We sip our vodka, and I like the subtle hint of color in Ines’ cheeks as the alcohol warms her. She’s got dark, glossy hair, and huge eyes that are almost black in this light. She looks like a high-end model, not an air hostess. Maybe she was before she did this. She must be in her mid-thirties now, I guess, which makes her older than me.
“Your hair is beautiful,” I tell her as I reach out and finger a strand, letting the silky weight of it slide between finger and thumb.
“Thank you,” she says.
Then I say to her, in French, “You’re welcome.”
“You speak French?” she asks, seeming surprised.
“Yes.” I don’t tell her I also speak English, Italian, and some basic Japanese. That would be boasting. I’m clever. It’s just a fact of life. The same way my good looks are a fact of life. I don’t think it makes me a better person, but it does make me a better weapon. People, men, always underestimate my brutality because who would think a pretty boy would break their bones? They also underestimate my intelligence. I can understand why beautiful women get fed up of being treated as if they’re thick because honestly? I do too.
“Were you a model, before you did this?” I ask.
Ines shakes her head. “No, a dancer.”
Her words pull me up short. Red hair, pale blue eyes, pale, unmarred skin, and slender limbs in ballet clothes flash in front of my eyes, before I blink the apparition away.
I don’t want to think about her. The only woman I ever loved. The woman who betrayed me and fucked me over.
“You have the grace,” I tell Ines.
Her body language is off the charts, and I can’t exactly be subtle about this. I want to fuck her on a plane, in the toilets. This isn’t a romantic seduction.
“You want to mess about?” I ask her with a rueful grin, patented to soften the directness of the question.
“Yes.” She practically breathes the word.
“Will your colleague cover for you? What, with you being so busy and everything.” I laugh, jerking my head to the other galley at the back where her colleague is busy organizing drawers in a trolley.
“She won’t even notice I’m gone. She’s got OCD. She has to get the drink trays in order every flight. I’m not being bitchy,” she says suddenly as if I’d think she was. “She’s genuinely got OCD, and she must make sure everything is just so.”
“All the better for us, then.” I smile, and she grins conspiratorially.
“Come on, Ines with the beautiful hair. Let’s have some fun.”
I take her hand and bring her with me into the nearby toilet, shutting the door and locking it. It’s much more spacious than the usual airline toilets and has a seat with a mirror across from it. Nice.
“You want it gentle, or hot and hard?” I ask.
I’m amenable to either.
“Hot and hard,” she says firmly.
“Lift your skirt up, pull your panties to one side, and come here,” I tell her as I sit on the chair.
She does as I say, and I grab her and tongue fuck her pussy. No gentle buildup, no foreplay—I go for it. She arches her back and cries out.
I work her like a pro, and I could do this all day. I fucking love the taste of pussy. I love the taste of women, full stop. Their scent too. The way they feel. The way they look. I’ve fucked more women than I can remember. I always glove up, and I always get tested every six months.
I didn’t used to be this way. Before her, I’d only had sex with one other girl. After her, I found the only way to get her out of my head was to fight or fuck. Luckily, K needs me to fight often, and I find getting a fuck as easy as buying bread.
When the woman in front of me is moaning like a bitch in heat, and her legs are shaking, I stop. I want to feel her cunt around my cock when she comes.
“Open your shirt; I want to see your tits.” I don’t sugar coat it. After all, she said she wanted it hard and fast.
She does as I say, unbuttoning her blouse, and letting me see her small, pert breasts in her lacy bra. I decide I like the view of her dark nipples through the lace, so I don’t order her to take it off. Instead, I