Stroke: A Bad Boy Romance

by Gabby Grace

  As I’m stowing my bag in the overhead compartment, I spy her just down the aisle from me, about four rows back. She’s bending over her seat to pick something up, showing anyone who’s looking a scenic view of her lush ass with her sexy skirt hiking up farther with every inch she bends over. Damn. She’s flexible, too.

  I picture myself coming up stealthily behind her, whipping out my big cock and ramming it into her from behind, as she shrieks in surprise at the enormity and suddenness of it. I keep slamming her from behind, my cock filling her completely, as she’s draped over her seat, taking me all in while everyone else goes about their business, not seeming to notice.

  A guy can fantasize, right?

  Get a hold of yourself, Vito. Fuck. It’s a two-hour flight, and then you have to take care of business. Dangerous business. You’re not going down there to dip your wick into everything that moves.

  I take my seat – at least I can look out the window – and try to get that hot ass out of my mind. Five minutes go by and it’s no fucking use. Alright. Fuck this.

  As the last people are jamming their luggage anywhere it will fit and taking their seats, I get up, stepping over the people who sat down in the two seats to the right of me in my row. The women next to me has that look about her, like she’s just waiting for this plane to lift off the ground so she can tell me all about her thirty grandkids and dead husband. No fucking thanks.

  I walk back down the aisle toward my Latina beauty, grabbing the tops of the seats as I go. Just as her gorgeous eyes come up to meet mine, I speak.

  “Is that you? I haven’t seen you in ages.” I have a look of wonderment on my face. I’m selling this shit good.

  She looks up at me for a moment with wide eyes, and then replies with a devilish grin, “It’s so great to see you…”

  “Vito. I can’t believe you forgot my name.” I throw my hands up in the air in mock offense, and then exude my irresistible smile that melts the panties right off of women’s bodies like a flaming blow torch.

  I address the businesslike-looking man seated next to her, as he looks nice enough. “Sir, I hate to ask, but could I sit next to my old friend? You see, we used to date in college, but I haven’t seen her in years.”

  The middle-aged man looks at me over the top of his glasses, lowering his New York Post. He tilts his head, a small grin shaping the corners of his mouth. “Of course. I don’t want to get in the way of young love.”

  “Thank you, sir. My seat is 18A, four rows up, right next to the window.” As he gathers up his things, a glasses case and a yellow Izod sweater he had draped over the seat behind him, I add, “She was so in love with me that she couldn’t keep her hands off of me. I really appreciate this.”

  The man squeezes past me and looks away uncomfortably as he makes his way down the aisle in the direction of 18A. Her kissable mouth, slightly agape now, closes with a slight roll of her tongue tracing over her bottom lip. When you’ve been with as many women as I have, you begin to notice things. Little things. That lick of the lips meant come on in.

  I take the seat next to her, on the aisle. I look to my right and our eyes meet. Her deep, dark eyes sparkle with interest as they search mine. “So, Vito, that was pretty smooth. Do you always pick up women on planes, or am I just lucky?”

  “Did I just pick you up?” My eyebrows go up in mock surprise. “I’m coming up on second base already, and we just met a few minutes ago.”

  “Did you already forget about our torrid college love affair? I’m disappointed in you, Vito.” Her voice is saucy with a hint of a Latina accent. “After all, I can’t keep my hands off you.” Her free hand trails up my leg, stopping to tenderly caress the inside of my thigh.

  Love your style, babe.

  I glance down at her hand, which is now resting on the inside of my thigh. “You see, nothing’s changed. You still can’t control yourself around me.” My cock is quickly coming to life for this beauty as she strokes the inside of my leg with just two of her fingers, making little swirling motions. The smirk on her face and hint of amusement in her eyes concedes she’s proud of the bulge she’s inciting in my pants.

  I continue, “I know we were lovers in college, but you’re not the only one who seems forgetful. I can’t seem to remember your name. Was it Esmerelda… no… Gladys?”

  She smiles coyly and her eyes dance. “You’re funny. I remember us being so in love, and now you say we were lovers. Which is it?” I like how she’s playing along.

  “Definitely lovers.”

  “In that case…” Her hand slides up even closer to my now pulsating cock that it appears as a noticeable third leg, no longer hidden by the thick fabric of my jeans.

  If she’s not careful, the plane won’t be the only thing taking off.

  4

  Bella

  My hand inches closer and closer to his manliness and I don’t care who’s watching. Vito is hot as hell, and I’ve learned when to listen to my womanly instincts that say go. I can play his game.

  Deep down inside I can sense something dangerous about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. It’s just a vibe I get, a vibe that’s never led me astray before.

  He persists. “So, do you have a name, beautiful?”

  “Isabella. You can call me Bella.”

  He laughs.

  “Is something funny?”

  “I just called you beautiful and it’s also your name. It fits you. Bella.”

