Page 7 of Devoured By You

She licked her lips again. Heat filled my groin. That tongue would also look good on my dick.

“Are you—”

“Miss Rowe?”

I glowered at the steward hovering next to her seat. Read the fucking room, man.

She pulled her gaze from me to give her attention to him. I might have him fired.

“Yes?”

“The bathroom is available for you now, ma’am.”

“Oh.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Slipping her hand from mine, she smiled at me, too. Except it differed from the smile she’d given him. He’d gotten the polite version. I received the sultry, lust-hazed version.

“I won’t be long.”

As she stood, I grabbed her wrist.

“Hey, Jill?”

“Yeah?”

“Leave the door unlocked.”

Chapter 3

Jill

Sex in the first-class bathroom?

There’s an experience I never thought I’d have.

“Leave the door unlocked.”

My knees shook during the short walk to the bathroom at the rear of the first-class cabin. I slipped inside, resting my forehead against the door. I had a choice to make, and I could stand here all day and pretend I was considering both options, but it would be a big fat lie.

There was only one option. A distraction of the best kind. If I left the door open, then I’d get off this plane in Miami as a fully paid-up member of the mile-high club. Not that it was a club. Or I didn’t think it was. Maybe there was a club, with regular meetups where we all sat around quaffing expensive champagne and regaling the other members about the day we gained entry.

You’re losing it.

My heart thudded too fast, skipping the odd beat, which made me light-headed. I stared at the door handle. How long would it be before it turned? What was the appropriate amount of time to wait in these situations?

Good God, Jill.

I’d promised myself that I’d let my hair down on this trip, do things I’d never done before. But I’d thought those would be things like zip-lining through a rainforest, or driving a buggy through sand dunes, or riding a jet ski.

Having sex with a beautiful stranger who read palms, had listening skills that bypassed most men, and would win Olympic gold in the flirting category hadn’t crossed my mind. Why would it have?

I could lock the door, have my shower, and return to my seat, politely thanking him for his offer but explaining that I wasn’t that kind of girl.

Except I wanted to be that girl. To be reckless, and to bank a story I could use in a book one day. The one-night stand was a hot trope, and the consensus was to write what you knew. Although, I’d always thought that was a ridiculous notion. If we only wrote what we knew, then how would paranormal romance books exist? Or sci-fi? Or historicals?

I made my way over to the sink and stared at my reflection in the lighted mirror. If I was going to have sex on this plane, at least I wasn’t in economy. Imagine trying to get it on in those tiny spaces? One of us would have to sit on the loo. Probably him. That way, I could—

The door opened. Blay slipped inside, locking it behind him.

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