2. Crash Landing

Transcript

The rain had just begun to fall, a fine mist settling on Elle's curls as she shouldered open the door to a small cottage. It was set between a mass of trees, invisible to the naked eye. The kind of place that could only be found by those who already knew it was there.

She beckoned me to follow after her, and I stepped cautiously into the quaint stone house, its walls weathered by seawater. It was sparsely furnished, a few pieces of rattan furniture, a thread-worn throw rug, and a mid-century freestanding fireplace in the corner. Elle asked me to stoke the fireplace as she cast about for some candles, explaining with an apology that the overhead lights had been burnt out for years.

Hell, the only thing that did work in here was the vintage record player. As I struck a match to the logs, the dulcet tones of Billie Holiday began to sound out, echoing off the walls. In the haze of licking flames, I could see Elle swaying from side to side, her body unconsciously moving in time with the tunes.

A bottle of wine appeared in my hand, along with the instruction from Elle to drink. We could be here for some time, and true to her high status, she was going to play hostess. I was embarrassed at my rustic ways.

Of course someone as wonderful as Elle had gone for a more sophisticated guy. In a moment of candor, induced by adrenaline and liquor, I admitted as much to her. She jumped to her feet, unsettling the cushions as she gesticulated with the wine bottle.

She liked my straight-shooter attitude, she claimed. Always had. It was I who'd rejected her way back in the day.

Should we even be having this conversation, let alone on her husband's property? Couldn't anyone walk in on us at the drop of a hat? And she was staring at me with those big expectant eyes framed by blackened lashes, waiting for an answer.

I pulled her back down to the couch, none too gently, in a gruff voice, thick with arousal. I admitted to Elle that I'd run from her those many years ago not because I didn't desperately want her, but because I was terrified of getting hurt. Hell, even with all that space and distance, I still desired her so deeply that it scared the shit out of me.

No sooner had the words tumbled out of my mouth than I clammed up. I'd said too much, in a quiet voice, so thin I wondered if I'd dreamed the words. She said, I want you too.

Suddenly we were tangled in each other's arms, my mouth pressed against hers, Elle's tongue slipping in. It was like the dam of time had broken and all that pent-up lust flooded through our bodies. I bit her lower lip and she exhaled, breath ragged.

Her hands clutched desperately at my chest, my back, as though she needed to feel every piece of me, explore each uncharted limb. In a fluid motion, she threw a leg over my lap and mounted my spread legs, caging me between her thighs like a stallion to be tamed. Her breasts rose into my vision and I ripped off her bra, tearing the delicate fabric with my teeth and exposing those perfect nipples.

She moaned as I buried my face against her tits, suckling at each. Seen through our respective underwear, I could feel the distinct damp spot growing in my lap. She rubbed against the clothed mound of my cock, using me as a cat used as a scratching post, pleasuring herself with my girth.

She wanted me. I couldn't believe it, but when I slipped my fingers past the fabric of her thong and into her wetness, there was no doubt. She wanted me.

Though I had waited fifteen years, maybe a lifetime, to be with her, my patience had vanished. I needed all of me to be inside her. Now.

I tore her thong off and flung it across the room, slipping out of my own briefs as I wrapped my hands around those tender thighs and hoisted her into the air. She held on for dear life, whispering all the things she wanted to do to me in my ear. Dirty, dirty thoughts for such a pretty girl.

Precum dribbling out of the tip of my dick, I slammed her against the wall. Elle begged me to fill her up. She wanted more than just my teasing fingers.

God, I'd waited so long to hear those words. I plunged my cock into her depths as her nails buried into my upper arms. I wasn't gentle.

Neither of us wanted gentle. She arched her back so that she could take more of me inside of her. Our breathing synchronized as she begged me to fuck her harder and harder.

I felt, rather than saw, as she came, squirting her juice all over me. I ran down my leg. She had needed that desperately, I could tell.

She came up for air, cheeks two spots of red in the dim cabin, a thin line of spit smeared across her neck. I took a moment to admire her before I moved to be inside her again. Just as I felt my cock twitching with anticipation on the very razor's edge of orgasm, a sound reverberated off the walls.

And this time, it wasn't Billie Holiday. The noise was, unmistakably, a knock. I threw a blanket over my chest just in time as a tall, burly man strode through the door, a walkie-talkie at his hip.

He squinted, taking in the scene as Elle rushed across the room, tossing her arms around him. Huh? In her garble of words and explanations, I managed to pick out his identity.

He was Bill, head of security for her husband, and he'd gotten word that we'd crashed. He hopped on a charter boat from the nearby part of the island where we were supposed to land and got here as fast as possible, worried that Mrs. Bosney, as he called Elle, was in peril.

Elle assured him that we were fine. The plane crash was terrifying, but other than being a little wet, we'd made it out in one piece. If she was still flustered from our sexual encounter not moments ago, she didn't show it.

She smoothly introduced me to Bill, who shook my hand with a grunt and offered to take us back to the main lodge, get some warm food in our bellies. I stammered out a thank you before quickly explaining that I could also use a dry shirt. He squinted, but said nothing.

I could tell he wasn't buying it, but didn't think it was his business to press further. Together we walked out into the jungle, where we had a jeep waiting to take us to the central house. He sat in the front as Elle and I slid in the back seat.

Her still bare thighs, covered only by the long hem of my shirt, rubbed against mine. In the center of a massive plot of land stood a towering building, stylized like a Greek villa. And there, at the top of the white steps, was a man in a linen suit.

George. Elle's husband. I didn't even have to ask.

Something about him just oozed power. I gritted my teeth, causing the muscles in my jaw to jump. The way he carried himself told me that this was not a man to be toyed with.

George gulped a long sip of his wine, and then, in an offhand tone, said, So, is it true you were fucking my wife?