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“How? You don’t even work!”
“I do work. Not very much, admittedly, but I invest. I finance startups. I dabble in cryptocurrency, too, though it’s a little unstable.”
“It’s unfair that you can sit for an hour a day and make that much with a few clicks while others work super hard every day and won’t see a hundred grand in a year,” she mumbles.
She’s right, of course. Those working the hardest in this world are also those seeing the least amount of gain.
“You still think life should be fair.” I lower my lips to her forehead, and press a kiss to it to soften the blow. But she’s unbearably naive. She wouldn’t have put herself in my path last summer if she weren’t.
Good thing I’m here to shield her from further unpleasantness now. She can keep living in her rose-colored cloud, pampered, cared for, surrounded by everything she could possibly want. And me.
I’m greeted at the plane by further proof of the nature of the world: a crew composed of seven smiling women in tiny skirts, high heels, and deep plunging necklines chant, “Good evening, Mr. Hunt.”
Morgan stiffens under my arm. I kiss her cheek, ignoring Dimitri’s staff, other than vaguely waving in their direction.
She’s a little jealous, my girl Friday, though she’d never admit it. She’s more than happy to spread her pretty thighs to let Rhys lick her out, but she hates when women pay me attention.
I can guess why. In her warped mind, she doesn’t consider herself important enough to me, so she’s under the delusion I can be snatched from her. Her every doubt is fueled by her conviction that this thing between us is temporary. Like everything else, telling her is pointless. I need to show her. I need her tofeelus.
“That’s some service,” Morgan mutters, disapproval dripping from every word.
I chuckle. Dimitri travels all over the world, so he makes sure his employee double as entertainment. I fucked some of them on past journeys. I wasn’t going to today, but an idea suddenly comes to me.The blatantly provocative women in gold and white might provide an opportunity, now that I think of it. We have maybe five hours to kill in this flight. And I just thought of how we might do that.
One of them—a Latina beauty with deep, dark eyes and impossibly long lashes—leads us through the beige and wood lounge. “I’m Stella, the head flight attendant, and it’s a pleasure to take care of you today. May I ask if we’re waiting on anyone else?”
I shake my head. Roman and Rhys are spending Thanksgiving in Thorn Falls—they’ll find their way to New York City on Friday for the wedding. “Not this time, thank you, Stella.”
“Marvelous! We’re ready to take off at your convenience.” She looks, more than anything, ready to take her clothes off. “Clara and Lucie will be your pilots tonight. They’ll make various announcement throughout the flight. We have a full bar and a choice of meals available at your convenience. If you’ll be so kind as to stay seated for takeoff and landing, for your safety, we’d be grateful. The plane is equipped with a bedroom, a full bath, a sauna, and a hot tub. Bex and Sasha can run through the safety measures for you if you’d like an update.”
I glance at Morgan. “Do you want to listen to the safety measures?”
I’ve never been the religious type, but my take on airplanes is that as soon as it closes its door, my life is in the hands of fate. Either everything’s going to go fine, or I’ll die in a fiery explosion.
“Sure.”
Bex is a short, curvy black woman with pink braids and huge tits, and Sasha, a skinny blonde. Dimitri has something for every preference, no doubt for when he travels with company. The all-female staff does surprise me, though. I would have thought he’d try to cater to a more varied range of tastes.
I don’t listen to their lecture. I know that song. Blah blah, seat belts, blah, life jacket, blah blah exits. I watch them with amusement. They bend down low, turn around, and push their tits up at every chance, working hard to get our attention. It’s impressive that they manage to do their little routine on heels so high, especially through takeoff.
“May we get you anything?” Bex asks once they’re done with the semi-erotic safety presentation.
“No, thank you,” Morgan replies politely. Anyone who knows her would notice she’s considerably more curt than usual.
So jealous.
“I wouldn’t mind licking tequila from your tits, sweetheart,” I counter.
Morgan sucks in a breath. I put my hand on her thigh and squeeze.
The cute shortie’s dark eyes widen and she simpers. “With pleasure, sir. May I call you sir, Mr. Hunt?”
“You can call me whatever you’d like.”
She shoots a smug look at her colleague on her way to the bar. I’m guessing they make more when they work on their back—plus they no doubt expect their passengers to leave generous tips after filling them with their cum.
“Sasha, was it?” I check with the pouting blonde. “How are you at blowing cocks?”
“Really?” Morgan snaps, sullen as expected.
