The Captain Who Ended My Brother's Career Is on My Table novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Row Thirty-One

Row thirty-one was dark, and his hand was already under the blanket.

The charter hummed over Lake Michigan with forty people asleep in the seats ahead of us.

Hugo had the window.

I had the aisle, a grey team blanket over both our laps, and his palm resting on my thigh.

"Not a sound," I whispered.

"Not one."

"If you wake Kasper, I'll make you walk to Chicago."

His mouth twitched in the dark.

I took his wrist and slid his hand up under my skirt.

He found the edge of my underwear and went still.

"Vera."

"Move it."

He moved it aside.

His fingers slid through me, slow and thick, and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper.

He was wonderfully careful.

He stroked me in long easy lines, from my entrance up to my clit and back.

The cabin lights hummed overhead and a rookie snored three rows up.

I gripped the armrest.

"Two fingers," I breathed.

He gave me two.

They sank in deep, and his thumb pressed my clit in slow circles, and I turned my face into his shoulder to muffle the noise.

Under the blanket I closed my hand around his wrist and held it where I wanted it.

With my free hand I found his sweatpants and slid inside.

He was rock hard and already wet at the tip, and I wrapped my fingers around him under the blanket.

He sucked in a breath that was almost a sound.

"Don't you dare," I whispered into his ear. "Not one sound. You come when I say, and I'm not saying."

"You're killing me."

"That's the idea."

I stroked him in slow twists, thumb over the head, while his fingers worked me.

We sat there side by side.

"Faster. Quiet. Faster."

He did it.

He did it silently, with his eyes fixed on the seat back in front of him.

I felt it coming up through the soles of my feet.

My thighs clamped his hand.

I came with my teeth in his sleeve and every muscle locked, a long, shaking, silent climax that I rode out against his fingers.

He held me through it, slowly curling inside me until the last shudder.

When I could breathe again, I took his hand out from under my skirt.

I looked at him.

I sucked his two fingers into my mouth, one at a time, and his eyes closed.

"Bathroom," I whispered. "Two minutes after me."

I walked to the back of the plane with my knees shaking and shut myself in the lavatory.

It was a metal box with a sink the size of a dinner plate and a mirror lit by one white bulb.

I stood in it, flushed and wild, and waited.

The latch slid.

He came in sideways, because of his shoulders, and locked the door behind him.

There was no room.

His chest filled the air in front of me, and I could feel his heart through his shirt.

"Hands on the wall," I said. "Over your head."

He put them up against the ceiling.

I opened his belt, as quietly as I could, and the zipper in tiny increments.

Then I sank to my knees on the metal floor.

It was cold and it shook under me.

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