Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

I watched Satin walk away, until the door to the back of the aircraft finally closed behind her.

It was hard to believe I’d gone from my normal holiday non-plans to starring in a spy thriller in under three hours.

Looking around the jet though, it wasn’t hard to see the weight of her wealth. Everything gleamed—leather seats, brass fixtures, thick Berber carpet underfoot. And after hearing her tell her story, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that her pain was genuine. I’d seen people do crazy things for revenge—hell, I’d stopped plenty of them before. For once, it would be interesting to be on the other side of the equation.

I stood, pacing the aisle awkwardly, my hooves scuffing the carpet despite my best efforts. A small fridge hummed softly in the corner, and I raided it for a bottle of water before admitting to myself that Satin was right. I needed rest. There wasn’t any point worrying about what I was up against until she told me.

The only problem with that was me.

I, like a significant portion of the single male population in America, liked to jack off before I went to sleep. It was part of my resting ritual, the final switch that turned my body off for the night. I honestly didn’t know if I’d be able to sleep without it.

I also really, really, indescribably badly, wanted to jack off, thinking of her. My upper lip lifted, testing the air—her fresh and clean scent was still all around me, and when I closed my eyes it was all too easy to conjure up the delectable swaying of her hips as she’d walked away, as utterly confident as she was oblivious to my gaze.

Also? Satyrs had massive balls, massive dicks, and massive loads. Clearing the pipes was less of a luxury and more of a biological necessity, especially if I didn’t want my brain fried by the constant pressure of my body’s instincts.

My upper lip curled again as I debated with myself. She wouldn’t see me—not with that blindfold. Hell, she wouldn’t even know…which didn’t make it right.

But it didn’t make it entirely wrong, either.

I shifted to a seat with a clear view of her door, just in case, and spread my furred thighs, lifting the edge of my leather kilt.

Underneath it, my long black cock was already getting hard, the hoop of the piercing at its end trying to tug free.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, reaching down to unclip the short gold chain that trapped it to my leather thigh-cuff, and it rocketed straight up, like a prisoner reaching for freedom.

I slouched down in the seat, to circle it with my palm, biting back a sigh as skin touched skin. There was no planet on which someone like her wanted someone like me, but for just ten minutes or so, I wanted to pretend. I grabbed low and lightly pulled it up my chest, my dick’s metal jewelry hitting me right below my sternum, every piece of me already tight and at attention. I decided to bow my head and let my long tongue roll out, to make the whole process faster—I couldn’t blow myself, but I could lick my slit. I did so, and I closed my eyes, imagining it was her doing that instead. Her red lips parting as they moved to take me in, her fighting to handle my length and my girth, my hard on looking massive in her two small hands—and just what could she do with those hands, eh? Given that she was a sculptor? I imagined them roaming all over my body, strong and curious, before meeting around my shaft, one atop the other, to get me off.

And at the thought of giving her my spunk…something shifted in me, going slightly wild, becoming feral. I tasted my own pearlescent precum, and realized that if I were with Satin, I wouldn’t want to waste a drop. All of it needed to be in her—and it wouldn’t matter to me if I flooded her small womb. In fact, that would be preferrable, me filling her up so much that there wasn’t any space left for anything else—God, I would unleash a load in her like she had never seen, and then I would hoist her up by her ankles to keep it there while I lapped at her clit until she screamed.

I rocked my head back, realizing I was too-fucking-close —and I wasn’t in my own bedroom. I got up and stumbled down the aisle, until I found the bathroom, and she’d been right, I couldn’t close the door behind myself, I only barely fit in, but maybe that was better because then I wasn’t that far from where I needed to be, as I flipped the lid up to the toilet, placed an arm on the cold plastic wall behind it, and braced, biting my teeth together, fighting not to grunt as my balls lifted, spurting out hot shots of cum, again and again, spraying past my piercing, until all the water inside the bowl took on my cum’s ivory sheen.

I stood there for a moment when I was through, catching my breath, thinking strange-to-me thoughts that were completely inappropriate about mating and claming , when I heard Satin clear her throat.

I whirled in the bathroom’s small space as best I could, my leather kilt flapping down over my dick, which was still at half-mast and not-at-all being subtle about what I’d been doing.

“Glad you found the bathroom,” she said, wearing freaking black silk pajamas that matched her blindfold, her hair loose, all of her beautifully framed by her bedroom door. Then she angled around me and headed for the fridge herself, pulling out a bottle of water. “Help yourself,” she said, tilting it my direction.

“I already have,” I grunted, meaning the water I’d taken earlier, but knowing that it could mean about twenty other far more inopportune things.

“Hmm,” she said, without comment, although her lips subtly pursed. “Sleep tight.”