Chapter 3
MAC
I was right about the lavender, but she wore lace. Little scraps of lace that would barely cover those more-than-a-handful tits and plump ass.
And in case anyone in a fifteen-foot radius–or further with really good eyesight–didn’t miss her huge vibrator, Andy’s booming six-year-old voice let everyone know the gorgeous Georgia was packing.
Having my dick hard at the airport staring at this woman’s belongings wasn’t chivalrous. Or the least bit gentlemanly. At least she said she didn’t have a family. That meant she was single, and I wasn’t lusting after someone else’s woman.
But I was a conscious, thirty-five-year-old man who hadn’t had sex in over a year. She was a woman who was thick enough not to break if I fucked her good and hard.
She quickly shoved her unmentionables back beneath a dark green sweater. She didn’t need any help with that task, but the zipper on the suitcase was obviously broken and there was no way she could move the bag with it staying closed, so I undid my belt.
Georgia looked up at me with those dark eyes, now wide watching my hands on my belt buckle. Yeah, so much for not getting hard. The vision of her kneeling like this before me, me undoing my pants and getting my dick out for her to suck, was impossible not to imagine.
“Here,” I said, pulling the leather from the loops with one tug.