"Hmmmm, what, that I'm a great pillow?"
"No, that you can't lie!"
"Ah, alright! Look, you were so kind to cover me with the blanket, so I thought I should return the favor. I've slept many times in the position you were in, and often I had neck pains for days. I didn't think it'd make you angry—or maybe yes, but just a little."
"That's sweet, thank you," I tell him, getting up. "And, yes, I've never slept on such a comfortable human pillow."
"Oh really? This is interesting," he says with a sly smile. "Maybe we can repeat the experience."
"Don't you think you're a bit too confident?"
"As if you didn't think about it."
"Think about what?"
"About getting to know me, perhaps being in my arms."
I roll my eyes, laughing. I don’t answer because, in the end, he is right, instead, I get up, took my bag, and head to the bathroom. I need some air—or a fuck with him to chill you out.I shake my head, trying not to imagine his hands on me.
I change my clothes, putting on a skirt, heels, and a shirt. I tie my hair into a ponytail, rinse my face, and put on light make-up. Being the Prime Minister's daughter, I have to be perfect because perfection is the only thing that Dad expects of me. A little dog, ready to jump at his every order.
We’ll land in four hours. Four. Very long. Hours.
Don't pretend you're sorry. You have his perfume on your clothes.
I look in the mirror and sigh with a smile.
I go back to sit down. Nate has an astonished expression on his face and stares at me, practically drooling. Please don't be like all males, who only have to see tits and legs and are ready to dive in between.Oh, but you'd like to have him in between your legs.I shake my head, smiling.
"Everything alright?” I ask.
"Yeah, sorry. It's just that you look gorgeous."
"Thanks," I whisper. I pause, looking at him, trying to catch him looking at my tits. Instead, his eyes are fixed on mine, and for a few seconds, I seem to be on another planet. When I lick my lips and his eyes land on them, breaking our eye contact, I turn around. I pick up my laptop and resume writing, putting on my headphones.
"What are you listening to?" he asks, and instinctively I give him a headset, perhaps to make him shut up. I turn up the volume slightly and continue writing. I feel observed and sigh.
"Nate, do you need anything?"
"No."
"Okay..." I resume writing, but his staring at me makes me nervous, and he knows it because he already has a mischievous smile.
"Could you look out the window or sleep?"
"Why, am I distracting you?"
"Yes."
He turns to the window, but now and then, he turns to me. When I turn to look at him, he turns to the window, pretending to find the clouds interesting.
After a while, I decide to ignore him and focus on writing the end of a perfect speech for Remembrance Day. Usually, I write my father's political speeches, or at least part of them. He orders, and I execute, as always.
"You misspelled."
"What?"
"You misspelled here." He points to the screen. "But it's interesting foreign politics. Serious stuff...”
