I nodded. I had sort of assumed that, with the profession he had undertaken. He was a bad man.
A bad man my vagina crazy loved.
And I was back to the Pretty Woman analogy.
I hiked up the skirt and pulled on the black-lace underwear that shaped around my ass perfectly. I checked the tag and nodded, French, of course. They were probably hundred-dollar underwear.
Did James buy these for Mel? Did they laugh at me, when they pretended to be at work, but were really spending crazy amounts of money, and living it up with his millions? Did she have millions too? Was I the only idiot who missed the affair, that was suddenly so obvious from every angle I looked at it now?
I sighed and pulled on the charcoal-leather-pushup bandeau that matched the skirt. I attached the clasp and looked at myself. I looked sexy, my stomach was flat, my legs were long and toned from the running, and my boobs looked hot in the bra. I felt dirty though. It was a bra bought with drugs, guns, and blood money. I looked at myself and remembered what my dad always told me, "When running an Intel op, you have to remember that you aren’t the person you were when you woke up. You're the person you need to be. You're whatever your country needs you to be, and that is the hard part of the job, Evie. Can you be what they need and not who you want?"
I would nod and he would say, "Because I can tell you, those two or three or four people will never be the same, as the person you want to be. This job can rot you from the inside. You gotta let it hurt for a second and then you gotta turn it off."
In my green eyes, I saw his.
I saw the pride he had when I graduated top honors. I saw the way he introduced me. I saw the way he accidentally groomed me for the job when he was raising me.
I let it hurt for a second and then I turned it off.
I looked down at the Christian Louboutin ankle-boot pumps and smiled. My back was going to kill me, but I was going to look sexy as hell while in that pain. I styled my hair with mousse, making it look euro trash. I could be receiving a CMA award with that hair. I glued the false lashes on and back-lined them. I fluttered my eyes and balanced it with mascara and steel-gray shadow. I dabbed the Russian Red MAC lipstick across my mouth and slid the gloss on after. Seeing myself like that, I was stunned. I hadn't looked like that in a long time. My brain, the dirty, cheap, fighting, bitch she was, made a snide-asshole comment about that being the reason James had strayed. But I knew, he had been straying from the start and no low self-esteem, was going to convince me otherwise.
I slipped on the boots, getting my balance before attempting anything else. Then I pulled on the leather halter-top and called to Roxy, who had gone in the other room.
The curtain pulled back, but the hands that touched my back were not hers. I looked up suddenly in the mirror. He smirked, "You look like trouble." He zipped me up and then slid his arms around me.
I smiled and tried not to get any Russian Red on my teeth.
His hands grabbed my hips, pulling me back into his groin, "I like your ass at this height." He rubbed himself against me again. Was he hard already? My body had a response for that, I may or may not have agreed, but the response was there.
He moved my huge hair to one side and nestled himself in my neck, "Odd, I just had you and now I want you again. Maybe it's because I can smell sex on you still."
I blushed, "I was hoping to take a shower." I didn’t want to have that conversation in front of a mirror, while he dry humped me and made me watch.
He shook his head and never even tried to fight the shit-eating grin that crossed his delicious lips, "You smell as you should for the job you're about to do."
I shuddered when he spoke into my nape and left a single kiss.
“Isn’t it going to be too late for a hooker to show up at a room?”
He chuckled and kissed me softly, “No. We gain several hours back and he has the order in for one in the morning. We land just in time.”
I shook my head, “But that’s four in the morning to my body. I’ll be dead on my feet.”
He licked my neck, “You’ll be on your back, I imagine.”
The fire inside of me tried to lash out at him; I had loads of smart-ass comebacks. I fought them all.
He winked, "Your daddy trained you well, Evie,” and spanked my ass as he walked back out of the room.
My lower lip trembled. I smeared the gloss on one more layer thick, and walked after him. I sat in my perfectly-made up chair. It was like I had never been there. "Roxy must have OCD."
He laughed, "She does. Best qualities in a cook and assistant."
I sat and crossed my legs. I loosened up and grabbed my wine. It was the only remnant of my meal. I drank the glass back in a gulp.
"So I really have to wear this?" I looked down and shook my head.
He laughed, "We won't ever negotiate on your clothing, ever."
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, whatever. I’m a yoga pants sort of girl. Me and you will be hitting us some Lulu, at some point. You think my ass looks good in this skirt—you should see it in Lululemon yoga pants.”
