Turbulence - (18+)

18.

GATE B15 JUSTIN

Seattle (SEA)-> Minneapolis (MSP)-> New York (JFK)

I was beginning to think that sex with Shay was the cure for a good night's sleep, the perfect distraction from the nights of breaking shit that came every so often. And despite the fact that she drove me up a wall with her need to talk, her demands of unnecessary 'Hellos' and 'How are yous,' I couldn't get enough of her. Each time we had sex was far more explosive than the last, and no matter how loudly she screamed, or how deeply she dug her nails into my skin as she came, I always looked forward to the next time.

The only downside to our arrangement was the small things she was beginning to do here or there, subtle things that seemed as if she was attempting to seep further into my life and break one of our rules. Whenever we met at certain airports, she always insisted that we stop inside a magazine shop or a bookstore together and talk. She would pick up a new book, insist on having a short conversation about either, "I wonder if this will be good, Maybe this will last me on my next flight," or "I saw lots of passengers reading this one, but it's kind of expensive." And it would take me all of three minutes to take the book from her, pay for it, and escort her to whatever secluded place we were really supposed to be.

When we finished fucking (if we didn't go back for a third or a fourth time), she would stare at me with her big green eyes in silence for several minutes. Sometimes she'd stare at me so long that I would be forced to help her quickly get dressed so we wouldn't get caught. In those moments, she would ask about my flights, about my day, and simply say, "I'm just asking to be asking. I don't really care." I always answered her questions then, hoping she was telling the truth.

Thinking about the way she'd rode my cock in the Charlotte parking garage the other day, I smiled and finished reading the latest pompous news articles about the upcoming Elite gala and the "Amazing Era and Ambitious CEO of Elite" on my phone.

The second I finished, an email from Shay popped onto my screen.

Subject: Random.

I need to ask you a question...

-Shay.

Subject: Re: Random

Is this question about fucking? (And you didn't need ellipses after that sentence.)

-Justin

Subject: Re: Re: Random

No, it's about something personal. (Thank you, Professor Bieber... <-How about those ellipses? Did they fit there?)

-Shay

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Random

Then you actually don't need to ask it. (No, they don't fucking fit there.)

See you Saturday in Atlanta.

-Justin

Her response was immediate.

Subject: I'm going to ask it anyway.

I noticed you own at least six different Audemars Piguet watches. Combine that with your million-dollar condo in Manhattan and I'm quite curious: Are you a trust fund baby? How else are you able to afford that on a senior captain's salary?

-Shay

Subject: Re: I'm going to ask it anyway.

I noticed you missed the words in my previous email. Neither of your questions are about fucking, so I'm not obligated to answer them.