Page 90 of Sweet Shots

The limo shows up twenty minutes later. The driver is a polite and well-dressed old man who is probably someone’s adorable grandfather.

Dominic keeps the privacy window up and raises the volume on the music. The drive is about an hour, but it’s not even five minutes before he’s getting on his knees in front of me and tearing at my pants.

“Dominic,” I warn, trying to shove him off. “No.”

“Yes,” he says, batting my hands away. “I want your cock in my mouth. Then I want mine in yours.”

“You’re going to make a mess,” I hiss.

“We’re going to a fucking porn award ceremony. They’ll just laugh. No one is afraid of cum, Mikah.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. I lean back, letting him do his thing. He isn’t wasting time, showing me how much he wants me to explode down his throat. It doesn’t take long—it never does unless he wants it to. I’m still amazed at how this man controls my orgasms…

We switch spots and I greedily suck on his dick, eager for his cum after he swallowed mine. He too doesn’t take long, and when I’m done, I shake my head and plop down beside him.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Insatiable. For you.”

He leans over, kissing me deeply.

This man is so… I still can’t find words. He blows my mind with how amazing he is, how well he knows me, how good he makes me feel. And honestly? I love accepting that. I love letting it be and no longer fighting it.

“I’ve never been on a plane,” I say suddenly.

“No shit?” He huffs out a laugh.

“Never,” I say. “Not sure how I feel about it.”

“Well, we can be terrified together.” He takes my hand, kissing it.

“Heights?”

“Yep. Normally I’d get shit-faced, but since I may have to go up on stage to get an award, it’s probably a bad idea.”

“It would be memorable,” I suggest.

“The last thing I need is to be put on YouTube for making an idiot of myself.”

“It could make you more money.”

“It could also ruin my career.”

I could ruin your career.

That stupid voice. Why? Why now?

I clear my throat, resting my head back. That stupid voice just ruined my mood, as it usually does.

“At least it’s a quick flight,” I add, not wanting him to think something is wrong even though somethingiswrong… and he probably already knows.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He shifts in his seat, and I pop an eye open to see what he’s doing. Dropping my hand, he digs into the console and pulls out a bottle of champagne. The top is popped off, and he takes a swig.

“Classy,” I say.

He grins, handing over the bottle.

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