“No.” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close, using his free hand to wipe away my tears with his fingertips. He caresses my back and kisses the corners of my mouth, softly biting my bottom lip like he usually does, right before he fucks me. “You know that I never want to hurt you.”
“Do I?”
“You fucking should.” He bites my bottom lip again, much harder this time, and then he whispers against my mouth. “I need you to give ‘us’ another chance.”
“What makes you think I would be stupid enough to do that?”
“Because I’m not the only person here who has ever made a mistake.” He runs his fingers through my hair, his lips brushing against mine. “I recall the start of this being quite fucked up.”
“It’s still fucked up.” I look into his eyes. “You still refuse to let me in, you still won’t talk to me and tell me the simplest of things. I’ve been nothing but open and honest with you, and yet, all this time later—” The rest of my sentence ends on his lips and his tongue slides against mine—begging me, teasing me, overpowering me.
I try to resist, to push him away, but it’s no use. His kiss is an instant taste of the high I’ve been missing, a reminder of just how good we can be when we’re together. Slowly giving in, I begin to whisper questions against his lips as he claims my mouth again and again.
I ask if he’s having sex with someone else, he says no. I ask if he’s dating anyone else, and he punishes me with a squeeze of my ass and a rough and abrupt “No.” I start to ask where he’s been these past few weeks, why he always slips away from time to time, but he ends my questions with an even deeper kiss that sends tingles up and down my spine.
“We can talk tonight,” he whispers. He grabs my hand and presses it against the front of his pants, letting me feel how hard his cock is. “We can talk about whatever the hell you want to talk about tonight.”
“Tonight as in ‘the morning’ when we actually land in Paris, or ‘tonight’ as in right now?”
“Tonight as in right after we leave this restroom, as in right after I make you turn around against that door and remind you who your pussy belongs to.” He covers my hand with his and silently commands me to unzip his pants. “Is that good enough for you?”
I nod, he claims my mouth with his one more time, and another string of arguments is suddenly snapped—soon to be long forgotten shreds, just like all the others. As his hand slides up my skirt and wetness drips between my thighs, I know, once again, that all is lost.
All is us.
All is turbulence.
* * *
How many times did you burn me?
Three, four, five, maybe ten?
Was it me who burned you?
Yes, it was you, again and again.
I should’ve walked away, so you could’ve followed suit.
But I think you knew all along that I never wanted to…
Terminal A
BOY MEETS GIRL
Gate A1
Jake
Dallas (DAL) --> Singapore (SIN) --> New York (JFK)
There were only three things I hated in this world more than my cruel circus of a family: The new changes in the airline industry, the fact that the airline industry was the only industry I could ever see myself working for, and the fact that ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs on hotel room doors apparently didn’t mean shit anymore.
Twice this morning, unwelcome knocks had come to the door at the absolute worst moments. The first time was while I was having sex, while the woman I’d invited up to my room was bent over my coffee table with her ass in the air—my cock thrusting in and out of her pussy. The second time was while I was flipping through the morning newspapers, using the flame from my final cigar to burn through all the lie-infested pages.
And now, within the same three-hour span, another set of knocks were tapping against the door.
“Mr. Weston!” This time there was a voice, a female voice. “Mr. Weston, are you in there?”
I didn’t answer. I continued standing under the hot streams of the shower, trying to think of any possible way I could get out of this.
“Mr. Weston, it’s me! Dr. Cox!” The shrill voice came again ten minutes later. “I know you’re in there! If you don’t answer this time, I’ll have to assume something is wrong and call the police!”
Jesus Christ…
I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Not bothering to grab a towel, I walked through the bedroom suite and opened the door, finding myself face to face with a red-haired woman in an all-white suit.
“What the fuck do you want?” I asked.
“Excuse me? How dare you talk to me like that? I don’t appreciate you ignoring—” She suddenly stopped talking and stepped back. Her big brown eyes widened, and her cheeks turned bright red.
“Your cock is um…” Her voice was a whisper. “You’re completely naked right now.”
“How perceptive of you,” I said flatly. “What do you want?”
Her gaze lingered on my cock for several more seconds, then she cleared her throat. “I’m Dr. Cox with Personnel Affairs for Elite Airways.”
“I’m aware.”
“I know that this weekend marks your final flight sequence with Signature Air, but seeing as though Elite and Signature will now be one airline as of next Monday, you still need to complete some paperwork with us,” she said. “You’ve had ten months to get this done, and you’re the only pilot who hasn’t completed the personality profile. Not only that, but I could’ve sworn we told you that we were flying into Dallas on your stopover just to get this done, Mr. Weston. We flew here for you, and we’re still waiting for you to join us in the meeting room. Would it kill you to take this seriously?”
“I’ll be able to take you seriously when you realize that my eyes are up here.”
Flustered, she blushed again and finally looked up at me. “We told you to be downstairs at seven.”
“I told you I’d get there at eight.”
“Well,” she said, looking at her watch, “It’s now seven thirty, and the reason we insisted you join us an hour early is because we wanted you to have time to read over some of our new policies. We insisted.”
“No, you suggested. Two completely different terms with two completely different expectations.”
“I guess I can add ‘human dictionary’ to your list of unique profile qualities.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be very careful with my wording the next time I send you an email.”
“You should.”
“So, we’ll see you downstairs at eight?”
“Eight thirty. Someone interrupted my shower with her bullshit, so I need to make up for lost time.”
“Mr. Weston, I swear to God, if you’re not downstairs within the next hour, I will suggest to my superiors that we pack up and leave. And I can promise you that this weekend will be the last time you set foot on an aircraft.”
“I’m not a fan of empty threats, but for the record, the word ‘insist’ actually would’ve worked a lot better in that sentence. I’ll get there after my goddamn shower.” I shut the door before she could say anything else.