Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Right now I’m crossing the Atlantic, making my way back to New York City, and I’ve decided to renew my membership. It’s not like I do it every time I enter a plane, but whenever a hot man catches my eye … well, you know, I don’t really like wasting opportunities such as these.
“Oh, baby, that’s so good,” the man I’m riding groans, his head thrown back against the seat as I straddle him, bucking my hips fiercely while his cock slides in and out of me. He isn’t exactly big, but at least he’s proficient enough with the inches he has, which is saying something, really. Most men have no idea how to pleasure a woman and that is, for me, one of the biggest tragedies of the 21st century. I shudder whenever I read one of those magazine articles about women who've never had an orgasm. I mean, seriously? Who lives like that?
Riding Paul hard—I only know his name because of the golden nametag on his shirt—I bury my fingernails in his back and rake them across his shoulder blades. Even though he’s still wearing his white shirt, I’m betting I just left a few red marks for him to remember me once I’m gone.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so good, baby,” he continues, groaning and repeating his words from before. Yeah, most men also have no idea how to talk dirty to a woman.
“Of course I’m good,” I moan, looking him in the eyes and offering him a devilish grin. Reaching for the pilot cap on his head, I steal it from him and then prop it up on my own head, tilting it sideways. “I’m the captain of your cock now,” I add, a devilish chuckle on my lips as I sway my hips back and forth. My dress is all bunched around my waist and, even though the top is still on, that doesn’t stop him from squeezing my tits hard, his hungry fingers moving across my round swells as if he’s playing a banjo.
“The captain of my cock,” he repeats after me, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. He looks at the pilot cap on my head and grins; then, remembering something, his eyes widen as a serious expression takes over his face. “Fuck,” he mutters, stopping every single movement. “Sorry, baby, let me just … uhm …” Leaning forward, his face almost pressed between my tits, he reaches behind me and taps a few red buttons on the giant dashboard behind me.
“Don’t tell me you can’t focus with me in here?” I purr, still bucking my hips at him, although, yeah, I’m doing it slower now. I don’t want him to get so distracted he plunges us both (and the rest of the crew) straight to our deaths.
Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed, my friend here is the pilot of the jet currently forty thousand feet up in the air. What can I say? There’s something about men in uniform.
The moment I saw him come in, pilot cap tucked under his arm, gallant smile on his face and a short scruffy beard … well, I immediately knew how I’d be spending some of my time on this flight. A few hours into our flight and I got up, knocked on the pilot’s cabin, and invited myself for a tour of the cockpit (now that’s an apt name, don’t you think?). The other pilot excused himself and, from there, it was only a matter of time until I pulled Paul’s pants down to his knees and sat on top of him, hiking my dress up to my waist.
Now, you’re probably thinking that I’m being completely irresponsible by fucking with a pilot while he should be focused on maneuvering a metallic box with wings through the sky. Well, I won’t argue with you there. But it’s not like I’m endangering hundreds of people right now; this is a private jet plane and, aside from me, the two pilots and another crew member, it’s completely empty.
All that probably raises another question, right? Like, who the hell am I to be aboard a private jet? Some blockbuster actress, or maybe someone part of the fancy European royalty? Nope, none of that. The name’s Eliza Seymour and I’m just a girl trying to find her place in the world. Okay, sure, I have a few (or, well, more than a few) billions to my name, but not everything is as easy as it seems.
You’ve probably already heard about the Seymour family and its irresponsible heir (that’d be me). It seems that the tabloids have developed a crush on me, and my antics. In part, that’s my fault and I know it. I should be lying low, not hopping from city to city in Europe while attending the craziest parties. But, oh well, what’s a girl to do?