Chapter 2: Turbulence Therapy
The plane gave another violent shudder, dropping what felt like several feet in a sudden, stomach-lurching fall. Sally gasped, her nails digging into Ralph’s shoulders, her body clamping down hard around the two fingers he had buried inside her.
“Fuck,” she breathed, the word torn from her throat.
“That’s it,” Ralph growled, his voice a rough vibration against her ear. His thumb found her clit, applying a firm, circular pressure that made her vision blur at the edges. The world narrowed to this: the groaning metal of the aircraft, the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with her own arousal, and the relentless, clever work of his hand. “Just feel that. Nothing else.”
His fingers curled inside her, a deliberate, stretching motion that had her bucking against his palm. The cashmere blanket had slipped to the floor, forgotten. Her vintage dress was rucked up around her waist, exposing her completely to his touch, to the chilled air of the cabin, and to the terrifying, thrilling possibility of being seen.
“Someone will…” she started, but another deep thrust of his fingers stole the rest of her sentence, turning it into a choked moan.
“They’re all strapped in, praying to gods they don’t believe in,” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. “No one is looking at us. They’re too afraid of dying.” He added a third finger, the stretch a burning, perfect fullness that made her cry out. “But this is all you’re feeling, isn’t it? This stretch. My hand fucking you. Tell me.”
She could only nod, her forehead dropping to his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was soft against her skin. Her own hand, which had been gripping his bicep, slid down, her fingers fumbling for the buckle of his belt. The plane jolted again, and her knuckles smashed against the hard leather of the armrest.
“Shit,” she hissed.
“Easy,” he said, but there was no gentleness in his voice, only a dark, eager hunger. He helped her, his larger hand covering hers, releasing the buckle with a sharp click that was louder than the roaring engines. Together, they worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper. He was already hard, his cock springing free, thick and hot against her searching fingers.
She wrapped her hand around him, stroking the length of him, feeling the velvety skin pulled taut over rigid, eager flesh. A drop of moisture beaded at the tip and she smeared it with her thumb, her movements growing more confident.
“You’re so wet for me,” he rasped, his fingers pistoning in and out of her, the sound obscenely loud in the small, tense space. “Dripping down my wrist. You’ve been thinking about this since you sat down, haven’t you? Since you ‘accidentally’ grabbed my thigh.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, her breath hitching as his thumb pressed harder on her clit. She was close, a tight, coiling heat building low in her belly, threatening to shatter.
“I want to be inside you when you come,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. He shifted her weight, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her effortlessly. “Now, Sally.”
He positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, and for a heart-stopping moment, he just held her there, letting her feel the blunt pressure, the promise of what was to come. The plane dipped again, and in that moment of weightlessness, he pulled her down, sheathing himself inside her in one devastating, deep thrust.
She screamed. A raw, unfiltered sound that was swallowed by the cacophony of the storm. He filled her completely, stretching her beyond the reach of his fingers, a deep, burning fullness that stole the air from her lungs.
“Oh, god,” she choked out, her body trembling violently, adjusting to the overwhelming invasion.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Her eyes, wide and dazed, found his. His blue gaze was intense, locked on hers, seeing every flicker of pleasure and shock. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still for a moment before he began to move her.
He used the turbulence, the lurching of the plane, to his advantage, guiding her up and down his length in a rough, jarring rhythm that was entirely out of their control and yet perfectly synchronized. Each time the plane dropped, she fell onto him, taking him deeper, the impact jolting through her entire body.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his own composure beginning to fray. “Ride it. Fucking ride the storm.”
She braced her hands on his shoulders, meeting his thrusts, her own hips finding a counter-rhythm. The fear was gone, replaced by a primal, all-consuming need. The world outside was chaos, but here, joined with him, there was only this brutal, perfect friction. The slap of their skin, his guttural curses, her own sharp, pleading cries—it was a symphony underlaid by the roar of the engines.
He leaned forward, capturing one of her nipples through the fabric of her dress with his mouth, biting down gently. The dual sensation—the deep, pounding penetration and the sharp sting on her breast—drove her right to the edge.
“I’m going to come,” she warned, her voice a broken whisper.
“Come on my cock,” he growled against her skin. “Let go. I want to feel you lose control.”
His words were the final push. The coil inside her snapped, and a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful crashed over her. Her cunt clenched around him, milking his length in rhythmic, uncontrollable spasms. She buried her face in his neck to muffle her scream, her body convulsing in his grasp.
Feeling her climax triggered his own. With a final, brutal thrust that seated him to the hilt, he groaned, a low, animal sound of release. She felt the hot, pulsing rush of his come filling her, the sensation prolonging her own shudders.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, tangled together, breathing in ragged unison. The plane’s violent shaking began to subside, easing into a gentle, rocking motion. The worst of the storm had passed.
Slowly, carefully, he withdrew from her, the aftermath a slick, intimate mess between her thighs. She collapsed against his chest, utterly spent, her limbs feeling like liquid. He reached down, retrieving the cashmere blanket and draping it over her legs, a gesture of surprising tenderness after the raw intensity of what they’d just shared.
The cockpit chime sounded, clear and bright. The pilot’s voice, calm and steady, filled the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are through the worst of it. We’ll be beginning our descent into Saint Lys shortly. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened.”
Sally didn’t move. She could feel Ralph’s heart hammering against her ear, a frantic rhythm that was slowly returning to normal. His hand came up, his fingers gently tracing the line of her spine.
“Well,” he said, his voice laced with a familiar, sarcastic humor that felt like solid ground after the freefall. “That was one way to pass the time.”
A weak, breathless laugh escaped her. She tilted her head back to look at him. His hair was mussed, his lip slightly swollen where she must have bitten it. He looked thoroughly debauched and utterly unrepentant.
“You’re insane,” she murmured, but there was no heat in it. Only a dazed, sated wonder.
“And you,” he said, his piercing blue eyes holding hers, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face, “are not wearing any underwear. We’re going to have to do something about that before we land.”