussy lips and began to move.
I put my hands out and braced myself on the vibrating walls, crying out as one calloused finger dragged over my sensitive clit. His mouth was on my ear, moving quickly, flicking the complex folds with his tongue as though he were imagining going down on me, lapping at my clit with the tip of his tongue. His finger was almost too much, dipping further inside me.
"You're so fucking wet for me," he whispered. His voice, deep and resonant, echoed inside my head. I swallowed and closed my eyes as he ground his cock against my ass, his dipping and diving fingers sending me straight into the stratosphere.
I wanted to fuck him, badly. I panted and mewled against him as he thrust his cock against me over and over. His free hand wandered over my breasts, down my rib cage, up to my throat. Long fingers closed over my windpipe and he pulled me into him, restricting my movements. I should have panicked, but I didn't. The feeling of being constrained, of being subjected to his carnal desires whether I wanted them or not, thrilled me darkly.
He held me fast, slipping another finger between the slick folds of my pussy. I felt every
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