New York Nights
Page 109
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I’ll also need to continue getting every third weekend of every month off. That was promised to me before I signed the paperwork.”
“Okay. How much crack have you been you eating, Weston? I’m seconds away from demanding that you take a piss test right now.”
“Four hundred fifty thousand. Every third weekend off. No crack, just pussy.”
“If I go to them with this,” he said, finally realizing that I wasn’t joking. “And they tell me, to tell you, to go fuck yourself, what do you want me to say?”
“It won’t come to that.” I started to walk away. “Trust me.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t count it.”
“And if I were you, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~ Present Day...
I’m typing this post while I’m on a rainy layover in Dallas, while I wait to head to Paris.
My life is now a montage of cities and countries that blend into a never-ending day. I fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up hours later in Hawaii. I order a cup of coffee in Madrid and buy crepes for lunch in Paris. I watch the rain fall over Seattle’s grey afternoons and catch a bright, bloody sunset in Phoenix.
And somewhere in between all of this traveling—in half-constructed bathrooms, parking garages, and last-minute hotel rooms, I break my airline’s number one rule: I have sex with fuck a pilot.
I give him every piece of me—letting his sex set my skin on fire, listening to him whisper words in my ear that continuously wet my pussy as he pounds into me from behind. And then I let him go.
Or at least I try to...
I think I’m starting to like him, and when I say “him,” I’m only saying that halfheartedly. I don’t really know who the hell he is because he’s so damn guarded, and for every two questions I ask, he only gives me one answer.
He also disappears every three weeks, never answers his phone in front of me, and for some strange reason, I can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something from me.
(I’ve somewhat missed this writing on this abandoned blog. Somewhat.)
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
2 comments posted:
KayTROLL: Welcome back. Again.
KayTROLL: Now, please go away again and find some inspiration so you can post about something other than your sex life. No one cares about who you’re fucking (especially since you’re being dumb and breaking the rules) and as your only reader, I deserve something more than porn to read. #thankyou #dobetter
GATE B16
GILLIAN
Atlanta (ATL)—> Denver (DEN)—> New York (JFK) “This is the final boarding call for Elite Airways Flight 1297 with service to San Francisco.” A voice floated through the Hartsfield-Atlanta restroom speakers. “If you are scheduled to be on this flight, please make your way to gate E13 now. Also...”
The remainder of the words came muted as Jake gripped my thighs and moved me up and down his cock. My fingers dug into his skin, his lips covered mine, and just as we’d done so many times before, we fought for control until our bodies finally gave in.
Briefly shutting my eyes, I collapsed in his arms—feeling him softly kiss my lips as I struggled to catch my breath. I didn’t want to admit it, but we were getting reckless. Beyond reckless.
Whenever we were in the same city, we met. Same hotel, we met. And God forbid if we ended up in the same airport for more than thirty minutes at a time.
My body now lusted for his touches, my mouth yearned for his tongue, and my pussy throbbed nightly in need for his cock. Sex with him was becoming a wild addiction and I never wanted to be cured.
And even now, knowing that we wouldn’t see each other again until Sunday when we crossed paths in Dallas, I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: Longing. Genuine longing.
“Gillian?” He suddenly looked down at me, his fingers still pressed into the skin of my thighs, his cock still buried deep inside of me. “Can I put you down now?”
I nodded and he slowly pulled me off of him, setting me down onto the floor.
He handed me my skirt and I handed him his tie. I slipped into my blazer and spotted a new, silver and black Audemars Piguet adorning his wrist. My count was now up to eight.
Knowing he was probably going to leave me in seconds, I walked over to the mirror and quickly reapplied my makeup and fixed my blazer. I took out a few wipes and attempted to soak up the scent of sex and sweat from my skin, adding a few sprays of perfume, and then, when I realized he was still staring at me, I turned around to face him.
“Did you know that the average Audemars Piguet watch costs ten thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Gillian...” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I’m just stating a random fact I thought you should know.” I stepped back and he walked over to me. “Would you like to know another random fact?”
