POV Mary

I never believed in love at first sight, let alone lust at thirty-thousand feet. My name is Mary. I was on the red-eye from London to New York, solo traveler, noise-canceling headphones in, determined to sleep the whole way. Then Claire walked down the aisle.

She was the senior flight attendant: tall, auburn hair pinned in a perfect chignon, uniform skirt hugging curves that looked sculpted rather than born. When she leaned over to take my empty coffee cup, her fingers brushed mine and the cabin lights seemed to dim. A soft, honeyed voice slipped straight into my head, no words, just the sudden vivid image of her mouth on my throat, her tongue tracing slow circles while another woman’s hands slid under my blouse from behind. I jolted so hard the seatbelt warning chimed.

Claire only smiled, calm and knowing, and moved on.

For the next six hours she made a slow, deliberate circuit of seduction.

Every time she passed, a new flash. Claire’s lips parting as she straddled me in the dim galley, skirt rucked to her hips, no panties.

Her fingers laced with another woman’s (blonde, green-eyed, uniform half-unbuttoned) while they both knelt, mouths open, waiting for me.

The two of them kissing over my bare skin, tongues sliding wet and warm, the faint metallic taste of blood on the air.

I stopped fighting the images. My thighs were slick, my pulse hammering so loudly I was sure the passenger beside me could hear it. When Claire crouched beside my seat near landing, her hand resting lightly on my knee, her voice was velvet in my ear.

“Change of plans, darling. You’re coming home with me.”

I didn’t even ask how she knew I had no hotel booked. I simply nodded, throat dry, body humming like a tuning fork.

Customs was a blur. I followed the click of her heels through the terminal, through a private crew exit, into the back of a waiting car. The entire ride to their apartment she kept one hand high on my thigh, thumb stroking in slow arcs that kept the telepathic reel playing: her naked, another woman’s head buried between her legs, both of them moaning my name.

The door opened onto a high-floor flat bathed in low amber light. The scent of jasmine and something darker hit me first. Then the sounds: wet rhythmic slaps, soft feminine cries, a low masculine growl that made my knees buckle.

In the living room, on a vast white rug, Mia (blonde, green-eyed, the woman from every vision) was on all fours, uniform skirt flipped up, nothing underneath. A man, tall, pale, impossibly beautiful, leather coat open over bare skin moved behind her with slow, deliberate thrusts. Mia’s back arched, her moan a broken, “Please… harder, Master…” as he filled her again and again, her breasts swaying beneath the open blouse, nipples dark and peaked.

Claire stepped behind me, arms sliding around my waist, lips brushing my ear. “We’ve been waiting for you, Mary.”

Mia glanced over her shoulder, eyes glassy with pleasure, lips parted. “Claire… you brought us a new toy.” Claire’s fingers found the buttons of my blouse, popping them one by one. “A very responsive one.”

The man (their Master) slowed, still buried deep inside Mia, and turned his head. Obs(obsidian eyes locked on mine). The room narrowed to just that gaze. Every image Claire had fed me across the Atlantic suddenly felt like foreplay. My clothes were suddenly too tight, too hot, my pulse a frantic drum between my legs.

Claire guided me forward until I stood at the edge of the rug. Mia reached out, fingers brushing my thigh, leaving streaks of wetness. Claire pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Kneel, darling.”

I dropped without thinking.

The Master withdrew from Mia with a slick sound, her whimper of loss echoing. He stepped over her, boots silent on the rug, until he towered above me. One cool hand cupped my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip. His eyes (ancient, hungry, endless) poured into mine.

“Welcome home, Mary,” he murmured, voice like midnight made sound.

The last of my resistance dissolved. I leaned into his palm, trembling, already his.