The Departure

Do we have time, he asked 

As he winked at me

Indicating towards the washroom

We barely had time

My flight was already running in the tarmac

And the queue had started forming

But the temptation was difficult to resist

So we headed towards a desolate spot, discreetly

The cubicles were small for any lavish indulgence

But we both knew

What we desired

He placed me on the basin counter

With one hand securing my hands

The other unbuttoning my shirt 

Unclasping my modesty

He worked smoothly

The chilling sensation of his tongue

On my nipples

I shuddered in pleasure

He started suckling my breasts

Like a baby latching on to his mother

I moaned inwardly

As he suckled every traces of my essence

I could feel his robustness

Grazing against my thighs

But we weren't inclined for the act

It was the pact, between us

When I am the giver

And he is the receiver of the
ambrosia that I offer

His lips on my breasts

And my lingering taste on his lips

Before the departure, whenever

Our honeyed secret.

©LR