Page 15 of The Bro-code

Not when there’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen asleep just mere inches away from me.

The way her chest rises and falls is mesmerizing, and… hold on a sec, are her nipples hard?

My fingers reach to turn on the night light above my seat without me even thinking and yup. Her nipples are poking underneath the thin, silky fabric of her shirt.

I don’t even realize that I’m holding the armrests of my seat with white knuckle force to fight the urge to touch her. All I want is to rub my palms over her nipples, to cup those tits and find out if they’re as perky and firm as they look.

Of course, I would never do anything like that. It doesn’t matter how attractive I find her; she’s a stranger and touching her would be sexual assault.

A man can dream, though, and if she gave me permission, if she asked me to touch her?

Fuck.

Now her nipples aren’t the only thing that’s hard and standing at attention.

My cock is straining against my jeans, and it has a pulse of its own, I fucking swear.

I contemplate the idea of sneaking into the bathroom to take care of myself, but who the fuck does that?

I mean, joining the Mile High Club by taking a hot passenger or one of the cute flight attendants to the toilet is one thing, but rubbing one out? That somehow feels lame and way higher on the weird scale.

Cinnamon stirs in her sleep; her lips moving again as she murmurs something I can’t quite understand.

A lock of hair slips onto her face, brushing against her lips, and I don’t even think about what I’m doing; how unwanted my touch could be. I reach out to brush her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as gently as I can as to not wake her up.

She squirms.

My eyes track the way her chest pushes against the thin fabric of her shirt as the movement causes the airline blanket to slide down.

A soft sigh escapes from her lips, and what that sound does to me is almost embarrassing. I can’t control the urge to touch her again, but this feels wrong, so I opt for the next best thing. I pick up the blanket pooled at her waist and cover her chest.

That’s what wakes her up.

I back out of her space as she lifts the sleep mask from her face, but I’m not fast enough. She sees I was in her space.

“I’m sorry; your blanket slipped off, and you looked… cold.” My eyes slide down to her tits of their own volition.

Real smooth, Ryker.

I brace myself for her reaction. Is she going to punch me in the face—she’s definitely feisty enough—or scream murder and alert the crew?

To my surprise, her blue eyes stay on mine. Her gaze is so intense, that it’s my turn to squirm.

“Thank you. I woke up because you smell… good.”

“Do I?”

She nods. “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot, Ryker.”

The sound of my name on her lips… man, it goes straight to my cock. I thank the aviation gods that I’m sitting down and that the lights are still dimmed.

“I’m sorry for the lipstick incident and for the cinnamon roll, I?—”

“Thank you for giving up your seat for me,” she whispers. “You didn’t have to.”

Her manicured fingers trace the collar of my t-shirt in a barely there touch and I fucking snap.

I lunge forward before I can talk myself out of it, and touch my lips to hers.

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