Madly (New York 2)

And now I’ve led you into the bathroom, and I’m sitting on your knee in my dress, your hand up my skirts, jerking you.

Do you like it?

It took her a long time to type all that. She waited, imagining him on a bench in a swanky bathroom.

Yes.

Are you excited?

Y

She was getting excited, too, though not in an urgent way. It was just enjoyable to think of Winston thinking about her, doing something so intimate with her that he’d wanted to try.

You’re too horny to make me come, you’re just slipping your fingers all over me and inside me, and I’m very wet.

You’re so hard. You can smell how excited I am, and feel me wiggling all over your lap, kissing and sucking on your neck, fisting you hard.

I’m not very good at it. I’m too excited.

But I’m getting close to coming, even though I didn’t want to, and making noise, making a mess all over you. You’re worried someone will hear. But you don’t want me to stop, do you?

Allie waited for his reply, but he was gone. She shifted on the bench. It must mean he couldn’t type, was too close, maybe coming already.

So I don’t stop, I keep slipping my hand over you, faster and harder, fucking myself on your fingers, it feels so good, so hot, I come all over your hand.

And you come, too, on my fist, spilling hot on my fingers.

It’s so good, isn’t it?

You’re so good to me.

A jet engine was closing in. Allie was flushed, squirming on the bench. She finished her drink in three long swallows.

Winston texted, Darling.

Was it good?

It was unbelievable.

She felt sorry, then, not to be able to see his face. Text me a picture.

Of my…?

Of you.

After a full minute, it came through—what she thought might be Winston’s first selfie, his eyes downcast because he’d looked at the screen rather than the camera, his mouth in a shape she’d never seen it take before.

His ears were red, his postcoital flush deliciously in evidence. He looked adorable, and it was almost as good as having him here, almost enough to banish the dark clouds of her bad mood. Before she could talk herself out of it, she texted him a heart emoji.

He responded with three in a row.

The terminal doors slid open and May poked her head out. “What are you doing out here? You’re wiggling all over like a weirdo. People are looking.”

“What people?” She felt sordid, awash in instant shame for sitt

ing on a bench and fucking her New York fling over text while she waited for their father to land. But there were in fact no people.

“The plane’s here.”