“I should warn you,” I said, swirling my wine. “I don’t do this with everybody. I like to have fun, but I’m careful with whom I do it with.”
He joined me, not too close but not far either. “I’m the same way.” I gave him a look.
“What?” he said, mock offense in his voice. “I’m serious. I’m not the reckless type.”
“No, you’re the contractually bound, wine-seducing, corner-office type,” I teased.
He smirked. “And you’re the rule-breaking, cheeky flight attendant with a mysterious past type.” That made me laugh, because he wasn’t wrong. And he didn’t even know how right he was. There it was again, the secret humming beneath my skin. The weight of my last name, the invisible tether pulling me toward a life I’d spent years avoiding. He didn’t know. Not yet, and I wasn’t planning on telling him. Not tonight, at least. Maybe not ever. What use could that do?
But it sat there, quietly between us, like a loaded suitcase I hadn’t unpacked.
He looked at me, then,reallylooked. No flirting, no smirking. Just that stillness, that quiet steadiness that made me feel like he was trying to read the fine print on my soul. “You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m great,” And in that moment, with Paris glittering behind us and his wine-dark gaze holding mine, I almost believed it.
His hand brushed my knee first, fingertips slow and testing, then slid higher, under the hem of my skirt, dragging heat with it. I didn’t stop him.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, less teasing, more need. My glass hit the nightstand with a soft clink. His glass was forgotten somewhere near the window. He pulled me into his lap like it was muscle memory for him, like I’d been there before. My legs were on each side of him. I could feel just how much he wanted me, and God, it made something curl low and hot in my stomach.
He kissed me like he negotiated deals. Intentional, dominant, andveryprecise. His hands gripped my waist, grounded and greedy, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to memorize me or ruin me.
“You’re bad news, Sam,” he murmured against my skin as he kissed down my throat.
“Thanks,” I whispered, dragging my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl a little.
Clothes came off in a slow blur, pulled, tugged, peeled away. His hands were everywhere: my thighs, my back, my ass. My body reacted before my mind caught up, arching into him, needing more, needing it now. “You’re so soft, you—” he muttered, mouth tracing the line of my collarbone. I cut him off with another kiss, biting his bottom lip, hard enough to make him gasp.
“Oh, she bites,” he said, voice dark and amused.
“You are a big boy, you can take it,” I shot back.
He flipped us, me flat on the bed, his body covering mine, hips pressing down just enough to tease, to make my breath hitch. His mouth found my chest, he teased my nipples with his mouth, with his tongue, his teeth, my stomach, all while his hands pinned my wrists above my head.
I bucked under him, but he held me steady, his control only making me want to undo it more. I moaned and breathed heavily. “I like this view,” he said, breathless.
“Are you going to do something with it or just look at it?” And oh, he did.
His fingers traced along the edge of my underwear, slow and purposeful, a light touch that sent heat surging between my thighs. He didn’t rush. He just watched me, his lips parted slightly, like he was savoring the way I squirmed under him.
Then, with one finger, he hooked and slid my panties to the side, exposing me to the cool air and his hungry eyes.
“You’re so wet already,” he murmured, voice thick, rough, like gravel laced with silk. I arched my hips just slightly, chasing his touch. “Do you want a taste?”
That made something flicker in his eyes. They turned dark, wild, and barely restrained. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed down my stomach, his hands anchoring my hips as he moved lower. When he reached the crease of my thigh, he paused.Eyes locking with mine one last time as if giving me the chance to change my mind. I didn’t.
He dipped his head and licked me. My breath hitched. Then he did it again, and again, and again, with the kind of patience that made me ache. His tongue explored every inch of me, tasting me like he’d been starving. When I gasped his name, one of his hands slid under my thigh, lifting it over his shoulder, giving him better access, deeper angles.
He moaned into me,moaned, like the taste of me did something to him.
And it did something to me, too.
My hands fisted the sheets. My body bucked. And I stopped caring about how loud I was, how shameless it was, how much I wanted more. Because this man, this stranger in 1A, was devouring me like it was the first meal he’d had in weeks. To be honest, I was starving too.
He kissed his way back up my body, lips gliding across my stomach, the curve of my breast, my collarbone, until we were face to face again, both of us flushed and breathless. “I should grab a condom,” he whispered, starting to rise.
I reached for him, fingers sliding around his wrist. “I have an IUD,” I murmured, voice soft but certain. “And I’m clean. If you don’t mind, I don’t?—”
His eyes searched mine, then he nodded. “I’m clean too. I can show you my latest tests if you want. I have them in my email.” I smiled, pulling him back down toward me. “Of course, you have your STD testresults in your email.” That made him laugh, well, we both did. But he didn’t question me further. He just leaned in and kissed me.
