Layla let out a whimper, followed by a gasp, as she turned to face Michael over the bed. She admired him, looking at his sharp features, the way his lips remained parted, the way he took steady breaths—everything made her more drawn to him.
'Wait… We're not in our bedroom. Where are we?' she mused, her vision wandering around until she realized their condition. Catching sight of the signature-style window of the plane, realization dawned upon her, and her breathing hitched.
She strolled toward the bed; the only thing covering her nakedness was a messy bedsheet. Layla shook her head, gazing at him. He was getting more and more demanding, but she loved it.
The only thing that made her worried was facing the people in the cabin. Her face flushed, recalling the loud moans and whimpers she had let out a few hours back.
"Layla." Michael's voice sounded raspy as he propped up on his elbow; using his other hand, he tried to reach out for her, but she jolted away from him.
