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I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of this man.
In the distance we hear the seatbelts off sign ding. Neither of us notice. We’re too wrapped up in one another. Ankor rolls across to the far side of the bed and drags me with him, until I’m pinned beneath him, and he kisses his way down my neck one hand sliding up my inner thigh to inch my dress higher, higher.
I lift one leg to either side of him and arch my hips up against his. I can feel the hard press of his cock through the fabric of his jeans, and I want nothing more than to feel him inside me again.
I reach down to grab for his belt, and he pushes my dress up around my waist. As I undo his jeans, he hooks a thumb under the edge of my panties, and gently tugs them down.
I gasp as the chilly plane air hits me. But Ankor cups his hand over my pussy, his fingers warm to the touch, and grins as he gently presses a finger between my lips, trailing it along my slit, back and forth. “Already wet for me, Sinclair?”
“Always.” I grin and roll my hips against him, pressing his finger deeper. At the same time, I shove his jeans down, and push his boxers after them, eager to get my hands on his cock. I wrap them around the thick base of him, and his eyes go hot where they fix on me.
Someone knocks at our cabin door, and I freeze, my eyes going wide and terrified. Ankor just looks amused.
“Would you like your champagne, Mr. Helmtree? Miss…?”
“We’re fine, thank you,” Ankor calls, without even missing a beat.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” The flight attendant moves away, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Someone’s going to hear us,” I murmur, as Ankor slides between my thighs and positions himself at my entrance. I can already feel the tip of his cock spreading my lower lips, seeking my entrance. Even as I protest, I feel myself arching up into him, eager for him, aching for him.
“I guess you’ll have to try to be quiet,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. Then he leans down along me, and in one quick thrust, drives his cock into me.
I cry out faintly, then clamp my mouth shut, my cheeks going red.
His smile widens, and he leans down to kiss my neck, the edge of my jaw. “This is going to be fun…”
* * *
The flight takes both less and more time than I would have thought possible. Less time, because I was so distracted by Ankor I hardly noticed the hours slipping past. More, because I’m pretty sure I burst a blood vessel trying not to scream when he made me come for the third time in a row.
He’s a little too pleased with himself when we open our cabin door only to find our flight attendant watching us with a very bemused smile. My cheeks flare bright red, and I have to fight the urge to groan as we descend the stairs to join all the normal cabin-class people leaving the plane.
“They definitely heard me.”
“Definitely,” Ankor agrees, and catches my hand, squeezing it hard.
I can’t decide whether to laugh or punch him. I settle for squeezing his hand in return. But we barely make it a couple steps from the plane before something blinds me. A flash. Cameras?
“Shit.” Ankor is faster to pick this up than I am. He flicks on his phone, and I watch over his shoulder as half a dozen messages appear out of nowhere. “This way,” he says, and leads me down a side wing of the exit ramp.
“But our luggage…” I glance back over my shoulder.
“I’ll have my driver pick it up for us. Come on.” Ankor leads me on a route through several out of use airport gangways until we reach a gate that’s not currently in use. At one point a security guard tries to stop us, but a few words of explanation, and the guard winds up leading our way.
We come out directly onto the street, where Ankor stops dead.
There’s a pretty, dark-haired woman on the street corner, arms folded, glaring at us—no, at Ankor—like he just threatened to murder her. “Where in the hell have you been, Marco?” she yells the second she spots us, and my stomach sinks.
Who is this…?
The woman doesn’t give him time to explain. She’s already advancing on him. “First you disappear without a single explanation, leaving all of us worried sick about you. Then suddenly you pop up on Twitter with some new girl—is this her? Hello new girl, who are you?”
I stare, my jaw falling open.
Luckily, Ankor’s a little less shell-shocked than I am. “Sinclair, this is my sister, Margot. Margot, Sinclair. We met in Maui. I taught her how to swim.”
