Chapter 3
988 Words
Chapter 3
Jordan
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Two hours after the explosion in Salt Lake City, I stepped onto a commercial plane headed toward my cabin in Anchorage, Alaska. As I buckled myself into first class, a beautiful woman sitting across the aisle from me made eye contact.
Recognizing her from a previous flight, I smiled and then grabbed my iPod to listen to music. The last thing I wanted was to get into a long conversation with her. She’d been annoying as all hell the last time we’d flown together.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked, flipping her long, red hair over her shoulder.
I feigned ignorance. “We’ve met?”
I wasn’t at all surprised that she remembered me. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been arguing with her husband, who’d been flirting with one of the flight attendants. It had been over a year ago and both of them had been slightly drunk. To strike back, she’d started coming on to me after I’d left my seat to use the bathroom. I’d ignored her advances, finding them petty and childish.
“Yes. I’m Tami, by the way. My ex and I were flying to Anchorage last year for my sister’s wedding.”
“Oh, that was your ex-husband?”
She smiled with delight, realizing that I had remembered her. “Well, we were married then, but not anymore. Our divorce finalized last week and now I’m off to visit my sister again.”
“Sorry to hear that it didn’t work out.”
“I’m not. He was an asshole.”
I chuckled. “Well then, congratulations.”
“Thank you. So, do you live in Alaska?”
“Just visiting,” I lied.
Her eyes swept over my black leather vest and tats. “Are you one of those motorcycle club bikers?”
“Why do you ask?”
She grinned. “You have that look about you. Plus,” she pulled out a book from her purse. There was a picture of a biker on the front cover with a chick straddling his Harley. “I guess you could say that I’m a little obsessed right now.”
“Obsessed, huh?” I smiled. “Sorry to disappoint. I do own a motorcycle but I’m not affiliated with any clubs.”
She began undressing me with her eyes. “Something tells me that nothing about you would disappoint.”
***
An hour later, Tami was on her knees and giving me head in the bathroom.
“I wish there was more room in here,” she murmured, between sucks. “I want you so badly.”
I squeezed her left breast through the fabric of her blouse, which was obviously fake, but still very nice. “I want you, too,” I whispered, ready to explode as her mouth worked the head of my c**k. “Jesus, that feels good.”
Tami stopped sucking. “Take your glove off,” she said, raising her top and pulling her breast out of her lacy black b*a. “I want to feel your hand on my skin.”
“How about my tongue, instead?” I asked, bending down to taste her n****e.
“Mm...” she said, taking my hand. She placed it under her skirt. “I’m so wet. I need to come. Rub my clit.”
Not having felt a woman’s mound for so long, I pulled the glove off and slid my hand under her panties. She was so wet and ready, my c**k ached to slip inside.
“Oh, yes,” she gasped, gyrating against my hand as I fingered her. “I wish I could sit on your face.”
Needing to silence her, I began kissing her on the lips while my fingers strummed her c**t. She came within seconds and then pushed my wrist away.
“Sorry. I’m ticklish after I come. Oh, my God,” she said, grabbing my hand again. She stared at the scars on my skin where Acid had burned me. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
The revulsion on her face made me instantly soft. I pulled my hand away from her. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I just made you come, didn’t I?”
Sensing the mood change, she laughed nervously. “Yes. I’m sorry about your hand. I wasn’t expecting that. I guess now I can see why you wear the gloves. Is your other hand scarred, too?”
“Not as bad,” I said, turning on the faucet so I could wash her smell from my fingers, which was suddenly making me ill.
“Oh, well... it’s not a big deal,” she said, touching my shoulders. “The rest of you is more than perfect.”
The more she talked, the more I understood why she was now single.
“My ex is a cosmetic surgeon. Have you ever thought about having reconstructive surgery on your hands?”
“No,” I said firmly.
“Why?”
“Because it’s my reminder of everything that’s f****d up with the world,” I said, stiffening up as her hand went back down to my fly.
“Oh, you’re not hard anymore,” she pouted, slipping her hand into my underwear. “Turn around and I’ll finish you off. Maybe you can make me come again, too.”
“Nah. I think we should just get out of the can and let someone else use it,” I said, pushing her hand away. I zipped up my jeans and buttoned them.
“It’s okay. My friend is one of the flight attendants. She’s keeping an eye on the door and directing people away. Come on, baby. Let me suck it. I’ve never even seen one as big as yours before. What are you, nine inches?”
“I have no idea.”
“I bet you are. It’s huge.” She smiled wickedly. “Can I take a picture of it? Show my sister? She’d never believe that any of this happened on the plane.”
“Sorry, he’s camera-shy,” I said, pulling the glove back onto my hand.
Her smile fell as she stared at my hand again; her eyes filled with pity. “Damn. That must have hurt like hell.”
A mental image of Acid tying my hands down and then pouring the scalding liquid popped into my head. It had hurt so goddamn bad that I’d passed out. It didn’t hold a candle to the a***e Acid had carved on the inside, however. Even now, years after his death, there was no relief from the nightmares that still haunted me.
“Actually, Hell would have been easier,” I said, opening up the door and walking away.
- Writer
