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He started gently. Rubbing in an even circle, surrounding my clit with sensations. I sat up straighter.
I pressed myself against his hand. His hands felt so good, and he whispered, “We’ll be very quiet. At least, I will be.”
He picked up speed and added force, circling his hand all over so I started to squirm. He slid all around my clit, not touching it, teasing me, until finally he concentrated the force of his whole hand on that one spot.
I squeaked. I wanted to scream as all of the feeling in my body concentrated on that one location, but I managed to suppress it to a small, mouse-like squeak, which only excited him further.
He applied further pressure, and I had my hips pressed against his hand and my back pressed against the back of the chair, driving myself into his pressure with as much force as I could manage.
Now he was just holding his hand still so I could grind on it. His fingers played with me while I ground my clit against the heel of his palm. He was whispering sweet-nothings in my ear, which I could hardly hear, but the warmth of his breath on my ear threw me over the edge.
I came, shaking hard and clenching my teeth. I shivered and felt the pulsing sensation erupt from my clit while he kept his hand pressed hard against me.
I breathed heavily as my awareness of my surroundings came back into focus. I looked at Rob, a satisfied smile on his beautiful, dangerous face, like a cat who’d just killed a favorite canary.
“What a husband,” I breathed.
“What a wife,” he said and kissed me.
The good-time vibes of post-orgasm flowed through me in waves while I enjoyed the fluttery softness of his lips. Then I stiffened.
“Stop, Anya might wake up,” I pulled back from kissing him.
“She did,” he said, “She went to the bathroom. I thought you saw?”
I had not seen. I felt panicky, the chemicals of anxiety fighting with the feel-good chemicals of coming.
“I did not see,” I whispered in a panic, “Do you think she saw?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “I was watching you, not her. She probably didn’t even look back here.”
He shrugged. I put my face in my hands, tried to calm my breathing. I combed my hands through my messy hair, though I’m not sure why, because my hair was always messy anyway.
“Why are you so worried?” he asked, “It’s not like Anya doesn’t know we’re together.”
“It might be that I don’t want her to watch me orgasm, Rob,” I snapped.
He shrugged, “If she didn’t want to watch, she could’ve left. Like she did.”
“I don’t have the same laissez-faire attitude about it that you do,” I said, “I’d rather not make anyone uncomfortable.”
“Anya is the type to say something if she’s uncomfortable,” he said, “If she didn’t like what was happening, she would have told us to stop.”
“Are you sure?” I asked hopefully. He was right, I guess. Anya Talova was the ice queen, and she had no problem ordering around her subjects.
The pilot came on over the intercom. I froze, as if I was about to get called to the Principal’s office. That felt silly.
I tried to remind myself that I am an adult woman who can make adult choices around other adults. The pilot told us we’re about to land, and everyone should buckle up.
Anya came back into the room, nodded at us in her customary, ice-cold way, and took her seat. It was impossible to tell what she thought or noticed.
My body was a furnace of shame, pleasure, and anxiety about the landing. I was sure everyone could see the redness overcoming my neck and cheeks. I put my seat into the upright position and held on tight.
