Page 94 of Bound To Be Mine

I buried my fingers in his hair, trying to stay still, trying to keep my breathing even. But he was relentless, his tongue doing things that should probably be illegal at thirty thousand feet.

His fingers worked the button on my slacks, and before I knew what he was doing, my zipper was down and his fingers pulled my panties to the side.

“Briggs,” I gasped.

His fingers slipped inside, his thumb rubbing my clit. I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped my lips. He was not letting up. The orgasm was building fast.

When I came, I had to bite down on my own hand to keep from crying out. He didn’t stop until I was pushing him away, oversensitive and shaking.

He was grinning when I finally came back to my senses.

“You’re so bad,” I hissed.

“That was bad?”

I slid off his lap and quickly did my pants up.

I got to my feet, swaying when we hit a little turbulence. Or maybe it was because he left me feeling a little weak in the knees.

We quickly dressed, doing our best to right ourselves. Although I didn’t think there was any hiding my flushed cheeks.

Twenty minutes later. “Mr. Blackwell, would you like your lunch?”

The flight attendant stayed behind the curtain like she knew what she might walk in on.

“Please,” Briggs replied.

I spent the rest of the flight looking out the window and thinking about what was waiting for us in New York. Briggs had work. I had the venue visit with Sebastian and Bernadette.

“Nervous?” he asked, noticing my fidgeting.

“A little. This is your city. Your territory. I feel like I’m about to meet your world properly for the first time.”

“You’ve already met half my family.”

“That’s different. They came to me.”

He took my hand again. “You’re going to love New York.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s the best city in the world.”

I laughed. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe. But I’m also right.”

When we landed there was a car waiting. Not just any car—a sleek black SUV with a driver who took our bags without a word and held the door open.

“I could get used to this,” I admitted as we slid into the back seat.

“Good. Because you’re stuck with it for the next few days.”

Briggs complained about LA traffic, but I had to wonder if he had blinders on when it came to New York traffic. It was just as gridlocked on this side of the country apparently.

Briggs’s penthouse was in a massive, towering building. It had a doorman and a private elevator and the kind of security that made Fort Knox look casual.

The elevator opened directly into his apartment. I stepped into his home and stopped cold.