“Does this fact involve going over our rules again? The one about not asking about shit outside of sex?”
“Every now and then you’ll have to talk to me, Jake,” I said. “It’s what you agreed to give me, so you’ll need to start answering my questions.”
“I have no problem with talking to you.” He pressed me against the sink. “And I’ll answer all of your questions, as long as they’re within reason.”
“And...” I hated how his being so close to me turned me on instantly, how I almost forgot what I wanted to say. “And it wouldn’t kill you to continue trying to be civil, to ask me questions for yourself every now and then, since you never seem to ask me any.”
“I ask you plenty of questions.” He looked into my eyes, his gaze heated and dark.
“I ask you if you want me to fuck you against the sink or the wall. I ask you to stop screaming when I bend you over, and I ask you if you’re okay after we’re done so I can move you off my cock... That’s more than civil.”
He stepped back and grabbed the handle of his luggage, heading for the door. “See you in Dallas Sunday. C5.”
***
A week and a half later...
I stood him up in Dallas. Then I stood him up again in Atlanta. I didn’t answer his emails when he asked why I wasn’t where we agreed to be, and now, as I sat alone in my Denver hotel room, I was regretting not taking advantage of the stress relief.
My mom and sisters were back at it, calling me every hour on the hour—sending me annoying little reminders about that stupid proposal I didn’t give a damn about, and Miss Connors had just written me up for the second time. My offense? My lipstick wasn’t “red enough” and looked like “someone literally kissed it off of [you].”
Hitting ignore on my mother’s tenth call, I noticed she and Brian had sent me a few text messages.
Mom: Ben called me a few weeks ago and said you dumped him...
Mom: Gillian, we need to talk about this. Didn’t you say his Dad is a force to be reckoned with on Wall Street? We both know someone like you needs to marry well...
Brian: Hey, Gill-doll. Quick question...I’m bringing Samantha’s parents up for the celebration, too, so I need you to be completely honest with me...Is your apartment good enough for the family to stay in? I can’t afford for the mayor to think our family is nothing less than the best.
“Okay. How much crack have you been you eating, Weston? I’m seconds away from demanding that you take a piss test right now.”
“Four hundred fifty thousand. Every third weekend off. No crack, just pussy.”
“If I go to them with this,” he said, finally realizing that I wasn’t joking. “And they tell me, to tell you, to go fuck yourself, what do you want me to say?”
“It won’t come to that.” I started to walk away. “Trust me.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t count it.”
“And if I were you, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~ Present Day...
I’m typing this post while I’m on a rainy layover in Dallas, while I wait to head to Paris.
My life is now a montage of cities and countries that blend into a never-ending day. I fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up hours later in Hawaii. I order a cup of coffee in Madrid and buy crepes for lunch in Paris. I watch the rain fall over Seattle’s grey afternoons and catch a bright, bloody sunset in Phoenix.
And somewhere in between all of this traveling—in half-constructed bathrooms, parking garages, and last-minute hotel rooms, I break my airline’s number one rule: I have sex with fuck a pilot.
I give him every piece of me—letting his sex set my skin on fire, listening to him whisper words in my ear that continuously wet my pussy as he pounds into me from behind. And then I let him go.
Or at least I try to...
I think I’m starting to like him, and when I say “him,” I’m only saying that halfheartedly. I don’t really know who the hell he is because he’s so damn guarded, and for every two questions I ask, he only gives me one answer.
He also disappears every three weeks, never answers his phone in front of me, and for some strange reason, I can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something from me.
(I’ve somewhat missed this writing on this abandoned blog. Somewhat.)
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
2 comments posted:
KayTROLL: Welcome back. Again.
KayTROLL: Now, please go away again and find some inspiration so you can post about something other than your sex life. No one cares about who you’re fucking (especially since you’re being dumb and breaking the rules) and as your only reader, I deserve something more than porn to read. #thankyou #dobetter
GATE B16
GILLIAN
Atlanta (ATL)—> Denver (DEN)—> New York (JFK) “This is the final boarding call for Elite Airways Flight 1297 with service to San Francisco.” A voice floated through the Hartsfield-Atlanta restroom speakers. “If you are scheduled to be on this flight, please make your way to gate E13 now. Also...”
