Private Service at 30,000 Feet - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
You are reading Private Service at 30,000 Feet, Chapter 2: Chapter 2. Read more chapters of Private Service at 30,000 Feet.
I slipped back into my usual routine, reminding passengers to fasten their oxygen masks with practiced ease.
My phone buzzed unexpectedly. Seeing the massive order confirmation flashing on screen, a rush of triumph coursed through me.
One month in, and I'd already cracked the game—big sales required baring skin and playing the part.
Maybe I'd even catch a wealthy regular if luck held.
I'd swapped bras for barely-there nipple covers—better for coaxing generous tips from male clients. The open-crotch stockings and lace thong under my short skirt guaranteed an eyeful with the slightest adjustment.
"Privacy concerns" had become my favorite excuse—"accidental" drink spills were perfect for luring them to more secluded spots.
The cramped lounge hid a surprisingly plush chaise. Pressed together in that tight space, the heat between us was electric.
Night flights were golden. High-powered execs rushing to emergencies, casually dropping six-figure deals mid-conversation.
My sales soared—dozens of transactions on good days, never dipping below six digits even when business slowed.
Then there were the married ones.
Nothing compared to the thrill of stealing a man away from his oblivious wife in that dim lounge.
Another buzz. Not a client this time—Mrs. Windsor, my most loyal five-star rater.
"Mrs. Windsor, heading to the capital for another conference?" I chirped, sugar-coating my tone. "How can I assist you today?"
"Annie darling, that congee you made last time was divine. My stomach's been—"
I stifled an eye roll behind my customer-service smile. "Don't forget to rate me five stars!"
Turbulence rocked the galley, cutting my... activities short. Frustration coiled tight as I bit my lip, thighs pressing together—
Rough hands seized my waist. "No wonder you missed the call button."
His breath scorched my ear.
My vision blurred. Liquid heat pooled low, leaving me shaky and weak.
SMACK
The sharp slap to my ass nearly wrenched a gasp from me.
"Such a greedy little slut."
Vincent's smirk deepened as he dragged my limp form to my knees. "'Premium Service' my ass—had to track you down. Earn your damn rating."
Obedient, I sank lower, teeth catching his zipper—
The last barrier fell. My breath stuttered.
The lounge's mood lighting hadn't done him justice—his size strained against fabric, every corded muscle promising unrelenting force.
Footsteps.
Closer.
Shit.
I frantically scanned for cover. The storage cabinet!
I shoved Vincent inside, scrambling in after him just as the galley door groaned open.
"Annie?" Mrs. Windsor's voice neared the cabinet.
Vincent's hand slid under my skirt, fingers teasing my slick folds despite my glare. His grin turned feral as my legs trembled.
"Stay quiet," he murmured, "unless you want company."
The cramped space, the unbearable friction of skin on fabric—
A slight shift sent a glass clinking inside.
Mrs. Windsor's hand hovered near the door—
Her phone rang. A beat, then retreating steps.
I exhaled hard.
Vincent's grip tightened. "You love the risk, don't you?"
"Lounge. Now," I whispered, arms looping around his neck. "Fire me, and who'll service you like this?"
With one last rough stroke, he disentangled himself and stalked toward the lounge without looking back.
My phone buzzed unexpectedly. Seeing the massive order confirmation flashing on screen, a rush of triumph coursed through me.
One month in, and I'd already cracked the game—big sales required baring skin and playing the part.
Maybe I'd even catch a wealthy regular if luck held.
I'd swapped bras for barely-there nipple covers—better for coaxing generous tips from male clients. The open-crotch stockings and lace thong under my short skirt guaranteed an eyeful with the slightest adjustment.
"Privacy concerns" had become my favorite excuse—"accidental" drink spills were perfect for luring them to more secluded spots.
The cramped lounge hid a surprisingly plush chaise. Pressed together in that tight space, the heat between us was electric.
Night flights were golden. High-powered execs rushing to emergencies, casually dropping six-figure deals mid-conversation.
My sales soared—dozens of transactions on good days, never dipping below six digits even when business slowed.
Then there were the married ones.
Nothing compared to the thrill of stealing a man away from his oblivious wife in that dim lounge.
Another buzz. Not a client this time—Mrs. Windsor, my most loyal five-star rater.
"Mrs. Windsor, heading to the capital for another conference?" I chirped, sugar-coating my tone. "How can I assist you today?"
"Annie darling, that congee you made last time was divine. My stomach's been—"
I stifled an eye roll behind my customer-service smile. "Don't forget to rate me five stars!"
Turbulence rocked the galley, cutting my... activities short. Frustration coiled tight as I bit my lip, thighs pressing together—
Rough hands seized my waist. "No wonder you missed the call button."
His breath scorched my ear.
My vision blurred. Liquid heat pooled low, leaving me shaky and weak.
SMACK
The sharp slap to my ass nearly wrenched a gasp from me.
"Such a greedy little slut."
Vincent's smirk deepened as he dragged my limp form to my knees. "'Premium Service' my ass—had to track you down. Earn your damn rating."
Obedient, I sank lower, teeth catching his zipper—
The last barrier fell. My breath stuttered.
The lounge's mood lighting hadn't done him justice—his size strained against fabric, every corded muscle promising unrelenting force.
Footsteps.
Closer.
Shit.
I frantically scanned for cover. The storage cabinet!
I shoved Vincent inside, scrambling in after him just as the galley door groaned open.
"Annie?" Mrs. Windsor's voice neared the cabinet.
Vincent's hand slid under my skirt, fingers teasing my slick folds despite my glare. His grin turned feral as my legs trembled.
"Stay quiet," he murmured, "unless you want company."
The cramped space, the unbearable friction of skin on fabric—
A slight shift sent a glass clinking inside.
Mrs. Windsor's hand hovered near the door—
Her phone rang. A beat, then retreating steps.
I exhaled hard.
Vincent's grip tightened. "You love the risk, don't you?"
"Lounge. Now," I whispered, arms looping around his neck. "Fire me, and who'll service you like this?"
With one last rough stroke, he disentangled himself and stalked toward the lounge without looking back.
End of Private Service at 30,000 Feet Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to Private Service at 30,000 Feet book page.