Page 81 of Under Southern Stars
For a moment, there is only sensation—the way he fills me completely, stretching me, our breaths mingling as we adjust to each other. He begins to move slowly, carefully, conscious of the cramped space.
But the position quickly proves awkward, limited. I need more—I need him closer, deeper, harder. “Wait,” I whisper breathlessly, pressing a hand against his chest.
He pulls back instantly, concern flickering briefly across his face. “Are you—?”
“Turn me around,” I say, my voice husky and commanding in a way I’d forgotten I could be. “Bend me over. I want you deeper.”
Jack’s eyes darken further, desire flaring hotly at my words. Without hesitation, he helps me off the counter, turning mearound gently but swiftly. My hands brace against the wall, and his body covers mine, his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath my ear as he presses into me again from behind.
“Oh God,” I breathe, arching instinctively, needing every inch of him buried deep within me. “Yes. Just like that.”
His breath rasps against my neck as he begins to move with powerful, purposeful thrusts, the awkwardness forgotten as pleasure overwhelms every other sensation. My hands press harder against the cool plastic wall, bracing myself as his hips surge forward again and again, each thrust deeper and more insistent than the last.
I am lost in the feel of him, the delicious friction, the heat and intensity that had built between us finally unleashed. Jack’s hand slides around my hip, fingertips brushing teasingly against the sensitive spot between my legs, and I nearly cry out before catching myself.
“God, Jack,” I gasp, pressing back into him, feeling every bit as reckless and free as the woman who’d marched up to a flight attendant to arrange this madness. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
“Never,” he groans softly, voice tight with pleasure and determination. “You feel incredible.”
We move in perfect rhythm, desperation growing, our breathing shallow and rapid. He thrusts deeper still, pressing me closer against the wall, and a delicious pressure builds, coiling tighter with each movement. I tilt my head back against his shoulder, panting softly into his neck, aware we needed to remain quiet but nearly overwhelmed by the force of what he was making me feel.
“Sophia,” Jack murmurs roughly, his voice thick with urgency. “I’m close.”
My own climax is spiraling higher, dangerously close to shattering me. In a boldness I’d forgotten I possessed, I tilt my head slightly, whispering breathlessly into his ear:
“I want to feel all of you, Jack. Fill me completely. I want to feel you inside me, even when we land on the other side of the world.”
My words break something in him. His hips surge forward urgently, powerfully, driving me to the edge and beyond. I bite down on my lip to hold back the cry of pure pleasure, my body trembling as wave after wave of release crashes through me. Moments later, Jack stills behind me, pressing deep as his body tenses, his breath catching harshly against my shoulder as he finds his own release, filling me just as I’d asked.
We stay like that, bodies locked together, breaths mingling softly, the absurdity of our situation finally catching up to us. Jack rests his forehead gently against my back, breathing heavily, a soft laugh escapes him.
“God,” he murmurs, voice still rough. “When you said you liked the accent, I had no idea it would lead here.”
I laugh breathlessly, still shaky and overwhelmed by sensation. “Neither did I.”
Cleanup is quick but gentle, a quiet, intimate ritual as we redress, exchange sheepish smiles and quiet laughter. As Jack helps straighten my sweater, he catches my eyes in the mirror, his expression tender and warm.
“You’re full of surprises, Sophia Mitchell,” he whispers softly. “And I adore every one of them.”
I press a lingering kiss to his lips, savoring the closeness one last moment before we face the world again. “Likewise, Jack McKenzie.”
He slips out first, promising to check the coast was clear, and I take a moment alone to catch my breath. My cheeks are flushed, my hair a tousled mess, but something in my eyes is new. Alive, confident, radiant.
This is not the careful, cautious Sophia who plans meticulously, who weighs every choice. This is Sophia, the woman who’d just claimed what she wanted, unapologetically and passionately. Who doesn’t just react to life, but seizes it.
And I like her very much.
When I emerge a minute later, the cabin is still dark and quiet. Aroha catches my eye from the galley and gives me a discreet thumbs-up. I nod my thanks, feeling my cheeks heat again, and make my way back to our seats.
Jack is waiting, looking unfairly composed except for the telltale darkness of his eyes and the slight flush along his cheekbones. He lifts the armrest between us as I settle in, pulling me against his side, his lips brushing my temple.
“That,” he whispers, “was the best wake-up call I’ve ever had.”
I snuggle closer, enjoying the solid warmth of him. “Better than a red-eye?”
“Much better.” His fingers trace lazy patterns on my arm. “Though I wouldn’t say no to coffee later.”
We fall into comfortable silence, the plane humming around us, the miles passing beneath us in the darkness. I feel my eyelids growing heavy, the aftermath of wine and adrenaline and release finally catching up to me.
