Page 90 of Facing Off
I’m blinking. Gasping. A spell is broken. There’s no in-the-heat-of-the-moment madness anymore. Whatever happens next, it’s intentional. Because Iwantedit.
“Holy shit,” says Hughes, his broad chest rising and falling against me.
Holy shitis right.
I scramble off his lap.
What the fuck did we almost do?
I look out the window, at the sun streaking through fluffy white clouds. “The storm’s gone.” As if it never happened in the first place.
From the corner of my eye, I see Hughes jerks a nod. “Good.”
“Good.”
“Good.” He already said that. Hughes clears his throat. “Sonya?—”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
Without looking back, I rush towards the other end of the plane. Denial, confusion, vulnerability, and arousal whip inside me as I yank open a door and lock it behind me.
I should scream into a towel.
I should splash water on my face.
I should lecture myself in the mirror.
Pulling my leggings down, I close my eyes and rub circles over my clit. It only takes seconds before the most devastating orgasm bursts through me, pleasure shooting out from my center while my spine arches, and I imagine that I’m still back there, riding Hughes’ cock as he tells me what a good girl I am.
It’s unbelievable. So unbelievably good.
But it’s nowhere close to being enough, because this isn’t real. My own hands don’t compare to his. I’m not full and stretched, but empty. Clenching on nothing.
Just as quickly as I broke apart, I crash back down and rip my hand away from my pussy, so I can stare at my flushed, wrecked self in the mirror.
I can’t do this. It’s going to end in disaster.
36
SONYA
“You can’t stayin there forever, Sonya,” says Hughes, knocking on the bathroom door.
I’m comfortable on the floor, which sounds disgusting but private jet bathrooms are not the same as the ones on commercial flights. There’s triple the room, at least, and a cozy rug by the sink.
Hughes knocks again.
“Go away!” I yell, warmth blasting across my skin when I picture what I was doing in here just half an hour ago.
“Baby.”
“Nothing you say will make me come out there,” I grind out.
Yeah. I know it’s childish, but I’d rather spend the rest of the flight in here than face what happened and whatalmosthappened between us.
I bring my face to my hands and count backwards from a hundred—until I hear another voice. It must be a flight attendant. Hughes is talking to them in a lower voice, and the wordprivacyjumps out.
Then I hear a scuffling sound that makes me press my ear to the door. I frown.