He looked confused, “You are truly an odd woman.”
I sighed, “No, you’re just used to being around twenty-year-olds. They lack the I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude that hits when you reach your mid-thirties.”
“Maybe I could get past that, because everything else has been quite entertaining.”
I scoffed, “Wait until I get a hot flash and scream at you, because you have a sweater on that’s making me hot. I had a hysterectomy when I was thirty, put me directly into menopause. How hot is that?”
“Quite hot if you run about ripping your clothes off, when you get one of those flash things?”
I laughed, “No. I basically turn red and sweaty and yell a lot. Hot yoga keeps them at bay. Yoga and saunas. I basically need to sweat a lot to stop them.”
“I can make you sweat,” he muttered and leaned over closer to me, running his finger down my bare arm, "Do you realize how odd it is that you believe I had your husband and his lover murdered, and yet, you let me make you cum with my mouth and cock?"
He was goading me.
I smiled, "He wasn’t really ever my husband, though was he—not really. And I don’t think he or his lover are dead. Besides, the sex was nice."
He arched an eyebrow, "Both times? I think it was a lot more than nice." He adjusted himself and looked up at Steve, "Go sit up front and tell Roxy we don’t need her till we land."
Steve got up and walked to the front of the jet. He closed a door, leaving us back there alone.
I looked at him and sneered, "You've got to be kidding me; what are seventeen?"
He shook his head, "Stand up and shut your mouth, unless I tell you to open it."
My heart started to race. I stood up. He admired me and nodded, "Turn around."
I glanced at his huge erection and turned around slowly.
"Take your panties down, slowly and bend from the waist, no knees."
I was his plaything.
I winced and trailed my sweaty hands up my thighs, dragging my skirt with them. I looked to the right at the single door stopping everyone from seeing what I was about to do. They were probably taping it. I swallowed my fear and the onion soup threatening to come back up. I looped my fingers in the panties and pulled them down slowly. I bent forward, grateful I had done all my ablutions before I got on the plane. I dragged them right down to the boots, bending all the way. I was about to step out of them when he spoke, "Don’t move."
I felt the heat from his fingers lingering over my ass cheek. He traced across and down. I lurched forward when he slid his finger inside of my slightly-swollen pussy.
His other hand came across my ass cheeks hard, "I said don’t move."
I held my core tight as he pumped his finger in and out like he was bent on torturing me. It was too slow and soft, but still I was mouth breathing into my own knees.
I started to relax, until I heard him rustling and then felt his body behind mine. His finger pumped hard, making me gasp, before his cock replaced it. He shoved in hard. I cried out, it was too loud for an airplane door to conceal.
He thrust in a circular motion, all the while holding me bent forward. I thanked God I had gotten addicted to hot yoga. My spine was flexible and able to take the assault.
"God, you feel good," he muttered, taking long, rhythmic strides.
He shortened his pumps, like he was using me, enjoying me.
My brain tried to register the fact, he was using me and I liked it.
"I am never letting you go. You are mine, forever. Sweet fucking God," he cried out when it felt as if he had reached something of a peak, and then started pumping again. "You. Get. So. Wet. For. Me. Evie."
He jackhammered me almost, with the angle I was at. His thrusts slapped his balls against me, spanking all the way to my clit. I gripped the seat next to me, moaning into it just as he came. He slowed his thrusts and then stopped suddenly.
"You are the hottest piece of ass, I have fucked in a long time."
Blood was rushing to my head. I needed to sit up, but he held me down.
I felt him touching where his cock was plugging my hole. He dragged the moisture of his semen up to my ass. My eyes bugged when he touched the wrong hole.
"That’s never been touched has it?" he asked, just dipping his finger in the very entrance of my asshole.
I shook my head.
"Hmm, we'll have to remedy that in the near future," he slipped the finger in farther. I had dozens of bad thoughts.
"Relax. I'm not going any farther, I don’t have the right tools for the job and this is not the position to do it in anyway," his voice was soft… satisfied.
He pulled out his finger and his cock at the same time. He slipped past me and walked to the back of the plane. I leaned on the seat in front of me and tried to catch the sobbing tears in my throat. I hated that he got off and I didn’t.
Wait, that was the thing that was burning me the most?
My brain forced the thought of the ass-sex comment to the forefront.
