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Deeper.
I rubbed my own pussy at the same time, my fingers desperate to bring me off, as it carried on. The seam of the jean shorts, together with my fingers, and I was a ticking time bomb around his cock. And then he came, his hand holding my mouth close to him so it shot down my throat as he groaned and bucked. Gagging. I remember that, too. It hurt. I felt trapped and held fast, gripped. I swallowed, though. I swallowed deep, the muscles in my throat grating on him to pull him deeper. And I was crying. Real tears. They were tears I thought would never end. They did eventually, and the next day I did it again, and again, and again.
My head turns back to look at Gray, my own insides filled with memories about how the time felt for me. Dirty. Youth gone mad for a while. I enjoyed the dark corners then, and the way my hair was pulled, the grip bruising and brutal. But then Rick came along. Sweet Rick. Rick with his kind hands and his nice words.
Peas in pod.
Fuck that.
Gray’s eyes are hooded, as he stares at me. More so than they normally are. Dark. Almost cruel again now. They’re like they were the night of the opera, intense and threatening. I glance at his hands, and his crotch, wondering how brutal both areas would be if they’d engage, and carry on talking about high school fumbles. They don’t engage, though. Haven’t done since we met and even now, as I give him the tales he wants, he still doesn’t even move. Hmm. Dirty corners. Filthy mouth. I wonder where Hanley is now. Maybe I could find him, finish what we started.
“Fourteen, Gray. I did it several times more with him. He never fucked me, though.”
“No?”
“No.” My gaze lowers to his crotch again, tongue licking over my lips in thought as I keep remembering the way Hanley felt in my trembling fingers, in my mouth. “How’s your cock?”
“Enthused.”
“You like listening and watching?”
He nods.
“Not doing, though?”
He stands and smiles. It’s a low, animalistic smile that isn’t meant for anything but fucking or fighting. New eyes dance in the light, as they look me over slowly. They’re ones filled with mirth or hatred. I’m not sure which, but a small amount of conceit seems to separate him from the rest of us mere mortals, as if he dismisses such irrelevancies as unimportant and trivial.
“Ask the crew for food or drink if you want anything,” he says, turning from me.
No more words than that. And then he’s walking off to the back of the plane and through a door away from me. That’s it, it seems. Tale over for him.
But nothing about my tale was trivial for me.
It was a beginning.
A remembrance of someone I was before Rick.
Chapter 14
Gray
The alarm bleeps steadily in front of me. I gaze at the phone absentmindedly, thinking of anything but it. We’re nearly there. Five hours in a confined space with a woman is a stretch beyond rational for me. One was enough. I left her out there, locked this door and made sure she heard it click. We’ve been separate ever since. It’s been more necessary than she could imagine because my temptation has never been pressed further than it was listening to her.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, taking in the bland, cream interior and the occasional line of brown running through the cabin. She was a good story teller. Imaginative. Naïve at first, but the longer she kept talking, kept immersing herself in the memories, the more wound up I became. It fell from her mouth with a sense of contempt beguiling each word, as if she needed the dirt she was remembering again.
I chuckle and swing my gaze to the door, intrigued at the thought of her, her voice, and the visuals I’m already considering. I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t even be here with her, certainly not going to the place we’re going to, but here I am doing something dishonest.
My hand leaves its position on my rigid dick, and I straighten my clothes. Suit, as always to enter this place. I reach for the small wardrobe, pulling the door open, and lift out the dress and heels I had delivered before we arrived. Black. Always black. The long fur coat gets pulled out as well, the texture slipping through my grip. I’m not interested in them unless they’re in black. I don’t know why. All the girls, all the different times I’ve been here, and I always watch the ones in black. Maybe it’s the morose sense of disenchantment that comes with the thought of the colour, no matter how good they look in it. It’s the colour of death, of grief, or agony even.
She’s sitting in the same chair when I walk into the cabin, her stare glued at the outside regardless of the night around us and her finger tapping the window. I watch again. I watch like I always watch. Dark features on her light skin. Shadows under her eyes, hollowed cheekbones. Still, there’s an elegance about her. A sense of deportment that other women seem unable to produce. It was there at the opera, regardless of her tears, and is now even more embedded into her being because of her misery.
“You need to change into these,” I announce, walking closer. “You can use the back cabin. There’s a shower if you’d like one and your case is in there.” Her gaze doesn’t move from the window, nor does she seem to acknowledge me. “Mrs Tanner?” Nothing but some more tapping and a quietly still body. “Hannah?” Her lips quirk, finger stopping her tapping.
“Not so hard, is it?” she says. “I told you, I don’t much like that name anymore.” Her body moves slowly, slinking out of the seat as she looks at the garments I’m holding. “Beautiful,” she mutters, taking the dress from me. “And probably unnecessary.”
“Extremely necessary. You won’t get in the front door without them on.”
“Even with you and all your money?”
