“Our heads are visible over the walls,” he said quietly, hazel eyes flicking to the plastic separating us from the galleyway. “I’d rather not give the flight attendants a show by standing.”
I stared at him, caught between thehorrorat the idea of a flight attendant catching us and thethrillof it.
“How did you know it did that?” I asked, nudging my chin at the partition as it slid down that final bit, absolutely nothing but an inch of plastic separating our single beds.
Matt didn’t answer.
Just watched me as he stood up straight, his eyes glancing toward the galleyway for half a second before his fingers found the top button of his shirt.
It popped open.
Christ.
Another.
My legs wouldn’t move.
I was too fixated on the third button as it popped.
A sliver of toned chest with a light dusting of salt-but-mostly-pepper hair peeked out.
A hint of a collarbone visible as his fingers shifted the fabric.
My throat closed.
Matt exhaled, slow andamused, like he could see my pulse jumping and my nerves spiking.
His fingers stilled on the fourth button, and he sank onto the edge of his bed, eyes glued to mine as a familiar warmth wrapped around my wrist.
A single tug, firm but not rough.
And my knees buckled and my body fell toward him.
Asshole.
He caught me with a hand on my waist.
His thumb pressed against my ribs.
He guided me over him and onto his lap.
My knees pressing into the firm mattress on either side of his hips.
My sundress rode up.
The heat of his body searing through his slacks and into my bare thighs, through his shirt and into my palms where I steadied myself on his shoulders.
His scent surrounded me, invading my nostrils, branding itself to them as he looked up at me with an infuriatingly confident smirk he wore like a second skin.
The hand on my side slid down to my thigh, just below the hem of the dress that was barely giving me a shred of decency downstairs.
And I shivered as his thumb dug in just enough to make me reallyfeelit.
It was strange.
He lookedyoungerlike this, like the lines beside his eyes and on his forehead had smoothed out from the promise of pleasure.
“How old are you?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could think.
