Mister Weston

“I know we’ve been apart for awhile, but how often do you think about fucking me?”

“What?” I swallowed.

“You heard me, Gillian,” he said, his voice low. “How often?”

“A lot...”

“Define a lot.”

“Every day.”

“Do the two of you need anything to eat right now?” The flight attendant stepped next to us. “Would you like more time to look at the breakfast menu?”

“No,” Jake said, standing. “We’ll eat later.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back of the plane, where a small en-suite was tucked away. Shutting the door, he pulled me close and looked down at me.

“Every day?” he asked, picking up our conversation. “That’s as elaborate as you can get?”

I nodded, unsure of where he was going with this. Before I could ask him something, the plane slowly shook and veered to the right—pushing me back against the wall.

Looking unfazed by any sort of turbulence as always, Jake held me in place.

“When we met again in the mailroom months ago, you said you’d previously had much better sex with someone other than me. Bullshit aside, was that even halfway true, then?”

“You actually remember that?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, that’s not true.” I felt the plane shake again. “Why are you asking me this after all this time?”

“No reason.” He pulled my hair out of its side ponytail and tossed the elastic band to the floor. Staring at me, he grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head.

“Take off your pants,” he said.

My hands went to my jeans and I unzipped them, watching him as he took off his shirt and stepped out of his pants, too.

He stood stark naked in front of me, his cock hard and alert, his body making mine tremble in anticipation of what I’d been missing. Sighing, he stepped close and looked down at the only thing I was still wearing. Without saying a word, he ripped them off—letting them fall in shreds to the floor.

“Give me your phone.”

Confused, I bent down and grabbed my jeans, pulling my phone out of my front pocket and handing it to him. “What are you doing?”

“Your phone has video storage, correct?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer, tapping the screen a few times. “Yes, it does...” He clasped my hand and pulled me over to the small couch in the corner.

I thought he wanted us to sit on it, but he kept me standing.

With my ass pressed against his cock, he held the phone in front of us—our bare bodies visible as the red “recording” light flashed on the screen. Before I could ask him what the hell he was doing, he pressed his mouth against my skin—slowly trailing his tongue from my right to my left shoulder.

Holding my phone steady, he wrapped his other hand around my waist and pulled me close enough so his cock was slightly pressed between my cheeks. His mouth continued pressing kisses against my flesh, his teeth softly biting me.

“Keep your eyes on the camera, Gillian...” he whispered. “Keep your eyes on us...”

My cheeks flushed bright red as I stared at myself onscreen, and my eyes went wide as saucers. His blue eyes met mine from behind—gleaming wickedly as his kisses became teasingly unbearable with each passing second.

He suddenly spun me around to face him, latching his mouth onto mine—owning our kiss before I could even get a chance to try. His full lips moved against mine—wet and rough, demanding that I follow his lead. And as he continued to record us, he whispered, “Relax, Gillian...You’re about to see exactly why I’m so addicted to fucking you.”

Without saying anything else, he bent me over the couch—my body bowed so far over that my hair grazed the floor. He slapped my ass with his palm repeatedly, making me gasp every time. Then he slowly slipped his hand between my thighs, sucking in a hard breath once he felt how wet my pussy was.

I watched him position my phone against the pillows, heard him unwrap a condom, and the next thing I felt was his rock-hard cock sliding into me. His fingers twisting in my hair and tugging me back as he filled me inch by inch.

I immediately cried out in a mix of pleasure and slight pain, still never fully accustomed to how deep he could fit inside of my pussy. How he owned my walls with his each and every thrust.

“Look at how I’m fucking you right now, Gillian...Look at how your pussy only responds to me,” he whispered harshly, but he didn’t give me a chance to move. He pulled me back by my hair, forcing me to look at myself onscreen.

I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

Sweat was glistening against my skin, my lips parted with every moan, and as I gripped onto Jake’s legs for balance, I looked as if I completely out of control. As if I wanted him to keep fucking me more than anything. When he finally let go of my hair, he reached around my chest and palmed my breasts—roughly strumming my nipples.