Claimed Harder by Em Brown
Chapter 18
DARREN
Past
“Holy shit,” Amy gasps as we step into the suite of the aircraft after walking down a dedicated jet bridge.
A flight attendant introduces himself as Lim and asks if we would like Dom Perignon.
“Hell, yeah,” Amy answers, even though she already had two glasses back at the private lounge where we dined on steak with foie gras and fried quail egg.
After we settle into leather seats with our champagne and Bridget’s first ever Iced Milo, the rest of the crew introduce themselves. I can tell Bridget feels awkward. Maybe it’s because she’s wearing clothes that she didn’t buy and is being addresses as “Ms. Moore” by the flight staff. At least she doesn’t look out of place in the leggings and off-shoulder sweater that Cheryl bought her.
“This feels…surreal,” she murmurs. “I don’t feel like myself.”
“You’re going to enjoy the ride,” I remind her.
She nods. “Where’s Cheryl?”
“Taking a flight tomorrow. She wanted to finalize tax stuff for our accountant before leaving.”
“This is the way to fly,” Amy gushes as she videos our surroundings.
“You a member of the Mile High Club?” JD asks her as he props his feet up on a footstool.
She giggles. “No. Airplane bathrooms are gross.”
JD grins. “Then you get to join the club in style today. Though it might by kinky fun to slum it in a lavatory in coach.”
Amy wrinkles her nose. “They’re so small. And they smell.”
Lim returns to offer a copy of every newspaper they have onboard, such as the Wall Street Journal or New York Times.
JD waves him away and turns back to Amy, “So what’s the worse place you’ve ever had sex?”
Amy thinks. “I don’t know. In high school, my senior year, my ex and I did it in his bedroom one day, but his younger sister’s bedroom was right next to his. She was fourteen, but it was still kind of awkward thinking she might have heard us.”
I look at Bridget. “What about you?”
“I briefly dated a guy who roomed with two other guys in a dorm. They had beer cans, junk food and their underwear all over the place.”
“Your turn,” JD says to me.
“Outdoor bathroom at a gas station off Highway 5,” I answer.
“Ewww,” Amy groans. “That’s worse than an airplane lavatory.”
I look at JD and wonder if he’s going to tell the truth about the worse place he had sex: a brothel in Vietnam where stray dogs wandered in and out of the room.
“A garden bench,” JD says. “The thing was old and made of wood. I must’ve ended up with a dozen splinters in my ass.”
Amy giggles. “So where’s the best place you ever had sex?”
“Wherever you are, babe.”
Amy looks like she’s going to melt.
After the plane has taken off and reached cruising altitude, Lim offers us another drink and takes our meal orders. Bridget looks over the menu and asks about a tea, which Lim describes in detail about cherry blossoms and red fruits wrapped in hand-sewn teabags.
“Five courses!” Bridget exclaims as she looks over course selections. “We just ate back at the lounge. I don’t even know what some of this stuff is.”
“I can order for you,” I offer, curious how much control she’d cede.
“I’ll figure it out,” she replies, eventually choosing the fennel salad with mizuna, chicken and mutton satay, a noodle soup, Boston lobster, and a peach cake inspired by Chanel. “I’m going to feel guilty eating all this.”
“You want us to move down to coach so you can feel less guilty?” I ask.
“No. I wouldn’t make you do that. Besides, I don’t know that you’d survive fifteen plus hours in coach.”
“Cute.”
“I mean it. You ever flown coach before?”
“No.”
JD pipes in. “You couldn’t pay me to fly coach.”
“That’s how most of the world flies—if they can afford to fly in the first place,” Bridget says.
“Not my fault the world is comprised of the have and have-nots.”
“Yeah, you couldn’t make it past ten minutes in coach,” I tell him.
“Maybe you should try it,” Bridget suggests. “Makes you appreciate all of this so much more.”
“I don’t need to fly coach to appreciate this.”
Bridget turns to me. “How about you? Want to give coach a try? Just for a little bit?”
I stare at her. She’s joking, right?
“At least slum it in business class,” JD advises.
Bridget grabs my hand. “Come on. You’re going to see how those of us in the lower classes live.”
Lim comes over to see if we need anything. Bridget asks if there are any empty seats in coach. He doesn’t comprehend what she’s asking.
Referring to me, Bridget says, “He’s never flown coach before.”
“Okay,” Lim says, still with a puzzled look on his face as he goes to check on her request.
I turn to Bridget. “You realize that it costs about a thousand dollars per hour to fly in the suites?”
“We won’t be in coach for that long.”
Lim returns and informs us there are several empty seats. Bridget chooses two towards the back of the plane.
“I’ll let the attendants in coach know you’re coming,” Lim says. “If you need anything, they can call me.”
“We won’t need anything,” Bridget assures him.
“What about your supper?”
“We’ll have it when we get back.”
She drags me downstairs and through a partition to where the seats must be made for skinny people with short legs.
Bridget smiles at me. “You can have the middle seat.”
I sit down next to a scruffy -ooking man asleep against the window. He smells as if he hasn’t taken a shower in weeks. In front of me sits a man at least three hundred pounds. I don’t know how he fits in his seat. He chooses to lean his seat back, squishing into my knees.
