Exes' Layover: Her Latex Stocking Feet Claim Me Again
Exes reunite at an airport hotel where she dominates him with her shiny latex stocking feet.
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Alex had always hated layovers. The fluorescent purgatory of airport hotels smelled like recycled air and regret, and tonight’s six-hour stretch at the Midway Hilton felt especially personal. He was twenty-eight, a marketing guy who sold dreams to people who didn’t need them, and right now his biggest dream was a decent burger and a nap that didn’t involve sharing a wall with a snoring pilot. He pushed through the revolving door into the lobby, suitcase wheeling behind him like a reluctant dog, when the universe decided to fuck with him in the most spectacular way possible.
He literally bounced off her.
One second he was scanning for the bar, the next his shoulder connected with something firm and fragrant and unmistakably female. “Jesus—sorry—” he started, then the scent hit him: that same sharp citrus-and-leather perfume she used to dab behind her ears before she ruined him. His eyes climbed the crisp navy uniform blazer, the little gold wings pinned over one breast, the pencil skirt that still hugged hips he used to grip like life rafts, and finally the face. Mia. Twenty-seven now, flight attendant, hair twisted into a neat bun that begged to be wrecked, smirk already blooming like she owned the punchline.
“Alex Rivera. Still walking into things you can’t handle?” Her voice was pure mischief, low and warm. Shiny black latex stockings whispered under the hem of her skirt when she shifted her weight; the material caught the lobby lights like wet ink. He’d know that gleam anywhere. She used to make him polish them with his tongue until his jaw ached.
He laughed, too loud, heat already crawling up his neck. “Mia. Of all the overpriced airport hotels in all the world. You still flying the friendly skies or just haunting them for sport?”
“Both.” She flicked a glance at his rumpled blazer and travel-creased jeans. “Marketing still treating you like a glorified PowerPoint jockey? You look good. Annoyingly good. I was hoping you’d gone soft so I could feel superior.”
“Superior’s your natural state.” The old spark didn’t just reignite; it detonated. He could feel it in his dick already, traitorous bastard twitching at the memory of her latex-clad toes curling around it. “You still wearing those evil stockings under the uniform? Or is this a special torture reserved for exes who bump into you?”
Mia’s grin went wicked. She smoothed a hand down her thigh, deliberately slow, letting the skirt ride up just enough to flash the glossy black sheen. “Standard issue now. Airline finally caught up to my kink. And don’t pretend you’re not staring. I can feel your eyes licking them already.” She stepped closer, suitcase abandoned by her polished black heels. “I’ve got nowhere to be until the red-eye. You?”
“Zero plans. Completely free to make terrible decisions.” He swallowed. “Christ, Mia. You still look like every bad idea I’ve ever come for.”
“And you still talk like you’re trying to get your tongue back in my mouth.” She hooked a finger in his lapel. “Buy me a drink, Rivera. Let’s see if the old games still make you beg.”