The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) by Jasmine Haynes, Jennifer Skully Page B

Spence asked.
    They’d decided on having dinner at the airport so they wouldn’t be hungry on the plane. Most of the fast food places had long lines. “Mexican,” she said. It was sit-down.
    They lingered over dinner. She ordered a margarita, licking the salt from the rim.
    “Kiss me,” he demanded.
    She eyed the family next to them, but they were loud and engrossed and wouldn’t notice a thing. So she gave him a long kiss laden with salt and the sweet margarita.
    “It tastes like you when I licked you last night after I came all over you.”
    She glanced at the family. Still engrossed. Besides, his words were low enough for her ears only. She didn’t want to get on that plane. She didn’t want to go home yet. She didn’t want to suggest they bring Keith’s fantasy to life, the one he’d suggested last night where he licked her clean of Spence’s come.
    None of that was reality. Right now there was just Spence, just her, just the taste of salt and margarita between them.
    Of course the flight was finally called. She was one step closer to home. Once Keith picked her up, her five-day fantasy would be over.
    Which is probably why she let Spence lay a blanket over their laps once they’d settled in. Because it was cold in the back of the plane. Honestly. It had nothing to do with the fact that raising the armrest between them allowed him to touch her under the blanket. Or drag her hand over to his lap.
    “You are so bad,” she said—she’d been saying it all weekend—when the air hostesses pushed the carts to the front of the plan to start drink service. The plane was far from full, and their entire row was empty. Of course, when the other passengers began lining up to use the bathroom, he’d have to stop.
    “Baby,” he whispered, “I’m not bad, I’m so good. Think I can make you come?”
    “Don’t you dare,” she hissed. But she wanted it. His touch. The last time. Because it had to end. She didn’t play at home, only on trips. She also didn’t play with customers; once they got home, his company would be one of their beta testers.
    He dared, of course, stroking up her thigh until his hand was hot and heavy beneath the hem of her sundress.
    “If you didn’t want me to do this, you would have worn jeans and a jacket like you did on the flight out here.”
    She couldn’t deny it.
    “Spread your legs for me, baby.”
    She felt like a teenager again, crazy in lust, and she let him in, putting her head back against the seat, falling completely under his spell.
     
    * * * * *
     
    He’d made her come countless times under cover of the blanket. She could come so silently when she chose. He’d fed her snacks he’d purchased in the airport and only kissed her when his hand wasn’t between her legs. That way they didn’t get caught. He’d taken the window seat specifically so he could watch. When he’d pulled her hand into his lap, he hadn’t unzipped, hadn’t come; he’d simply savored her touch.
    A transcontinental flight had never seemed so short. Suddenly, the tinny voice came over the intercom telling everyone to shut down their electronic devices, stow their tray tables, and raise their seatbacks to prepare for landing.
    Too soon. Too fucking soon.
    “You are the most incorrigible sex maniac I’ve ever known.” She smiled, obviously not feeling that time was running out at all. She was getting ready to go home to her husband.
    He leaned in. “And you are a dirty, pretty little slut.”
    Her eyes sparkled as brightly as her sequins had on the flight out. Days ago. It seemed like forever. As if everything had changed.
    “That’s such a lovely term of endearment.”
    It was. She was his slut. Letting her go was—
    The plane landed with a thump on the tarmac, and the deceleration put his equilibrium off balance. Or maybe that was her. Her scent. Her closeness. The deep brown of her eyes. The silk of her hair brushing his arm.
    God, letting her go was just plain fucking wrong. And