Page 105 of Mistletoe and Mayday
“I promise you,” he says, leaning close enough that I feel his breath on my ear, “the next time we take this jet anywhere, I will ensure we have another pilot.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both.” His fingers trace small circles on my leg. “Definitely both.”
His hand inches up my thigh, approaching dangerous territory. I squirm in my seat, struggling to keep my attention on the altimeter, the horizon, anything but the heat of his palm radiating through my jeans.
“Sebastian,” I manage, my voice breathy. “No. I’m flying.”
“Mmm, but you said it yourself,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “This jet has the most advanced autopilot system available.”
“That’s not the point,” I protest, though my body is not on the same page as my words. “It’s about responsibility and?—”
“And how wet you get when I touch you like this?” His fingers trace higher, making my breath catch.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.
“You started this conversation,” he reminds me, voice deepening to that dangerous timbre that makes my insides melt. “Something about christening couches?”
His fingertips dance along the inner seam of my thigh, and I have to bite my lip to maintain composure.
“This is still completely unprofessional,” I say, but my resistance is melting faster than a snowmanin July.
“I’m just following your lead, Captain.”
Before I can plan another objection, Sebastian’s deft fingers work open the buttons of my jeans. I should stop him. But my objections dissolve as his hand slips inside, beneath the elastic of my underwear.
“Still want me to stop?” he asks, pausing at the edge of where I need him most.
“If you stop now, I’ll crash this plane on purpose,” I threaten.
He laughs, the sound rumbling through me. “That’s what I thought.”
Then his finger circles my clit with precise, devastating pressure that sends electric currents straight up my spine. My hips buck, and I grip the controls tighter, maintaining some facade of professionalism.
“Sebastian,” I gasp, all objections forgotten.
“This,” Sebastian’s voice drops to a dangerous rumble, “is what happens when you tease me about activities in the back of my plane. When you put images in my head that I can’t act on.”
The pressure increases, making my thighs clench. I’m hyperaware of the vast blue sky beyond the windshield, the distant clouds, the responsibility of keeping us airborne while my body threatens to dissolve into liquid heat.
“Eyes on the horizon, Captain Monroe,” Sebastian murmurs, his breath hot against my ear as his fingers maintain their relentless rhythm. “Wouldn’t want us dropping a few thousand feet because you can’t concentrate.”
“Shut up,” I gasp, fighting to focus on the instruments while my hips betray me, rocking against his hand. “I hate you right now.”
“No, you don’t.” His thumb presses down, forcing me to bite my lip to stifle a moan. “You love what I’m doing to you. Love that I can make you this wet while you’re trying to play professional.”
His finger dips lower, gathering wetness, then returns to circle my clit with devastating precision. “You’re so responsive,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “So perfect. Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” I pant, beyond embarrassment now.
He slides a finger inside me, curling it in that way that makes my vision blur at the edges. “You know what I love, Bailey? Watching you try to maintain control. The way your breath catches. How your knuckles go white on the controls. Knowing that underneath that professional exterior, you’re falling apart for me.”
My entire body tightens, core muscles clenching as he establishes a rhythm that rockets me toward the edge with terrifying speed. His palm grinds against my clit while his fingers perform magic inside me.
“You’re going to come for me,” he states—not a question. “Right here, in your captain’s chair, with nothing but thirty thousand feet of empty sky beneath us. And when we land, Captain Monroe, I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until you scream my name.”
The explicit promise sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I turn my head just enough to see his face—the intense concentration, the slight flush across his cheekbones, his pupils blown wide with arousal.
