Exclusive Interview by Ava Lore Read Free Book Online Page B

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    My knees buckled and I nearly fell, but his arm around me held me up by my clit. The rough caresses of his calloused musician's fingers strummed over my sensitive flesh, playing my body like an instrument, and the climax he wrung from it was the most intense thing I'd ever known. Everything was his hand in my pussy, his hand in my pussy was my world. The grungy, cramped airplane lavatory melted away, the horrible things he'd said to me and others were wiped from my mind, the desperation of my situation, the power he held over me, my past, his rock star lifestyle—whatever it was—all of it crumpled and imploded beneath the weight of our mutual need.
    I still thrashed in the grip of my release when his hips stuttered and his rhythm, until now impeccable, became erratic, falling apart. The heavy sac of his testicles, slapping against my closed thighs, hitched high and tight as cum pumped up and through his shaft, and when he thrust hard against me, his enormous cock poked out from between my pussy lips and squirted stream after stream of hot cum against the back of the toilet seat. White cream splattered over the black lid, the physical proof of our transgression.
    "Fuck," he growled into my ear, his hands rough and restless on my body, gripping and pulling as if he could somehow crawl inside me. "Fuck, you feel so goddamn good... "
    For a moment we stood, barely supporting each other, panting as we came down from the high. Then, abruptly, Kent withdrew. I felt him shifting behind me, but by the time I turned around, he had already stuffed his cock back into his pants. Not wanting to be outdone, I pulled up my own jeans.
    I was thoroughly confused by now. Did this guy like me or hate me?
    The smell of him was still overwhelming me, filling my head with thoughts of rough sex and long nights full of champagne and roses and whips and chains...
    Oh dear. Where had those thoughts come from? It couldn't just be his scent... could it?
    Stupid smell, I griped, get out of my head! I ducked my face and zipped up my jeans with shaking hands, struggling to hide my confusion.
    To his credit—or rather, to his credit since I didn't peg Kent Hudson to be the sort of person who would bother—Kent grabbed some toilet paper, wiped away the cum from the back of the toilet seat, and flushed it away. Then he straightened and looked down at me.
    I could see what was going to happen next. He was going to do the typical rock star manwhore thing. He was going to use me and then throw me away like a Kleenex during a spank session. The good vibes of the half-fuck we'd just had were already melting into anger.
    I'm sick of being used, I thought. I'm going to do the using from now on.
    I took a deep breath. “Well,” I said, “not bad. Thanks. But your going to have to do a lot more than that to convince me to take the job.”
    It was probably the jerkiest thing I'd ever said after sex, and I immediately felt bad as his eyes widened. “I...” he started, then shut his mouth with a snap. His brows twitched, and for a terrible moment I thought I might have hurt his feelings. Then he seemed to get himself under control, and I wasn't sure I'd seen that flash of emotion at all. He gave me a cool nod, turned, and waltzed out of the bathroom.
    The buzz of the plane roared around me. What the hell did you just do? I thought furiously at myself. Even if he was going to use me up and throw me away, that didn't mean he didn't also have feelings. I mean... What did I mean? I had no idea. My thoughts were just a jumble, a cluttered amalgamation of confusion, lust, and guilt.
    I stood there for a minute, and it was one of the longest minutes I think I've ever had to endure. When I judged enough time had passed, I slipped out the door and, on shaking legs, managed to stumble back to my seat, once again upsetting my businessman seat partner and startling a fart out of the old lady in the middle. I said nothing, only sat down in my seat and watched out the