“I’m going to lick your sweet cunt now, baby,” he says, and shifts to lower himself. “Show me your clit. Give it to me.”
I spread my pussy lips for him, and he uses his mouth so well that I grind up against him, letting the cock work deeper inside me. His tongue is so good, and his moans are so nice, and I can’t hold it back… the waves get stronger, and stronger, and stronger… and fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
I come for Ant with a massive rubber cock deep in my cunt. My wet, needy, stretched cunt – because that’s what it is when I’m feeling like this, and when he’s treating me like this. It’s my cunt. My dirty, needy, stretched wide, slutty cunt.
“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, and pulls the dildo free. “Jesus, Cass, you impress me every fucking time.”
He holds me tight as my breathing calms, stroking my hair and telling me how proud he is of me, and how much he loves me, and then he lifts my legs back and slides his cock in the battered hole the purple monster left behind.
He pins my hands above my head, and fucks me with his face in mine, slow and deep.
I feel weirdly emotional as he builds himself to climax. His hips slam but he’s so calm, so in control until he grunts and curses, coming in long hard thrusts.
Cold.
He’s so cold as he fucks me like that, even though he’s smiling with promises of adoration.
As soon as he’s finished, he takes his phone and turns off the video, then flicks off the lamp to follow.
“Time for a good night’s sleep,” he whispers, and holds me tight. “Nice and fresh for Berlin.”
That’s what I try to focus on as he drifts off to sleep beside me. Berlin. His life over there, and how I’m going to see it for myself.
I have the strangest niggle inside that it’s going to show me parts of him I’ve never seen. The Ant under the surface.
I just hope he’s the Ant I think he is.
I haven’t been on a plane for years, getting a fresh rush of excitement as we arrive in the departure lounge.
Of course, Ant has got us VIP seats. The attendants lead us through to them, and I’m already flying inside as I put my bag in the overhead compartment. Ant lets me in ahead of him, and I’m by the window, beyond excited at the thought of being high in the clouds.
It’s when I turn to tell Ant so that I realise his expression doesn’t match the high of mine. He’s not smiling and his shoulders are rigid.
“Hey,” I say, trying to lighten him up with a giggle. “You don’t look set for an adventure.”
The brutal admission in his reply takes me aback.
“That’s because I hate flying.”
I’ve never heard that from him before, despite the fact he’s been back and forth time after time, heading off for flights without even a hint of it.
“You hate flying?”
“Yes, Cass. I hate flying. I can’t fucking stand it.”
I look down and see his hands are gripping the seat arms, clenched so tight his knuckles are white. And he’s already fastened his safety belt.
He wasn’t like this on the drive, or in the airport itself. The change in him has been from the moment he sat himself down in the chair, and not a moment before it.
“What is it about flying you don’t like?”
“I just fucking hate it.”
“Is it a fear of heights?”
He scoffs. “Hardly.”
“Then what is it?”
He clams up and takes a shuddering breath, looking more uncomfortable than I could have ever imagined. The very opposite from every other aspect of him I’ve ever known.
“Ant, what is it?” I push, and his eyes meet mine with a dark fear that takes my breath.
“It’s not heights, Cass, it’s people. It’s the incompetence of people and having some random fucking pilots controlling my life for me.”
His words are so strong. His fear deep rooted enough to be venomous.
I place my hand on his. “It’s ok. I’m sure they know what they’re doing. Did you have a bad flight or something once? Did it scare you?”
“No,” he says. “Having other people in control of anything of mine makes me feel fucking sick. Being up in the sky with your life in some random pilot’s hands just makes it more extreme.”
I’m edgy for him as I buckle up and prepare for take off, wishing I could take some of his fear away. Thank fuck the flight is only a couple of hours long. The thought that he gets like this every time he flies gives me a horrible pang in my stomach. I want to hold him tight.
“Here we fucking go,” he says, and sucks in a breath as we begin to charge up the runway.
He closes his eyes as the plane takes off, and I hope he’ll maybe relax a bit when we’re up and free in the sky, but he doesn’t at all. If anything, he looks more terrified than ever, masked in a veneer of rage or not.