Page 8 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
The door clicked shut behind him as he followed me in.
The warmth of him at my back flooded my senses as I glanced around his space. It was identical to mine, but mirrored, with the bed on the right against the half-lowered partition between our suites instead of on the left like it was in mine, and his passport sat closed and face-up on the little desk,United States of Americain gold embossed letters shining with a boarding pass shoved in the center of it and poking out like a bookmark.
His breath on my ear from behind me made my spine stiffen.
“Get on the bed, Sienna.”
I forced a swallow. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re telling me to get on the bed?”
The warmth of him disappeared, and I blinked, turning my head in confusion — but he was moving, leaning down slightly to press a blue button at the foot of the bed. The partition started to lower further. “Our heads are visible over the walls,” he said quietly, hazel eyes flicking to the plastic separating us from the galleyway. “I’d rather not give the flight attendants a show by standing.”
I stared at him, caught between thehorrorat the idea of a flight attendant catching us and thethrillof it. “How did you know it did that?” I asked, nudging my chin at the partition as it slid down that final bit, absolutely nothing but an inch of plastic separating our single beds.
Matt didn’t answer. Just watched me as he stood up straight, his eyes glancing toward the galleyway for half a second before his fingers found the top button of his shirt.
It popped open.
Christ.
Another.
My legs wouldn’t move. I was too fixated on the third button as it popped.
A sliver of toned chest with a light dusting of salt-but-mostly-pepper hair peeked out, a hint of a collarbone visible as his fingers shifted the fabric. My throat closed.
Matt exhaled, slow andamused, like he could see my pulse jumping and my nerves spiking. His fingers stilled on the fourth button, and he sank onto the edge of his bed, eyes glued to mine as a familiar warmth wrapped around my wrist.
A single tug, firm but not rough, had my knees buckling and my body falling toward him.
Asshole.
He caught me with a hand on my waist, his thumb pressed against my ribs, as he guided me over him and onto his lap, my knees pressing into the firm mattress on either side of his hips. My sundress rode up, the heat of his body searing through his slacks and into my bare thighs, through his shirt and into my palms where I steadied myself on his shoulders.
His scent surrounded me, invading my nostrils, branding itself to them as he looked up at me with an infuriatingly confident smirk he wore like a second skin. The hand on my side slid down to my thigh, just below the hem of the dress that was barely giving me a shred of decency downstairs, and I shivered as his thumb dug in just enough to make me reallyfeelit.
It was strange. He lookedyoungerlike this, like the lines beside his eyes and on his forehead had smoothed out from the promise of pleasure.
“How old are you?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could think.
His thumb pressed in a little harder, drifting an inch further in and higher. Teasing.Punishing. “Does it matter?”
“No,” I swallowed. “I’m just curious. Want to know if I’m beating a record here.”
He snorted, that overly-confident facade cracking as he fought a grin. “I’m forty-seven.” His free hand wrapped around the back of my neck, bracing around the base of my skull. “Don’t think we’re beating any records, sweetheart, but humor me. How old areyou?”
I swallowed.Forty-seven.Our age difference could vote, join the army, take up a nicotine addiction. “Twenty-eight.”
He pulled me closer as his hand pushed higher on my thigh, fingers skating beneath the hem of my dress and pushing it up, his thumb getting maddening close to the heat building between my legs. “Younger than I normally go for,” he murmured like it was the most casual thing in the world. “We’ll make it work. But stayquiet.”
His hand moved again, eating the distance, and before I could even process his fingers lifting the already-damp cotton gusset and sliding through slick heat, he pulled me that final inch closer and pressed his mouth to mine, swallowing any hint of noise that threatened to spill past my lips.Oh, God.
There was no hesitation.
No gentleness.
Justclaiming, immediate and urgent.
His tongue swept past my lips, and I melted into it, my fingers grasping at the collar of his shirt to keep myself upright as he released the back of my neck. He leaned back, his elbow catching him, and I followed, keeping my mouth locked on his. I popped a single button.