  I like the way he repeats my name, rolling off his tongue with just a hint of an Italian accent. He looks the part with his dark hair, steely blue eyes, and olive skin. Vito has muscles layered on top of muscles. His hard, chiseled biceps are simply stretching the fabric of the short sleeves of his red t-shirt to its limit. Everything I can see about him – and another part that I can’t – is hard. I start sliding my hand again, coming tantalizing close to his member, teasing him. Just when he thinks he’s the luckiest man on this plane, I demurely remove my hand from his inner thigh and use it to nonchalantly brush my hair away from my face.

  I tilt my head to the side in his direction. “Where are you headed, Vito?”

  He turns his head to the right to look at me. When he finds my eyes, I’m met with a slight look of disappointment, probably because I stopped massaging his cock through his pants.

  “Miami.”

  “Why?”

  “To work on my tan.”

  Bullshit. I can tell when someone is handing me a story. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  He’s instantly annoyed by what I said. “I don’t know. Because you have trust issues?”

  “I do, but that’s beside the point.” I throw in just a bit of attitude so he knows I won’t be bullied.

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, Bella.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  His eyes are still locked on mine. “Because a lot of women aren’t.

  I decide if Vito wants to play this game, then I’m up for the challenge.

  “I’m not a lot of women,” I retort, tilting my head farther to the side and posturing my hand on my hip for effect. Men find this sexy look hard to resist.

  “You most definitely are not. So, what’s your story?”

  “My story?”

  Slightly annoyed and his voice laced with a bit more accent, some Bronx mixed in, he says, “Am I speaking English here? What do you do for a living?” He enunciates each word for effect.

  “I own my own company. Event planning.”

  “So… you set up events for people?”

  “Yes, that’s part of it. We primarily arrange media events to help both small companies and large businesses obtain press coverage and promote themselves to new clients and customers.” This is my typical elevator speech that I give people when they ask me this question.

  “I see.” He nods. “You enjoy it?”

  “Very much.”

  “You look successful. I don’t know… yo
ur hair, clothes, jewelry, makeup.” He gestures over to me with his hand, waving it up and down the length of my frame.

  “Thank you.” I acknowledge his compliment in a playful tone, being sure to flash him my sexy smile.

  “Is your business out of Miami, or here?”

  “More so out of Miami, but maybe fifteen or so percent of our business is based in New York. You don’t go big-time in this business if you don’t put effort into the city.”

  “Your home?”

  “Miami… well, actually just outside of Miami, in Hollywood.”

  His massively broad shoulders turn slightly toward me now. “You like it there?”

  “It’s hot.” The plane starts taxiing, as we pull away from the gate with a deep thrust of the engines.

  He throws me what is, no doubt, his best smile. “You’re hot.” His eyes even twinkle a bit, his dimples showing. Good Lord, this man has it all going on.

  “Is that all you see in me? That’s all that most guys do.”

  “No, I see more.”

  “Really? How much more?”

  “A lot. You’re beautiful, successful, and I want to fuck you like nobody’s business.”

  I flash a daring look to his eyes, and realize he’s dead serious.

  ____

  A few hours later, we land in Miami. The sun is lowering in a vivid show of brilliant orange and flaming yellow in the western sky, and it's more beautiful than anything an artist could ever paint.

  The conversation with Vito has been fun and hot. He’s a really nice guy if you delve beneath the top layers. He’s hard as granite on the outside, but soft like a marshmallow on the inside. He’s what a real man should be.

  Once he brought up the idea of us having sex, it was all I could think about. I admire a guy who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.

  My mind kept drifting to the image of both of us naked. I pictured us together on a sandy beach, his powerful body covering mine as he thrust powerfully into me, my legs wrapping tight around his muscular ass, his massive cock buried to the hilt, taking me to places I’ve never been, and leaving me screaming his name and begging for more. It was driving me nuts.

  Damn, Bella. What is he doing to you?

  5

  Vito

  Our plane touches down perfectly and comes rolling to a stop before being directed to our gate at the Miami National Airport by a man waving two red lights.

  The sexiest, most polished woman I’ve ever been with in my life is seated next to me and having a good time. Scoring with the ladies both socially and in the bedroom has never been much of a problem for me. In fact, it’s always been one of my strong suits.

  It’s like when I was playing football back in my athletic prime, and I just knew I was going to beat the guy in front of me. I knew it like it had already happened. It’s the same thing with women.

  I snap out of my flashback and ask, “You have a carry-on?”

  “Yes… up there. It’s light blue.” She points to the compartment above her head.

  “Let me help you with that.” I reach above her into the open compartment to grab her bag and see that’s she’s eyeing me, first in my midsection, then down near my crotch.

  She looks up to me with those soulful eyes. “Thanks.”

  We slowly begin exiting the plane, getting caught up in the aisle behind passengers who are still gathering their stuff. At my original seat, I reach to grab my bag from the overhead compartment.

  “Where are you headed now?” I ask.

  “Home.” She pauses. “Where are you going?” There’s a flirtatious tone mixed in there.

  “I have business.”

  “What, like working on a tan?”

  “Something like that.”

  We finally exit the plane, walk through the connector, and come out into the terminal. I stop to face her, my eyes tracing up her body to get one last look at her.

