Page 9

The plane lurches again, and another visceral instinct rises up in me. I want him inside me. I want to really go wild in every way possible.

I slide my hand between us, my fingers fumbling with my pants. His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning. He helps me, his larger hands making quick work of shoving them down.

I kick off my shoes, let my pants pool around my ankles, and then I’m up against him again, bare skin against denim. The contrast makes me gasp.

“Are you sure?” he asks, sounding strained, but his hands are already at my waist, lifting me.

“Yes,” I breathe. It’s the most certain I’ve felt in days.

He sets me on the edge of the sink, and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him close.

There’s barely enough room to breathe, let alone move properly. He wedges himself between my thighs instead, one hand gripping the tiny counter beside me to still us both as the plane shifts again.

Everything about this is awkward. Too tight.

Somehow that makes it hotter.

His eyes never leave mine as he enters me, filling me inch by inch until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. The sensation is overwhelming. The stretch, the fullness, the way he fits inside me like we were made for this collision.

“Look at me,” he says, and I do.

It’s almost unbearable, the way he holds my gaze, lets me see every raw, shattering thing inside him as he moves.

We’re still mostly dressed, my shirt rucked up, his jeans barely open, bodies straining against the narrow limits of the space. He presses into me hard, driving the edge of the counter against the backs of my thighs, the ache mixing with the pleasure.

He fucks me like there’s no time, no future, nothing outside this mile high moment and the taste of each other’s breath.

I lock my ankles behind him, pulling him deeper, feeling myself unravel bead by bead. His pace stutters and I know he’s close, his jaw clenched and that little tremor in his arm where it braces me from falling backward.

I don’t want to be careful or composed. I want to be feral, want to wreck both of us on the altar of this moment.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “Let go.”

I do.

I shatter completely, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through me. My cry is muffled against his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt. He follows me over the edge, his pace faltering as he thrusts deeper, his release hot inside me.

I shatter completely, my body tightening as the sensation hits fast and overwhelming, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I press my face into his shoulder, gripping him harder than I mean to, like I need something solid to anchor me while everything else spins out.

For a second, there’s nothing.

I don't have a plan, and control slipped away a while ago.

There’s only this.

Him.

And for a little while, that’s where I want to stay.

The landing is smoother than it has any right to be, which feels unfair.

There should be some kind of dramatic impact that matches the fact that I just had frantic sex with a stranger at thirty thousand feet, and now I’m sitting in my seat next to him like it was a normal, rational thing to do.

Instead, the wheels touch down with a soft jolt, the engines reverse, and everyone immediately starts unbuckling like we aren’t still moving.

Normal.