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“Angel.”
I nod. “What? Yeah. Yes.”
A deep rumble leaves his chest before he reaches out and presses a finger under my chin, bringing my gaze up to meet his. “Go to your seat.”
His fingertip feels like fire against my skin. “Yes, Dom.”
I don’t know why I say it. No idea why I say it like that. But the look that crosses his face tells me he liked it. That he liked it a lot.
“Now, Shorty.”
My eyes move back to his neck and that exposed piece of chest as I step out of the bathroom. But he still doesn’t move. He doesn’t give me a single extra inch to get by. So, with my front pressed to his, I slide past him. My soft breasts press against his solid body, our height difference putting them against his stomach. A stomach that’s flexed. And hard. And… my stomach, which is just as soft as my breasts, slides against…
I pull in a breath.
He’s hard there, too. Maybe not all the way. But I can feel him. I can feel his length.
Dom’s exhale ruffles my hair, and I hurry the last shuffle step.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I quickly move to our row. And I don’t waste any time side-stepping into our row and dropping into my seat.
Positive he won’t take long, I straighten my skirt, buckle up, and pick up and drape his suit jacket back over myself.
My fingers curl into the material from the underside, and I bring it up to my mouth, letting the smooth texture rub against my lips.
When the bathroom door opens, I lower the jacket since I don’t want it to look like I’m kissing it.That would be crazy.
As soon as I see Dom from the corner of my eye, his belt right at eye level, I make sure to look really busy—staring at the screen that’s turned black.
When he’s seated, I think I hear him inhale, like he’s about to say something. But the seat belt warning dings a second before the overhead speakers crackle and we’re told we’re about to start our final descent.
The flight attendant walks down the aisle, collecting garbage, and Dom hands her our empty water bottles.
A weird sort of dread settles on my shoulders. Almost like grief. Which is absurd. We exchanged numbers. There’s still a possibility I’ll talk to Dominic again, maybe even see him. But knowing we’re about to land makes me worry that I might not ever hear from him again.
“So, um, how long is your layover?” I ask. And as soon as the question is out of my mouth, I snap my jaw shut.
Oh god, I hope that didn’t sound like I was inviting him over.
I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t invite him over.
Maybe if he has a really long layover, I should invite him over…
Noticing he hasn’t answered, I peek up at him and see those amused crinkles next to his eyes.
I roll my eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. And that’s a shame.” He doesn’t say it like he’s upset with me. The way he says it brings an even deeper blush to my cheeks. “It’s not a long layover, but I’m in no rush.”
“That’s nice,” I reply quietly.
Maybe he’ll want to walk with me toward baggage claim? Maybe not, but either way, I want to find out which way he’s going so we don’t say goodbye as we exit the plane and then walk awkwardly three feet away from each other while going in the same direction.
The plane around us shakes as we pass through whatever causes turbulence, and my heart hops into my throat.
Landing is always the worst part.
“I got you.” Dom’s voice draws my eyes to his mouth, and then movement lower brings them down to his hand, palm up, fingers spread, on the armrest between us.
