He leans back against the sofa, slides down, head tipping onto the rest and nods.
"I already thought about that. It's definitely happening,"he says, expression conniving. "When we fly together, the sky won't know what hit it."
"Mm? Captain Cock taking me for a joyride?"
He blinks. "Did you just say cock?"
"Yup," I say, pulling a face. "Thanks to you I'm way more evolved now. It's a cock."
He hums, licking his lips and smiles. "You make me proud. I should teach you more things."
I shoot him a teasing look, running my nail up and down his neck. "Like what things?"
"Like advanced vocabulary—'Yes, Ben,' and 'don't stop.' And some survival skills—like how to breathe when I'm done with you."
I roll my eyes playfully. "And here I was silly enough to think you'd actually teach me how to fly?"
"For the record, I actually do have my pilot's license. I could take you anywhere."
Of course, he does—he's born to soar.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. "And what can't you do?"
"Paul and I trained together when I got back to New York," he starts, but then stops and his hand slides up my leg. "I wouldn't want to fly that plane, though. The only cockpit I care about is between your thighs."
"I think you believe my thighs are a national park and you've got twenty-four-hour access," I say, mock-indignant.
His eyes pinch in a hot flash. "Did you just say national park? As inpublic property?"
That look... I know that look.
"Fuck no," he snaps before I have a chance to say anything. "Thanks for reminding me—give me your phone."
"What? Why?" I snap back, but that hand is just waiting.
With an exaggerated sigh, I dig my phone out of my pocket and slap it into his palm.
He's already unlocking his own, thumbs moving with brisk precision while he angles it away from me so I can't see.
I squint at him, giving him my don't-mess-with-me stare.What is he doing?
Then, almost ceremoniously, he sets both phones down on the sofa next to us, screens dark.
"What the hell was that?" I say, snatching mine back. The screen lights up and—oh, my wallpaper's changed to the photo Mara posted on his socials.
"Uh-huh. Cute," I say, then narrow my eyes on him. "But what about you?"
His hand flashes up instantly, like he knew this argument was coming, and his phone screen glows to life: a photo of just me. He took it last week in that vinyl bar where we kissed like it was the first time. I'm in the black low-cut dress, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, straight after he was done with me. You can even see the faint mark of his teeth on my jaw, where he couldn't resist leaving evidence.
So, okay, I lean in and pull his lip tenderly as a tiny acknowledgment.
"And—" he mumbles while I'm busy nibbling, and opens another app.
I let go and squint at it as my name glows on his screen.
Location: New York. This very building. Me: a blinking dot.
My breath stops the second I realize what it is, and I clutch my phone like that could somehow rewind the casual invasion of privacy.
