Page 16 of Pomegranates and Olive

The cabin crew lowers the lights, so I turn on my overhead to continue with my half-assed façade of reading the magazine. It’s a struggle though, as my eyes keep drifting away from the words on the page and back to gaze at his beautiful face.

Is he asleep? I watch his chest slowly rise and fall with each breath. Definitely asleep which means I can ogle this solid ten-out-of-ten all I want without him catching me.

So here I go.

As already established, Yilmaz has an entirely adequate face, so I move my eyes down his body to gawk at the rest of him. The white t-shirt covers what I guess is muscle, all rock-hard, hit me with your best shot, muscle. I imagine his hard chest covered in ink, a washboard waist and a very defined "V" pointing south. My assumption that he is covered in tattoos is because his forearms are tanned, taut and sinewy, and his left arm's all tatted up with intricate black ink. It takes all my willpower not to lift the sleeve and take a closer look. I'm not really into tattoos, but it definitely is giving Yilmaz an edge. A hot-as-hell edge.

Yilmaz shuffles lower in his seat and his cardigan slips off his lap, dropping to the ground. I bend forward to pick it up, my face coming into very close contact with the bulge in his jeans.

I wonder would his cock looks like?

Impressive, I'll bet.

Olive Giulietta Russo!

Even my opinionated Catholic school girl inner-voice knows what a home-grownputtanaI am!

I attach his cardigan to the hook on the chair in front of him staying well clear of what I'm picturing to be quite a sizable package before pulling my blanket up to my chin. It's my fleecy barrier against the magnificence sitting beside me. Yilmaz's head nods forward before falling sideways onto my shoulder.

Mannaggia!

He nuzzles sleepily into my neck and takes a deep breath as he mumbles in his hot as Hades, very proper, toffy English accent. "Patchouli."

I'm wearing my favourite perfume; a light combination of patchouli and cedarwood. How in the hell would he know what patchouli smells like, and how would he be able to distinguish that from any other scent? This man surprises me. He’s so hard and so soft at the same time and I’m not talking about the bulge in his pants.

He moves his mouth closer to mine. His breath is hot on my skin and all I can think about is what his lips might feel like. All I would have to do is turn my head the slightest bit and our lips would touch.

Just to kiss those beautiful lips, slide my tongue between them, taste him and have him taste me.

Do it, do it, do it!

I turn my head and press my lips lightly to his.

His lips are as soft as suede, deliciously smooth and taste a little like a peppermint humbug. A flame of red-hot fire sizzles through me just as his eyes flutter open and I gaze into his ash-grey pools.

Merda!

I hope he doesn't realise what just happened.

I hope he doesn't call the cabin crew.

I hope I don't get charged with sexual assault!

I'd never survive in gaol. I'd totally end up being someone's bitch.

His mouth curves into a smile and before I can even come up with a reasonable excuse for my appalling behaviour, he grabs my face and crushes his lips down on mine.

Returning his kiss with greed, I let that red-hot sizzle take over as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, warm and probing. I meet it with my own. My fingers disappear into his hair, feeling the silky strands between my fingers. Oh, my!

I don't want to sound too dramatic, but this kiss has the makings of a Shakespearean sonnet. Passion. Drama. Even loathing (on my part at least).

Yilmaz moves his hands from my face and wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. I twist in my seat and awkwardly release my seatbelt, my lips never leaving his for a moment.

His hand slips under my tank top and grazes my breast. I inhale sharply as my nipples tighten against my bra, desperate to be touched. With a very impressive flick of his wrist, my bra is undone.

Nowthat’sa useful skill!

My breast falls heavy into his hand. I instinctively lift the fleecy blanket to maintain a little privacy as he pushes my tank up and cups my breast, thumbing my erect nipple.

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