The thin fabric of my bra isn’t any kind of barrier at all; it’s like he knows exactly how to touch me to turn my brain to static. He circles my nipples with his thumbs, over and over, sometimes gentle, sometimes hard enough to drag a gasp out of me.
I can’t stop grinding down on him and he’s matching me, hips surging up, like he needs this as badly as I do. His hands are relentless. He finally slips one under the cup of my bra, finds my bare nipple, gives it a perfect, quick pinch—
Oh myGod.
I shatter. Right there. Lights out. Brain off.
My body feels like a livewire as pleasure rips through me. I ride the wave, choking out his name, and he just holds me. All the chaos that’s been knotted up inside me unravels. I’m boneless, weightless, trembling in his lap, my forehead pressed to his shoulder and my breath coming in wild little gasps. I can feel his heart hammering right through his sweatshirt.
‘Imani,’ he says, his voice hoarse. The way he says my name nearly finishes me off for a second time.
I keep my face hidden in his chest, trying to slow my pulse and failing completely. The hoodie I’m wearing suddenly feels too hot and too tight, and it feels like my skin is buzzing under his hands. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs slow, soothing circles over my back until the aftershocks have faded and I’m just left in an absurd, delirious sort of bliss.
Eventually, I tilt my face up. There’s a flush climbing all the way up his neck and into his cheeks. His hair is a mess, thanks to me, and his lips are kiss swollen and red. The look he gives me is so nakedly hungry and adoring that it sends another spasm of pleasure shooting through me.
I groan and rock against him. He’s hard under me, thick and insistent, and the press of him through his trousers is borderline obscene. I flatten my palm over him and the action sends a jolt ofsomethingshooting through his body.
His head tips back, his teeth digging into his lower lip so hard it looks like it might bruise. He bucks up into mytouch, and I squeeze just a little harder, the tips of my fingers brushing the shape of him, and—
A clatter from the galley snaps me back long enough to remember that, yes, we’re technically in public and, yes, the cabin door could open at any second.
I don’t move. Asher doesn’t move. We’re statues. Very horny, very obvious statues.
When, after a few seconds, nobody bursts through the door and catches us, I let out a breath and collapse, giggling, against Asher’s chest.
Asher looks dazed. His curls are shoved in every direction, lips still wet and swollen, cheeks burning red.
I grind down on him one last time just for the hell of it to see him shudder.
Worth it.
I go to slide off him, but Asher won’t let me. His arms lock around my waist and he pulls me in tighter, his lips pressed to my temple. I squirm and an embarrassingly pleased little whimper escapes me. He laughs and then reclines our seat until I’m basically on top of him, right where he wants me.
I open my mouth, but he hushes me and tucks me against his chest. I can still hear his heart racing.
‘Stay,’ he murmurs.
I don’t need to be told twice. I burrow closer, my head pillowed on his shoulder as his fingers trace soft lines against my back.
I must fall asleep against his shoulder because when I comeback to myself, the cabin lights are dimmed, and Asher’s hand is still tracing lazy, gentle shapes on that bare strip of skin above my waistband. My whole body feels warm and boneless in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I want to freeze this moment and live in it forever, this perfectly preserved pocket of peace.
A gentle chime cuts through the haze. Then the soft, professional voice of the lead attendant: ‘Mr Vouvalis, Ms Davies, we’ll be arriving in the Seychelles in approximately one hour. If there’s anything you’d like before our descent, please let us know.’
I jerk upright so fast I nearly clock heads with Asher. ‘Did she just say the Seychelles?’
Asher cracks a slow smile. ‘Surprise.’
For a second, I can’t even say anything.
The Seychelles.
It’s a single word, but it hits like a punch to the chest. Not just because it’s beautiful or far away or the kind of destination you only ever see on a desktop background, but because I know exactly why it matters so much to me and, apparently, so does he.
I look at Asher and my heart starts to race. He’s quietly checking my face like he’s worried he might’ve got it wrong, that I wouldn’t want this, that maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to me.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
My throat goes tight. Like dangerously, embarrassingly tight. I can feel my eyes stinging in that way that means I’mexactly two seconds away from either kissing him senseless or bursting into tears. Possibly both.