Bridget chuckles. “Want my seat instead?”
She sits next to the aisle but I notice a kid sitting behind her, and he’s walking his feet on the back of her seat. His mother is busy trying to keep the toddler on her other side quiet.
“I’m good,” I reply.
An attendant goes through asking for our drink order.
“I don’t think they serve Dom Perignon here,” Bridget tells me.
I decline a beverage while Bridget tells me she’ll have cranberry juice. It arrives in a plastic cup with a tiny bag of pretzels.
The man beside me shifts, sending a new wave of body odor toward me. He starts to snore loudly. The toddler behind him shrieks. The sound rings in my ears for seconds after.
“Happy?” I ask Bridget.
“I never considered myself sadistic,” Bridget says, “but it’s kind of funny seeing you suffer.”
“Ha, ha. You are paying for this.”
Her grin drops into a frown. “All right, we’ll go back. You lasted all of twenty minutes. I just need to use the bathroom before we head back.”
I’m about to tell her that she’s better off holding it and using the bathroom in the suites when I decide to follow her instead. The lavatory is located next to where the drinks and snacks are stored and where the attendants sit, but the attendants are still distributing beverages to the folks sitting in the front rows.
“Hey!” Bridget exclaims when I grab the door to keep it from closing behind her. “What are you doing?”
“Getting the full coach experience,” I reply wryly. I can barely close the door with the two of us inside.
“You’re not—”
“Your idea to come down to coach.”
I check that the lid is down on the toilet before turning her around to face the wall. I wrap an arm around her and kiss her neck.
“What if there’s a line of people needing to use the bathroom?” she asks with alarm.
“There’s more than one lavatory in coach, right?”
“What if they hear…stuff?”
“I can be quiet,” I say before lightly sucking on her neck.
I put my other hand at her crotch and start to rub.
“I do not need to join the Mile High Club,” she protests, but I heard the telltale hitch in her breath.
“Too bad. It can be fun.”
I rub her harder through her leggings. She whimpers. I lower myself to press my hard-on against her ass.
“This might top my list of worst places to have sex,” she hisses.
“We’ll make it a quickie then. Get it over with faster.”
I turn her head so that I can access her mouth. I notice she kisses back. My hand goes back to caressing between her legs. After I’ve worked her up through her clothes, I pull her leggings and panties down past her ass. I then take my cock out and rub the tip along her folds. She braces her arms against the walls of the lavatory.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she murmurs.
“Shhh,” I return and press my cock into her wet heat.
She groans. I bury myself as far as I can and start a gentle bucking, watching as my cock disappears and reappears beneath her ass. She gasps loudly when I thrust too hard. I clap my hand over her mouth. Gradually, I build up speed. I try to keep my pelvis from slapping into her ass to minimize the noise. The angle of penetration seems to work for her. She grunts in earnest. Her body strains toward her climax.
“You realize you’ve got to be super naughty to let a guy fuck you in an airplane,” I growl as I quicken my pumping.
I can see her eyes widen in the mirror.
“Such fucking naughty pussy,” I grunt as I send her over the edge.
As her body shakes, her arms slip from the walls. I catch her, shove myself deep and reach my own orgasm. The release feels incredible. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of spilling my seed into her.
Afterwards, Bridget quickly wipes herself and pulls up her underwear and leggings.
She checks herself in the mirror. “I hope we weren’t too long or too loud.”
“Too late now,” I respond.
She opens the door and steps out. I follow her. An attendant is throwing used cups into the trash and looks surprised to see both of us emerging from the bathroom. Even without seeing Bridget’s face, I know she’s blushing hard. Bridget quickly walks down the aisle, heading back to our section of the plane.
“Anytime you want to go back to coach…” I start to say as we head upstairs.
She scowls at me.
Supper is waiting for us. Bridget seems to have worked up an appetite from her membership activities and digs in.
After supper, she and Amy walk about the plane. A few others are flying in the suites as well: an haute couture fashion designer, a corporate executive, and an MLB player and his wife.
JD and I lounge in the sitting area. I hear Amy coo over the amenity kits by Yves St. Laurent and the pajamas and slippers by Givenchy.
JD overhears it, too. “Isn’t it cute how impressed they get over this shit? I feel sorry for guys who can’t afford to impress their women.”
“You don’t feel sorry for shit,” I say.
“Yeah, you’re right. Sucks to be them.”
JD puts on a Bose headset and listens to music. I get a text from Tommy:
Talked with your mom.
She chewed me out a new one.
I text back:
What did you expect?
JD, reading over my shoulder, asks, “Tommy know that you got approached by Lee Hao Young?”
I stare at my cousin. Even though Amy and Bridget seem too engaged to pay attention to us, we shouldn’t be talking triad business in a place like this. JD has gotten looser with his talk lately.
“We can talk later,” I tell him with my gaze on Amy and Bridget returning. “And you should be more careful. You never know who can hear.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The tone of his response doesn’t inspire me with a lot of confidence. One of these days he might run his mouth off at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
