Sexcapades Of A Wanted Woman

Chapter 3.

Today is starting relatively early. Shak and I have packed our bags and are ready and waiting for James to arrive to take us to the airport.
"James is really cutting it fine," I say to Shakira while we stand looking like hookers on the pavement. Just then screeching tyres are heard turning a corner into our street and James finally comes into view. James comes to a screeching holt and is out of the car in a flash. As hot as James is he looks really disheveled this morning.
"Sorry, ladies," he says loading our luggage in the boot of his car.
"What happened James," Shakira says looking concerned.
"Well Stace and I kinda got carried away, come already we are behind schedule as it is," he says closing the door and starting up the car before heading to the airport.

Finally at the airport ready with our visas and passports and our relative documentation our flight is ready for boarding. Standing in line. Shak and I are buzzing with excitement this will be our first time leaving the sunny shores of South Africa and heading into the big bad outside world. A world we are ready to explore.
"Final boarding call for flight SA176 to Italy, now boarding at Gate 7" we hear on the intercom, we check our tickets and that's us, how the hell did we end up at the wrong gate is beyond our comprehension, we pick up our bags and run to the other side of the airport towards gate 7.
Closing in to Gate 7, we are near the line when I, yes me, goes face planting in the middle of the freakin' airport. I am dying of embarrassment. I just lay there flat on my stomach laughing till the tears start streaming down my face.
Shakira is already at the line telling the hostess to just hold her horses, while all the while laughing her ass off.
"Ahum" I hear a raspy voice above me. "Sorry miss, are you alright, do you need some help" I try wiping the tears from my face when I look up to see who is offering me their helpful hand. I immediately choke at the site before me. Like seriously where did this guy from.
I stand up and wipe the dust from my clothes.
"Not to be rude, but I am kind of running late I have to go" I say quickly trying to get away from this guy as quick as possible.
Shakira looks at me with her mouth hanging open.
"Really babe, can't you go anywhere without picking up or causing a scene, where ever you go" she says laughingly as she backtracks to where the guy is still standing staring with a smile on his face.

We board the plane and I am loading my overhead luggage into the overhead compartment. People are bumping and someone rubs themselves tightly against my ass I suddenly feel a rush through my bloodstream and I revel in the feeling of having him stand so upclose and personal against me. Without looking I excuse myself from Shak who's eyes are as big as bladdy saucers right now and head to the small compact bathroom stall.
I wash my hands and use a towelette to wipe my face. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and take few deep calming breaths and a mental pep talk before leaving the enclosed space for my seat.
I scurry down the walkway and plonk myself down on the seat and turn to look at Shak but its not Shakira I am staring at. Utter confusion and fright take hold what the hell did I sit in the wrong place.
"Wha.... I am sorry," I start saying looking round to see if I am in the wrong place and too my dismay I find I am in the right seat but Shak is not here but he is. His smouldering green eyes now minus the glasses he was wearing before. I tried really hard not to pay attention to the guy when we were in the airport but now here he is sitting right next to me. Like what the hell. Where is Shakira? Why would she just exchange seats? Why not even bladdy tell me?
"Hi, my name is Marcos, you ran off earlier without even giving me the chance to introduce myself," he says in his gorgeous Italian accent that makes me weak in the knees. He holds out his his hand as if he wants to shake it.
" Caera," I say almost swallowing my tongue. I reach out to shake his hand he lifts it to his mouth and kisses it instead not removing his potent gaze from mine.
"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he says smiling at me.
"I hope you don't mind, me sitting here, I had to exchange seats with your friend, well its not like she wasn't willing when she saw my travelling companion she gave it up quite easily," he says pointing towards his original seat four rows away.
And there she was laughing at something that her now travelling companion said.
I was just about to excuse myself when the intercom came to life with preflight checks and we were told to fasten our seatbelts for take off. Great just bladdy great.

Well needless to say the flight is not uneventful to say the least. Marcos comes from a very big family in Italy and his brother came to fetch him for his grandmothers ninetieth birthday, who knows how many more she will have left.
After hours of talking we finally drift off to sleep. When I finally awoke my head was resting peacefully on Marcos' shoulder. Our hands entwined during sleep, how or when that exactly happened, is a mystery to me, not that I am complaining. What a bladdy dream I had. Having hot unadulterated sex with Marcos.
I get up silently and walk over to the toilet cubicle to wash my face and freshen up. There is a knock on the door.
"Won't be long," I say trying to hurry up. And there again a knock on the door.
I huff out an exasperated breath and open the door. Before I could even register what was happening Marcos squeezed his masculine body into the tight cubicle with me, pushing me up against the basin.
"Nice dream, you must've been having there beautiful," he says smiling seductively at me.
"Ah," I couldn't even complete my sentence when his hungry lips smacked full on onto mine. It was hot and hungry, full of sparks and weird sensations. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, his hands were trailing softly over my clothes, touching and massaging my breasts with need. This, I can't say I don't want because this would be my dream becoming a reality. The kiss getting more heated by the second, moans escaping Marcos throat made me want him even more. His head was on my breast when another knock came from the closed door. Our foreheads now resting on each others trying to catch and steady our erratic breathing. When it was silent again Marco opened up the door and we exited the cubicle. The looks we received from some of the passengers is utterly scary but hell who cares. You only live once and experiencing different things is the spice of life. When we were seated again Marcos slipped his hand in mine again.
"We will definately have to finish this in Italy," he says huskily.
"We will meet up, yes," the look in his eyes are promising great and exciting things ahead.