The remainder of the words came muted as Jake gripped my thighs and moved me up and down his cock. My fingers dug into his skin, his lips covered mine, and just as we’d done so many times before, we fought for control until our bodies finally gave in.
Briefly shutting my eyes, I collapsed in his arms—feeling him softly kiss my lips as I struggled to catch my breath. I didn’t want to admit it, but we were getting reckless. Beyond reckless.
Whenever we were in the same city, we met. Same hotel, we met. And God forbid if we ended up in the same airport for more than thirty minutes at a time.
My body now lusted for his touches, my mouth yearned for his tongue, and my pussy throbbed nightly in need for his cock. Sex with him was becoming a wild addiction and I never wanted to be cured.
And even now, knowing that we wouldn’t see each other again until Sunday when we crossed paths in Dallas, I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: Longing. Genuine longing.
“Gillian?” He suddenly looked down at me, his fingers still pressed into the skin of my thighs, his cock still buried deep inside of me. “Can I put you down now?”
I nodded and he slowly pulled me off of him, setting me down onto the floor.
He handed me my skirt and I handed him his tie. I slipped into my blazer and spotted a new, silver and black Audemars Piguet adorning his wrist. My count was now up to eight.
Knowing he was probably going to leave me in seconds, I walked over to the mirror and quickly reapplied my makeup and fixed my blazer. I took out a few wipes and attempted to soak up the scent of sex and sweat from my skin, adding a few sprays of perfume, and then, when I realized he was still staring at me, I turned around to face him.
“Did you know that the average Audemars Piguet watch costs ten thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Gillian...” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I’m just stating a random fact I thought you should know.” I stepped back and he walked over to me. “Would you like to know another random fact?”
“Does this fact involve going over our rules again? The one about not asking about shit outside of sex?”
“Every now and then you’ll have to talk to me, Jake,” I said. “It’s what you agreed to give me, so you’ll need to start answering my questions.”
“I have no problem with talking to you.” He pressed me against the sink. “And I’ll answer all of your questions, as long as they’re within reason.”
“And...” I hated how his being so close to me turned me on instantly, how I almost forgot what I wanted to say. “And it wouldn’t kill you to continue trying to be civil, to ask me questions for yourself every now and then, since you never seem to ask me any.”
“I ask you plenty of questions.” He looked into my eyes, his gaze heated and dark.
“I ask you if you want me to fuck you against the sink or the wall. I ask you to stop screaming when I bend you over, and I ask you if you’re okay after we’re done so I can move you off my cock... That’s more than civil.”
He stepped back and grabbed the handle of his luggage, heading for the door. “See you in Dallas Sunday. C5.”
***
A week and a half later...
I stood him up in Dallas. Then I stood him up again in Atlanta. I didn’t answer his emails when he asked why I wasn’t where we agreed to be, and now, as I sat alone in my Denver hotel room, I was regretting not taking advantage of the stress relief.
My mom and sisters were back at it, calling me every hour on the hour—sending me annoying little reminders about that stupid proposal I didn’t give a damn about, and Miss Connors had just written me up for the second time. My offense? My lipstick wasn’t “red enough” and looked like “someone literally kissed it off of [you].”
Hitting ignore on my mother’s tenth call, I noticed she and Brian had sent me a few text messages.
Mom: Ben called me a few weeks ago and said you dumped him...
Mom: Gillian, we need to talk about this. Didn’t you say his Dad is a force to be reckoned with on Wall Street? We both know someone like you needs to marry well...
Brian: Hey, Gill-doll. Quick question...I’m bringing Samantha’s parents up for the celebration, too, so I need you to be completely honest with me...Is your apartment good enough for the family to stay in? I can’t afford for the mayor to think our family is nothing less than the best.
