It’s hot. He’s handsome. I’m horny.
We’re in the crowded bus from the plane to the airport. He stands opposite me and starts to stroke with his fingers along my right inner thigh. I raise my gaze and see a wave of lust flickering through his dark, brown eyes. Our eyes lock, and we forget about the world around us. His hand crawls higher and his index finger taps my outer labia. A teasing sensation flares through my core like a spark on dry paper. I shift my weight, my hips subtly tilting toward him, greedy for his touch. My heart hammers in my chest - I’m painfully aware of how public and conservative this place is. Yet I don't pull away.
He senses my movement and raises his eyebrows, a silent smirk playing on his lips. The kind of look that says, “Be good. Be patient.” I meet it with a crooked smile, lips parted, eyes gleaming. He knows I’m not always the good girl he pretends to want. And he fucking loves that.
The bus lurches to a stop. We get off and move quickly through migration control, forcing our focus on the dull formalities — anything to stop ourselves from dragging each other into the nearest corner to fuck like animals. The moment we slide into the backseat of a cab, the heat reignites. He pulls me against him with one firm arm and slides the other under my top like it belongs there - because it does. His palm finds my breast, and I suck in a breath. A bolt of sensation cuts through me, straight from his touch to the ache building between my legs.
Outside, the desert sun casts long shadows across domes and minarets. Women in elegant black hijabs walk past us, unaware of the storm brewing in the backseat. His fingers roll over my nipple, slowly, deliberately. I bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet. My back arches slightly, betraying my composure. He doesn't stop—he never does once he’s started something. He’s methodical, focused. He loves to turn my body into a battlefield of restraint and desire.
The taxi jolts, and I glance at the rearview mirror. The driver’s eyes are locked on the road, but he’s close - just one glance away from exposing us. That thought alone makes this whole situation SO irresistible.
He keeps massaging my breast, but his body stays still, looking out the window like the hackneyed businessman he is. This contrast of my burning lust versus his cool temper drives me insane. I press my thighs together, desperate to relieve the pressure. My nipples are pebbled and clearly visible beneath my thin white top, and I know he’s aware of every twitch and gasp I try to suppress.
I turn my head slightly and catch his smirk. Decision taken - time to shift the game, darling.
I wait for a moment when the driver starts talking on the phone while wildly gesturing at traffic. Then I slide my hand down and rest it on his lap. No hesitation. No teasing warm-up. I take his hardening cock in my hand and squeeze. His entire body tenses for a moment, but he doesn’t look at me. Just breathes out slowly, controlled.
I start stroking him through the fabric, feeling him grow harder with every pass of my fingers. My palm presses against the base, and I cup his balls, fingers curling gently underneath. He leans toward me slightly, his lips brushing my ear. “Oh, Nat - I want you.”
The way he says my name—low and full of promise—makes my stomach flip. Heat rushes to my cheeks and straight down into my soaked panties. Lace and logic don’t stand a chance anymore. I can feel how wet I am, the damp fabric clinging to me, pulsing with need.
His hand slips lower and tugs at the edge of my top, his fingers grazing the underside of my breast before pinching my nipple again, harder this time. I gasp, biting my lip. We still haven’t spoken a word to each other since we got into the cab—only his whispered promise. But we don’t need words. Our bodies know the conversation by heart.
He’s throbbing in my hand now, thick and hard, and I stroke him with more pressure, thumb tracing along the ridge I know too well. His jaw clenches. We’re both riding the edge now, trying to keep it together while our bodies scream for more.
Then, just when I think I might straddle him right there and fuck the consequences, his hand slips away. A beat later, I pull mine back too. The air between us is electric and heavy, charged with everything we didn’t do.
The driver looks in the rearview mirror, catching nothing but two travellers sitting politely apart. “We have arrived at your hotel, Mister,” he says. Felix leans forward, his voice is soft, but rough around the edges, when he thanks the driver. We get out of the car and walk towards the hotel entrance like the business professionals we are. Well, that’s one of the things we are…
Entering the lobby, I feel Felix softly touch my arm. He comes closer and whispers gently, but dominating into my ear, “Nat, I’ll do business down here. And when I enter my room, I want my naked woman to open the door.”
His words land like a punch to the gut—sharp, hot, possessive. I glance down, shamelessly staring at his cock pressing against his jeans. Then I meet his eyes and lean in close enough to taste the heat in his breath. “Felix,” I say, tone low and teasing, “unless you want that naked woman in your room to be very unhappy, you better bring that thing upstairs fast.” He exhales through a grin, and I see the promise in his eyes.
I turn my head and walk straight towards the elevators. My nipples are stiff, my thighs slick, and every step I take is deliberate—hips swinging, back straight, smile dangerous.
I don’t look back. I don’t have to. I can feel him watching.
