Twelve Months of Kristal: 50 Loving States Maine

I feel Declan’s curious gaze on me as I also pass by his seat, even though there’s a small toilet for the pilot and steward I could make use of at the front.

He most likely understands what I plan to do, but like me, he is surprised that I am about to do it.

I spent the last flight I took with an escort so engrossed in my work that I completely forgot I’d decided to bring someone along on my short business trip to China until we landed. And that was not the first time something like that had happened. Escorts were like extra pieces of luggage on my trips. There, but not necessarily used.

To say this current behavior isn’t like me is an understatement.

Lifting the small red, engaged sign, I flip the locking apparatus from the other side of the door, gaining entrance with just a flick of my finger.

I find Kristal at the sink, staring at me wide-eyed. The water is still running, I note, but she’s no longer washing her hands, most likely because I’ve invaded her space with the manipulation of one lock.

I place a finger on my lips before she can ask any questions and close the door behind me.

As private jet washroom’s go, this one is relatively large. It’s hexagon-shaped with plastic walls and floors painted to look like wood and tile, respectively. It also boasts a shower, a built-in seat, and even a state of the art GoNoRobo toilet, a special off-menu item given to only a small number of tech billionaires as holiday presents.

There’s plenty of room in here for me to wait my turn patiently. But I wrap my long arms around her waist, pull up her sweater dress, and answer all of her unspoken questions by plunging my hand down the front of her panties.

I smile at her gasp, and something wicked unfurls inside of me as I watch her in the mirror.

“I would like for you to ride my hand,” I whisper in her ear. “Come quickly and silently, please.”

In the mirror, her eyes flare but then flutter close under the ministrations of my insistent fingers, plunging in and out of her while my thumb works her clit.

My dick pulses when her hips start moving, her beautiful bottom unconsciously stroking my length until suddenly she goes completely still. The tangy scent of her arousal rises into the air as her folds squeeze helplessly around my fingers.

Good girl.

I pull her tights down to her ankles, then turn her around and help her into a half-seated position on the sink. A few seconds for the condom, then ahhh, I’m back inside.

I anchor one hand at her waist and curl the other around the back of her neck to hold her. I want to, but don’t let myself kiss her. I just keep her steady as I pump into her with a desperation I should not be feeling less than twelve hours after the last time we did this.

She stays quiet, but disobeying my instructions from last night, her arms slip around my waist. Her legs spread as wide as they can go with the tights still around her ankles. She grips my butt, pulling me in closer, deeper so that we’re very nearly hugging as I thrust into her.

It doesn’t take long in this position. For either of us. With a muted choke, she bites into my shoulder as she comes again. Her pussy clamps so tight around me, Japanese spills out of my mouth, deep and guttural as I explode into the condom.

Panting, she rests her head on my shoulder as we both come down. “Is it…are you always like this with your escorts?”

“I am never like this. With anyone.”

The words come out harsh. They’re meant to be. But she draws back and smiles at me as if I’d paid her a compliment.

Then she leans forward and kisses me. When I’m at my weakest.

I find myself kissing her back before I can even register what I’m doing, my tongue clashing with hers though I swore I wouldn’t allow this intimacy during our multi-day cleanse.

Despite that vow, we kiss. And she’s the one who leans back first, not me.

“I like your technique,” she admits with a shy smile. “But I missed the kissing part.”

I did, too.

Too much.

I pull back from this. All the way back. “You may make use of the shower. I will clean up at the sink then drop off your suitcase for you.”

That announced, I turn away from her, going over to the small seating area and keeping my back turned until I hear the muted scrapes of clothes being taken off…and then the sound of the shower going.

The “California Dreamin’” song has disappeared. But why does it feel like the druggy “White Rabbit” one is still playing?

Just an escort, I remind myself. Even as I start to fear that ten days won’t be enough.