The Pat Down

Rocky Emerson bolts toward security, tail between her legs, almost late for her flight. The metal detector screams the moment she steps through it. Ricky Spanish waves her aside with that smug little smile he probably thinks is charming. He fires up the wand and drags it across her—beep. Right on her ass. His eyebrows do the talking. The pat-down starts normal enough until his hands feel a hard shape where nothing hard should be. “Well, look what we’ve got here,” he mutters, fingers homing in. He works the toy free like it owes him rent. Rocky bites back a curse. Nothing screams ‘day ruined’ like a stranger fishing sex gear out of her. Privacy—gone. Orgasms—delayed. The toy’s in his glove now, slick, shiny, and very much accounted for. She needs relief fast and Ricky is the only dick-shaped solution standing there looking pleased with himself. Fine. He’ll plug the gap he just created.