Maybe I Could Do It For You?

"If you aren't able to do it, then maybe I could do it for you?" you offered with a tactful smirk, resting your hands on the edge of the reception desk, toyingly tapping each of the digits against the wooden surface, each rhythmic tap seemingly making Scarlett weaker at the knees.

"I don't know. If I got caught?" she protested, her argument paper thin and half-hearted. You could tell she just needed an excuse to let those fingers wander.

"You could just say you were offering exceptional service. Besides, there's no one else in line," you added, glancing behind you to see no one else waiting and both the run-way and dock empty of planes and boats. As far as you could tell, you were the last check-in for the day. She rolled her lip into her mouth, let it spring free agleam with saliva and with a hungry breath, her resolve shattering as you finally said, "What's the harm in a little fun?"

"When you put it that way..." Scarlett breathed, her entire body untensing as she shimmied a little bit further towards the desk, pressing her waist up against the wooden surface, parting her legs and providing a subtle line down to her glistening, shaven pussy, her folds begging to be touched and teased. Sliding a hand over the edge of the desk, you resting your palm on her thigh, noting her shiver of anticipation, before she silently murmured, "Be discreet about it. I can be quite the screamer..."

The thought of reducing Scarlett Johansson to a screaming, quivering mess of ecstasy in such a public place was utterly tantalising, but you couldn't help but restrain yourself from blasting her with everything you had. You had to make this slow and intense. Not a shuddering, thundering burst.