Page 93 of Bound To Be Mine

“How long is this flight?” I asked.

“Five and a half hours.”

“That’s a pretty long flight.” I sat down beside him. Rather, I attempted to sit down. He pulled me into his lap. I giggled and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“It is.” His mouth found my neck, placing soft kisses along the column of my throat. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

I should tell him to behave. We were on a plane, for God’s sake. With a crew on the other side of a curtain. But his hands were sliding under my shirt, and his mouth was doing things to my neck that made thinking impossible.

“Briggs,” I said, but it came out more like a moan.

“Hmm?”

“They’re going to hear us.”

“So?” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ll be quiet if you will.”

Challenge accepted.

“We can’t,” I whisper.

“Okay, but we can do a little something, right?”

His hands were already sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my bra. All rational thought fled.

“A little something,” I agreed breathlessly.

His mouth crashed onto mine. I melted into him. God, the man could kiss. Every single time felt like the first time—that same electric shock of connection, that same desperate need for more.

I shifted in his lap, straddling him properly now. I felt his arousal pressing against me through our clothes. The knowledge that I could affect him this way, that he wanted me as much as I wanted him, sent heat pooling low in my belly.

His hands gripped my hips, pulling me tighter against him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth, and I met it with my own, tasting the blueberries from our drinks. One of his hands slid up my back, tangling in my hair and angling my head so he could kiss me deeper, harder.

I rolled my hips experimentally, grinding against him, and was rewarded with a low groan that vibrated through his chest into mine.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my lips. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Yeah?” I whispered back, doing it again.

His hand tightened in my hair, not painfully, just enough to send shivers down my spine. His other hand slid under my shirt, warm palm against bare skin, moving up my ribs to cup my breast through my bra.

I arched into his touch, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. He took advantage, his mouth moving to my jaw and then to my neck and over that spot just below my ear that made me whimper.

“Quiet, remember?” he murmured against my skin, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“That’s not fair,” I managed. “You know what that does to me.”

“I do.” He did it again, teeth grazing lightly. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one. I needed to touch him, needed to feel his skin against mine. He helped me, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside.

I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the solid muscle. He was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. And he was mine. At least for now.

That thought sobered me slightly, but then his mouth was on mine again and I forgot everything except the way he tasted. His hands moved over my body like he was trying to memorize every curve.

My shirt came off next, followed quickly by my bra. His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over me before he dove face first between my breasts.