Page 142 of Rut Bar

“You’re going to do great, and they’re going to love you,” he rumbles, his nose running along my scent gland where his bite mark has healed into faint pink marks that have yet to turn silvery. “You’ll have to beat the investors away with a stick.”

“Can I borrow your cane?” I ask him, smiling when he squeezes me tighter. He’s been using it more often lately since Jamie talked him into joining him for strength training exercises on the beach. Despite my concern that he doesn’t overdo it, he seems happy.

“Sure, but mine doesn’t have a sword inside.”

“What?” I ask, baffled.That’s a good thing, right? The TSA would never let us bring his cane if it had a sword in it. Is that a real thing? Why?

“Dinner’s ready,” Jamie calls from the kitchen before Brendan can answer.

We follow the delicious smell and eat. The rest of the evening passes in a blur as all three of my men take turns distracting me in their various ways until I’m too tired to stay conscious. My limbs grow heavy as Anthony wipes his sticky mess from my thighs and Jamie and Brendan are too warm on either side of me to not immediately drift into a deep sleep to the sound of their purring.

* * *

Jamie and Anthonysee us off at the airport before heading back home to catch a few more hours of sleep before they have to open Rut in the afternoon.

The airport is a lot of hurrying up to wait. We wait to get our tickets at the counter, then hurry to get our bags on the scale so the airline can weigh them. I pay my bag overage fee, and we rush to join the line of people waiting to go through security. Bored TSA agents yell at me to take off my shoes, and I grimace when my socks touch the nasty floor. We sit while Brendan puts his shoes back on while other fliers rush to shove their feet back into shoes while balancing on one foot. The security line looks like it’s full of frazzled flamingos in stretchy pants.

“Let’s go to the bar,” he says. “This’ll be easier if you’re not sober.”

It’s only seven in the morning, but we’re far from the only ones crowded around the airport bar. Brendan joins me and orders himself a mimosa while I peruse their menu and order the strongest drink I know. The bartender isn’t fazed as he sets our drinks down and I stir the straw on my Long Island Iced Tea. The mix of different alcohols with a splash of coke and sweet and sour goes down far too easy and by the time I’m sucking more air than drink, my head is fuzzy and I’ve forgotten why I was nervous.

“Better?” Brendan asks, his smile amused.

“I can’t feel my face.” I pat my cheeks and the tip of my nose to be sure. Nope. Slightly numb. That’s my litmus test for knowing if I’m drunk or not. “Did you used to fly a lot for the IRS?”

“Some. Not very often. Most of the work was local, although I had to fly out sometimes. Let’s go find you a neck pillow and some chewing gum.”

Gum?I take his hand, enjoying the warmth and comfort of it. He squeezes mine and throws me a smile over his shoulder. It’s such a small thing. Innocuous. But somehow more intimate than sex.

We stop at the duty-free shops and browse until it’s time to find our gate and wait to be called to our seats, and then we board. By the time our carry-on bags are stowed away in the overhead bin and we’re nestled in our assigned seats, I’ve sobered up a little for takeoff. I learn why Brendan insisted on the gum. The altitude changes hurt my ears until the plane levels out and I get them to pop.

Flying is weird, but cool. I enjoy looking out the tiny airplane window and watching us sail through clouds. A few hours and three rum and cokes later when most of the passengers are busy with their reheated meal, I enjoy dragging Brendan out of his light nap and pushing him into the tiny airplane bathroom even more. I can’t help it. Being drunk makes me horny, and I’m bored.

I’m too wound up to sleep, even with my brand new neck pillow, and I’m too drunk to read or focus on a movie. Besides, isn’t this a tradition? I’ve heard people talk about the mile high club.

We kiss and grope each other over our clothes until I’m wet enough to make this easy. Figuring out a position isn’t simple, though. With our height difference and the total lack of space, we’re cramped.

Brendan spins me so I’m facing the mirror over the tiny sink. He works my pants and panties down, his fingers slipping through my folds to check how ready I am. They glide easily through my wetness. I’ve thought about this for the last half-hour. Anthony’s obsession with public sex and almost getting caught has rubbed off on me.

Two fingers sink into me up to the palm, but I don’t need to be readied. I’m already aching for him. My hips work back to meet his thrusts as he pumps into me. I bite back my sigh when his fingers disappear. The sound of his zipper sliding down and the rustle of his clothes let me know he’s ready. He replaces his fingers with the blunt tip of his thick cock and he rocks into me with a single slow, deep thrust. It fills me up and I sigh with relief at the familiar stretch.

And then he moves. His hips snap behind me as he thrusts, burying his cockhead deep. Rough and fast. We can’t afford to take our time. Not when we’re stealing this forbidden moment while a plane full of passengers waits on the other side of that door. They’re eating right now. Busy and distracted. But they’ll want the bathrooms soon and I want to come.

The plane shakes with a bit of turbulence and I almost let out a loud moan as the vibrations rumble up through my clit where my mound presses against the edge of the sink I’m bent over. I slap my palm on the mirror to stop from banging my head against the wall as Brendan works deeper still.

The flared edge of his swelling knot drags over my sweet spot, shoving in and almost not popping out before, finally, my body gives. It pops free in time for him to shove it back in again. Stretch me wider. Claim me deeper.

He can’t knot me. He can’t. It’ll take too long for his swollen knot to shrink and disengage. They’ll figure out what we’re doing. Knock on the bathroom door and demand we hurry in here.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Brendan’s pace increases until I have to bite my lip to hold in my ragged moan. Our breathing and the rustle of our clothing is loud enough. The plane rumbles again and my clit throbs. My pussy clenches around him and Brendan chokes off a grunt, his rhythm changing as he grabs my ass and shifts the angle of my hips. He positions me exactly how he wants me.

In the mirror, I watch our reflection. The flush on my cheeks, the wildness of my bouncing curls as he thrusts harder. Faster. More demanding. His nostrils flare as he drags in a deep gulp of air, and his brown eyes are dark with lust. So are mine. We’re a filthy sight and I watch every minute of him fucking me in this tiny airplane bathroom.

His cock throbs inside me, his raging pulse matching mine as my clit throbs from each tugging thrust and every rumble of the plane. His pace slows, pressing deeper although there’s nowhere left to go. As if instinct demands that his cockhead lodge right against the entrance of my womb before he’s allowed to find his release.

I’m stretched full to my limit and about to be stretched more because his knot bulges behind my pubic bone until I’m taut. He growls, a low sound made on instinct to warn competing alphas away. It’s my warning sign he’s about to come.

I need to push off his knot, twitch my hips forward and dislodge it, but his fingers tighten into painful divots on the globes of my ass. We’re going to be stuck together when we need to hurry.

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