“I don’t… I don’t usually do this.”
His gaze holds mine, giving me just enough space to run if I want to.
But I don’t want to.
It scares and exhilarates me at the same time, but the chemistry is undeniable at this point.
“I know,” he says, rising from his seat. “Restroom. Front left. I’ll follow.”
His smirk lights a slow burn in my chest. I stand, legs unsteady, heartbeat a furious drum. Each step down the aisle feels like defiance. The attendant barely glances up, only offering a knowing hint of a smile.
God. My body hums, my mind frays.
No one knows.
The first-class restroom surprises me—bigger than it should be, still claustrophobic in its quiet. I catch my reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright.
I can’t believe I’m about to do two things never done before.
Sex on an airplane.
And sex with a complete stranger.
The door clicks behind me. A lock engages.
He fills the space instantly, taller than I remembered, broader, presence eclipsing the small cabin light.
Power without effort.
“We’re in the clear,” he murmurs. “The stewardess thinks I’m checking on my wife.”
A breath escapes me. “You’re impossible.”
His smile sharpens. “Believe it.”
He steps closer, hand finding my jaw, the other settling at my waist.
His touch steadies and unravels me in the same breath.
The airplane hum fades behind the rush in my ears. For a suspended heartbeat, there is only gravity — the kind that has nothing to do with altitude.
He tilts his head. “Last chance to walk away.”
I meet his gaze, pulse skittering. “I can’t walk, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“You can.” His voice drops lower, steady, knowing. “You just hate admitting that you’re ready to let go.”
Then his mouth claims mine. The world narrows to the shock of it—the heat, the pull, the unraveling rush that steals reason right out of me.
My hands find his chest, solid warmth beneath the crisp fabric, as my knees threaten to give.
For one dizzy moment, there’s nothing but motion and heartbeats and the ache of two people colliding in the narrow space between fear and need.
Somewhere in the blur, I taste both heaven and ruin—and realize I no longer care which one wins.
CHAPTER 3
ASTRID
