Reality rushes back in—the muffled sounds outside the door, the frantic pounding of my heart, Aleksander’s body still pressed against mine, both of us shivering with the aftershocks. My skin is hot, flushed, tingling everywhere he touched me. I can still feel him inside me, the warmth of his release, the ache and fullness between my thighs.
His hand slips from my mouth and I gasp in a shaky breath, tasting the air, the scent of us heavy in the room. I blink up at him, trying to process everything—how wild, reckless, and out of control that felt. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and adrenaline, but I don’t look away.
He’s watching me, eyes dark and searching, still trying to catch his breath. For a second, neither of us moves. I wonder if he regrets it—if I should regret it—but all I feel is raw, dizzy, and so alive I could cry.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, voice low, gentle, nothing like the Aleksander from a minute ago.
I nod, unable to form words. He brushes hair out of my face, kisses my forehead, and I melt a little, the tension bleeding out of me. We’re still tangled together—my legs around his waist, my arms clutching at his back, not quite ready to let go.
I’m suddenly, painfully aware of where we are—the cramped airplane bathroom, the cold sink pressing into my back, the faint drone of engines and passengers just a thin door away. Shame prickles across my skin. I can’t believe I just let him take me here, so desperate I didn’t care who might hear. My cheeks are burning, and I can’t look at him, not right away.
What kind of woman does this?I wonder, my mind racing.What must he think of me now?
I feel exposed, every nerve raw and open, the taste of him still on my lips, the ache of him deep inside me. My legs are shaky as I finally let them fall from his waist, the reality of what we’ve done crashing over me. The scent of sex lingers, mingling with the sterile bathroom air, making it all so much more real.
Aleksander’s arms are still around me, but I stiffen, trying to pull away, not trusting myself to speak. He notices. Of course he does. He always does.
He catches my chin, tilts my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer than I expect, filled with something that feels dangerously close to concern. “Hey,” he says quietly, searching my expression. “Talk to me.”
But all I can do is shake my head, shame clamping down on my chest. “I can’t believe we just did that,” I whisper, voice trembling. “In here, of all places.”
His thumb strokes my cheek. “You’re not alone in this, Bella. I wanted it just as much as you did.” There’s no judgment in hisvoice, just certainty, the kind that makes it hard to hide from him.
Still, embarrassment claws at me. “I’ve never…not like this. I just—god, anyone could’ve heard us.” My voice cracks, equal parts mortified and bewildered by my own need.
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, not letting me go. “Let them hear. I wanted you. I still do.” His tone is rough, but his touch is gentle, grounding. “But if you regret it, tell me now. I don’t want you to feel used, Bella. I want you to feel wanted.”
His words hang between us, thick with meaning, but the knot of embarrassment in my chest only tightens. I can’t stay pressed against him, not right now—not with everything so raw and exposed.
I push gently at his chest, needing space, my hands shaking a little. “Please—just…” My voice breaks, and I can’t quite finish. The bathroom suddenly feels cramped, suffocating, nowhere to hide from what we’ve just done or the rush of feelings tumbling through me.
Aleksander lets me go, stepping back, his brow furrowed in worry. The sudden loss of his warmth makes me shiver. I turn away, gathering up my clothes, desperate for something—anything—to cover myself, to make this feel less reckless, less shameful.
I fumble with my panties, my jeans, my bra, refusing to look in the mirror. I can feel his eyes on me, steady, but he doesn’t try to touch me again. He gives me the space I need, even if the silence between us is almost unbearable.
I feel the sting of tears behind my eyes, a lump in my throat I can’t swallow down. My fingers fumble as I fasten my jeans, cheeks burning with shame.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m apologizing for—letting go, losing control, wanting him so badly I forgot where we were. “I just…I need a minute.”
Aleksander nods, his jaw tight, but there’s no anger in his eyes. Only concern, and something that almost looks like regret. He steps outside, shutting the door gently behind him.
I gather myself as best I can, forcing my hands to steady. When I finally unlock the door and step into the narrow aisle, the world feels painfully bright and ordinary. There’s a woman waiting, arms crossed, lips pursed in a scowl. Her eyes flick over me, taking in my flushed face, my mussed hair, my barely fastened blouse.
“Took you long enough,” she mutters, brushing past with a huff.
My cheeks burn hotter. I mumble an apology, eyes fixed on the carpet as I hurry away, wanting nothing more than to disappear. Every step feels like a spotlight, my own shame screaming at me, sure that everyone must know what I’ve done.
I glance around, half expecting Aleksander to be waiting just outside—but he’s not there. His suite is empty as I walk down the aisle, the little white napkin on his tray table untouched. A cold, uneasy feeling settles in my chest. Did he leave? Does he regret it?
Even in the cool hush of first class, cocooned behind the privacy wall, I can still feel the ache between my thighs, the echo of Aleksander’s touch lingering inside me. Every shift in my seat makes me throb, a humiliating reminder of how easily I letmyself fall apart for him—how much I still want him, even now, tangled up in guilt and shame.
I turn away from the aisle, gaze drifting to the seat next to me. My daughter is asleep, curled up with her headphones and a blanket, the innocence of her soft breathing both comforting and heart-wrenching. My heart twists with something sharp and old, a secret I’ve carried since the day she was born.
I don’t want Aleksander to find out. Not now. Maybe not ever.
She stirs, rubbing her eyes, and I reach over the divider, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, trying to school my features, trying to look like any other mother on this flight. My mind races—what if he asks questions? What if the truth slips out somehow? The risk is real now, more real than ever, and my stomach knots with fear.
I settle back, biting my lip, trying to focus on anything but the pulsing ache and the whirlwind of regret. I just want to make it through this flight, unseen and untouched, to keep my secrets safe for a little longer.
