Mafia King by L. Steele

6

Karma

Why that arrogant, emotionally unstable prick. He wouldn’t. No way. Michael props his hands on his waist and widens his stance. His jacket pulls tightly across his butt and I gulp. This man? He is the epitome of a wet dream. Look away, look away now. I lean forward and my breathing heightens. The stewardess sinks to her knees. I can see her framed by the inverted V of Michael’s legs and it should be voyeuristic, should make me feel dirty to watch her pleasure him. And it does. And that is part of the appeal.

I swallow hard and slickness coats the space between my thighs. The planes of his broad back flex, then I hear her gasp. His shoulders flex, his arm moves in a forward motion. No doubt, he's grabbed her head, then pulled her forward so he can feed his cock to her. That's the alphahole for you. There's no way she is in control here. No doubt it's him who's taking the blowjob from her.

She must have her mouth open as she swallows him, takes that dark, hot, throbbing length down her throat. As I just had. And he’d hated it, when I’d done that. But with her? His shoulders blades pull back and his entire body tenses.

I bend lower, watch as her body jerks, and again. She’s moving her lips across his hard length, taking him in, sucking, licking… The sound of slurping fills the air and my mouth waters. This is insane. The dark taste of him coats my palate, the edgy scent of testosterone lingers in my nostrils. I wriggle around in the seat, but can’t find a comfortable position. Dig my sneaker clad feet into the carpeted floor, grasp the armrests, watch as his thigh muscles clench.

Her body jerks faster, no doubt as he uses her mouth. As he crams his dick between her lips. I hear the sounds of gagging and my belly flip-flops. I squeeze my thighs together as he thrusts his hips forward. His butt muscles tighten, then he throws back his head and a groan fills the air.

I glance around the space but none of the other men—there are five men other than Michael on the plane; how had I not noticed that before? That’s how wrapped up in him I’ve been—and none of them are paying attention to the spectacle unfolding. Does he do this often? Get the stewardess to jerk him off? Every time he gets on the plane, maybe? He’ll whistle and she’ll come running? Something hot stabs in my chest. Bitch. Not her, but me, for wanting…what? To be her… No, it’s not that. I want his attention.

A gasp leaves my lips. I want to have his full and complete focus, to be the cynosure of all that smoldering, melting scrutiny. To have his fingers dig into my skin, my breasts, my aching core. The hell is wrong with me? I straighten, force myself to watch as his muscles coil with tension. His spine is straight, his feet planted on the floor as if he owns the goddam space… Which he does… And every molecule of air in this infernal enclosed area has been sucked in by the heat generated by the sexual hunger that flows from him. Unrequited.

He’d wanted me. Despite what he’d said earlier, he’d enjoyed what I’d done to him. Perhaps, too much?

Had I scared him away? A low chuckle catches in my throat. Am I being delusional? Me, the woman who had practiced blowjobs by watching them on porn hub…and the erotic novels I’ve been reading since I turned fifteen. Don’t judge. A direct consequence of being surrounded by nuns—God bless their souls. I loved each and every one of them, but their singular preoccupation with sacrifice and sin—the two words that had etched themselves in my mind—had perversely driven me to seek out the forbidden. Well, as much as a teenage girl had been able to access, that is. God bless the internet.

I tilt my head, squeeze my thighs together, scrutinize his movements as he swoops up his free hand to press it to the curved ceiling overhead, then renews his pleasure seeking, as he yanks her head back and forth, at least I assume so from the sucking, mewling noises that emerge from their direction. My heart begins to race and my fingers tingle. I shouldn’t…shouldn’t. What the hell! I press the hell of my hand into my core and grind down, just as Michael speeds up.

His entire body goes solid, a vertical column of desire that swells and flows, and I can’t take my gaze off those solid, tight hips of his.

As he thrusts forward, backward…forward. My hips catch the rhythm, as I push up and into the heel of my hand, then back. I mirror that frantic rush up the slope toward that distant horizon, where the silver lining of the sun shines against the clouds, the wind blows hard, shoves the darkness away. And for a second, I am there, right there with him, soaring up, up. A low growl rips from his chest, his butt clenches, his thighs tighten, stretching the material of his pants, his elbow seizes, then he groans. And I splatter right there in my panties.

I throw my head back, my eyes half-closed, panting. A bead of sweat slides down the valley between my breasts. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Why did I find the sight of him using another woman to pleasure himself so…hot?

I lower my hand to my side, cross one leg over the other as he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her. She glances around him to meet my gaze. Her lips curve up, wet, gleaming from the evidence of his cum.

How dare he do this to me?

She licks her lips, then pats them with his handkerchief before shoving the piece of cloth down her breasts. He gave her a part of himself to keep. Jerk! He knew exactly how that would make me feel.

She rises to her feet, turns and saunters away.

He glances over his shoulder at me. "Did you enjoy that, Beauty?"

My nails dig into the cloth at the apex of my thighs. No. Of course, not. I glare at him.

One side of his lips turns up. "Remember the feeling, for it’s the last time you come without my permission."