  “Alright, well, I guess this is it. Bye, Vito. It was fun getting to know you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  She wants me. “I got your number… I’ll call you.”

  I watch the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met walk away from me, her gorgeous ass sashaying back and forth, saying bye-bye with each move of her cheeks.

  For now, honey.

  I walk over to the car rental place that’s located not too far from the gate, walk outside into the now warming, late afternoon sun, and enter the Avis Car Rental lot through a chain link open gate. I always take a quick look around the lot first before hitting the rental desk so I can pick out the car I want, and today is no different.

  Just when I think all their cars suck, I locate a beauty hidden behind a Toyota Minivan over in the corner. It’s a brand fucking new Ford Mustang, black with a tan convertible top and a shine that allows me to see my reflection in the hood almost like I’m looking in a mirror. The tan leather interior seals the deal for me, and I stride confidently back into the small brick building. That car is all mine.

  I enter through the sliding glass doors, walk directly up to the counter, and am greeted by a young guy who’s maybe twenty years old, wearing glasses, and sporting some slight stubble that will never grow into a beard.

  “Can I help you?” he asks in a nasally voice.

  “Yeah. I want that Mustang out there.” I gesture with my thumb over my left shoulder in the direction of the lot outside.

  “I’m sorry, sir. That car has already been reserved by another customer.”

  “Unreserve it.” I give him the ‘I’ll kill you mother fucker if you don’t do as I say’ look.

  “I can’t do that.”

  I persist. “You can, and you will.” My eyes are boring a hole into him as I grasp the cheap laminate counter with both of my hands and lean my wide frame into his personal space. Now just six inches from his face, I don’t blink, I don’t breathe. I just stare until he breaks.

  He looks like he might have just shit his pants. He forces a hard swallow down his throat, his Adams Apple revealing his fear, and then he starts tapping furiously on his keyboard. He looks nervously from the computer screen to me, and then turns his attention back to the screen.

  “Good news, sir…mmmhmmm…” He clears his throat, and he’s still obviously scared as fuck. “The black Ford Mustang convertible is available, after all. I’ll just need to see some I.D. and scan your credit card, and then you can be on your way.”

  The sooner I can get this taken care of, the sooner I can get on with my business.

  ____

  The tan convertible top is down, and I can feel the wind whipping through my hair. I'm living the dream. My red Ray-Ban wraparound sunglasses blocks the bright rays, as I'm cruising down Route 1 along the shoreline, taking in all the sights. The palms lining the strip, the tricked-out cars, the chicks walking around with hardly any clothes on.

  Fuck New York. This is my kind of place.

  I pull into the Wayside Motel, a small out-of-the-way place among some tropical plants and trees that backs up to the beach and has an in-ground swimming pool. I’m not sure if I’ll have time to swim, but while I’m down here, I want beach access just in case.

  Room 7 has a view of the ocean and the bed seems clean enough. This place even has a Tiki Bar out by the pool. It’s made out of bamboo and dried palm leaves and looks like something out of an old Elvis movie. That’s right, I fucking dig Elvis.

  Standing at the railing overlooking the white sandy beach dotted with colorful umbrellas, I decide to call Lucenzo. I scroll down to his name on my contacts list and hit dial.

  He picks up on the second ring.

  “Hey, Lucenzo. It’s Vito.”

  “You in Miami?”

  “Yeah. Just checked in and I’m ready to meet. When and where?”

  “Meet me at Sass. It’s a strip club on Medway Street. Seven o’clock.”

  “Alright.” I hi
t end and tuck my phone in my front right pocket.

  I’ll kill some time by the pool working on my tan. I pause. That reminds me of something. I pull my phone out again. I check my text messages, stopping to view the number Bella texted me while we were still on the plane. I tap it in and hit send.

  “Hey, Bella.”

  “Is this Vito?”

  “Who else do you know that talks with a New Yawk accent?”

  “Funny.”

  “I thought so. Guess what I’m doing?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I’m working on my tan.”

  “Nothing’s changed. I still don’t believe you’re down here just for that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a guy like you can’t sit still long enough to get a tan. You need to be on the move, right in the middle of the action.”

  “You’re right about that. Let’s you and me make some action.”

  “What?”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “You can’t. I’m working from home today, and I have deadlines.”

  “You could use a break.”

  “No, really, I have this event coming up and it’s really important.”

  “Trust me. Now text me your address.”

  The drive over to her place takes me maybe forty minutes, not because it’s any great distance, but rather the shit traffic in downtown Miami I have to drive through to get there slows me down. At least I’m cruising in style.

  When I arrive at Bella’s address, I see it’s one of those modern, boxy-type houses with those weird second floor areas that create overhangs for porches on the first floor, and that kind of shit. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Just a mishmash of boxes and angles stacked on top of each other to make a dwelling. It’s nothing like the tenement houses I’m used to back home that line the streets as far as the eye can see in every direction.

  I park the hot Mustang out in plain sight where she can see it, wanting her to know I’m a guy with some fucking style. I follow the winding gravel walk through some lush plants, ranging from ankle to waist height, mostly in shades of green. One plant is blue and has little spikes on the leaves.