Private Service at 30,000 Feet - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Private Service at 30,000 Feet, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Private Service at 30,000 Feet.
"Mrs. Windsor, your porridge."
I placed the bowl in front of her with a practiced smile and turned to go, but her fingers closed around my wrist.
"Annie, could you take him to the lounge to change? I spilled water on his pants."
I hesitated, following her nod toward a tall, unfairly attractive guy in his early twenties.
"And this is...?"
My gaze flickered around the room. Vincent Roscente was still supposed to be in the lounge.
But here was a golden opportunity—a man alone without me even trying. Why let it slip away?
"That's my husband, Dominic Valentine. Just help him change. He's soaked."
"Right this way, sir." I bit back a smirk. Married? Even better.
I slowed my steps just enough to let my hip brush against him. "Oops, sorry. This way."
My fingers skimmed his arm, but he didn't react. Flustered, I guided him inside.
I couldn't help wondering how the other man would react when he saw us.
Oh well. One was a rich client who tipped obscenely, the other an irresistible temptation. Why choose?
The lounge was empty—Vincent was gone. A flicker of disappointment vanished when Dominic shoved me onto the bench, hiked up my skirt, and landed a sharp slap.
"Slut. What the hell was that little performance outside?"
I arched into his touch, rolling my hips. "Oh? You didn't seem to mind a second ago..."
He ripped the fabric clean off. "My wife was right there, you little whore!"
Smack! Another stinging blow tore a gasp from me.
He flipped me over, yanking my blouse open, hands roaming rough and possessive. "You want this?"
I locked my legs around his waist, eyes wide with fake innocence. "N-no... don't..."
My act only amused him.
His pants hit the floor in seconds. "Bend over, bitch."
I let out a theatrical whimper—then froze.
Dominic wore nothing but a thong underneath, his cock straining against the fabric, flushed and thick.
Holy shit. In all my years, I'd never seen a man so... well-endowed. I nearly bit my lip imagining how he'd feel inside me.
He dragged himself along my thigh. "Want me to fuck you?"
Before I could answer, the door swung open.
Dominic went rigid.
Vincent leaned against the frame, phone in hand. "One bathroom break, and you're already servicing someone else?" He tapped his screen—another $10,000 hit my account. "Me first. Or I cancel my membership."
Dominic stayed silent, frozen in place.
I glanced between them—Vincent by the door, Dominic looming over me—then dropped to my knees between them.
Grabbing their hands, I guided one to the bench, the other behind me.
Arching my back, I swayed my hips. "Short on time? Why not both?"
I placed the bowl in front of her with a practiced smile and turned to go, but her fingers closed around my wrist.
"Annie, could you take him to the lounge to change? I spilled water on his pants."
I hesitated, following her nod toward a tall, unfairly attractive guy in his early twenties.
"And this is...?"
My gaze flickered around the room. Vincent Roscente was still supposed to be in the lounge.
But here was a golden opportunity—a man alone without me even trying. Why let it slip away?
"That's my husband, Dominic Valentine. Just help him change. He's soaked."
"Right this way, sir." I bit back a smirk. Married? Even better.
I slowed my steps just enough to let my hip brush against him. "Oops, sorry. This way."
My fingers skimmed his arm, but he didn't react. Flustered, I guided him inside.
I couldn't help wondering how the other man would react when he saw us.
Oh well. One was a rich client who tipped obscenely, the other an irresistible temptation. Why choose?
The lounge was empty—Vincent was gone. A flicker of disappointment vanished when Dominic shoved me onto the bench, hiked up my skirt, and landed a sharp slap.
"Slut. What the hell was that little performance outside?"
I arched into his touch, rolling my hips. "Oh? You didn't seem to mind a second ago..."
He ripped the fabric clean off. "My wife was right there, you little whore!"
Smack! Another stinging blow tore a gasp from me.
He flipped me over, yanking my blouse open, hands roaming rough and possessive. "You want this?"
I locked my legs around his waist, eyes wide with fake innocence. "N-no... don't..."
My act only amused him.
His pants hit the floor in seconds. "Bend over, bitch."
I let out a theatrical whimper—then froze.
Dominic wore nothing but a thong underneath, his cock straining against the fabric, flushed and thick.
Holy shit. In all my years, I'd never seen a man so... well-endowed. I nearly bit my lip imagining how he'd feel inside me.
He dragged himself along my thigh. "Want me to fuck you?"
Before I could answer, the door swung open.
Dominic went rigid.
Vincent leaned against the frame, phone in hand. "One bathroom break, and you're already servicing someone else?" He tapped his screen—another $10,000 hit my account. "Me first. Or I cancel my membership."
Dominic stayed silent, frozen in place.
I glanced between them—Vincent by the door, Dominic looming over me—then dropped to my knees between them.
Grabbing their hands, I guided one to the bench, the other behind me.
Arching my back, I swayed my hips. "Short on time? Why not both?"
End of Private Service at 30,000 Feet Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Private Service at 30,000 Feet book page.