NO STRINGS, NO SINS

I stood in the doorway of our bedroom with the plane tickets to Santorini still clutched in my fist. The paper was crumpled from the way my fingers had tightened at the moment I heard noises. Moans. Wet skin slapping. The headboard was knocking against the wall we’d painted together last spring. Marcus never even noticed me at first. He was too busy thrusting into Chloe, his ex. He swore he’d cut off his life a year ago, like she was the only woman on earth. Her red nails raked down his back, leaving welts. I watched her legs lock around his hips and felt something inside me snap clean in half. “You were supposed to be packed,” I said. My voice didn't shake. It came out flat, like someone else was speaking through my mouth. Marcus jerked upright, d**k still inside her. Chloe smirked, not bothering to cover herself. “ Frances, baby,” “ Don't." I dropped the tickets on the floor. They fluttered like dying birds. "Enjoy Greece. Both of you.” I was already walking backwards, heel catching on the rug we picked out at Walmart. The hallway smelled like his cologne and her vanilla body spray. I wanted to vomit. Instead, I grabbed my suitcase, the one I’d packed with sundresses and lingerie because I thought this trip would fix us and rolled it straight out the door. The cab ride to JFK was a blur of red lights and my own reflection in the window; mascara streaks, auburn hair wild, green eyes too wide. I kept replaying the moment Chloe’s gaze met mine over his shoulder. Triumph…Pure, vicious triumph. At Terminal 4, I paid the driver and dragged the case inside, wheels rattling over tile. People rushed past in a river of perfume and roller bags. I was so busy staring at the departure board through tears that I didn't see the man until my forehead with a chest made of warm marble. Strong hands gripped my upper arms to steady me. Expensive cologne cedar, bergamot, something dark wrapped around me like smoke. “ Easy, gorgeous.” I looked up, and there he was…. He was unfairly beautiful. Midnight hair falling over a forehead that belonged on statues, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and eyes the color of glacier water. A black Henley stretched across shoulders that could block doorways. He filled my entire field of vision, and for five full seconds, the image of Marcus and Chloe vanished. “I'm sorry,” I managed. He smiled, slow and crooked. “ Don't be. Best collision I've had all year.” His thumbs brushed my bare skin once, deliberately, before he released me. “Are you okay? You look like you're about to set the airport on fire.” I laughed. It came out cracked. “Working on it.” He tilted his head, studying me the way people study abstract art, like he already understood something I didn't. Then someone called his name from the first-class lounge, and the spell broke. He gave me one last lingering look, the kind that made my thighs clench involuntarily, and walked away. First class smelled like leather and money. I found my seat 2B and shoved my carry-on overhead, trying not to think about the fact that Marcus was supposed to be in 2A. The flight attendant offered champagne, and I took two. I was buckling my seatbelt when a familiar cedar and bergamot scent drifted over me. “Looks like fate’s got jokes,” that velvet voice said. I turned. The beautiful stranger slid into 2A, all six feet four of him folding gracefully into the pod. Up close, he was even more devastating. A faint shadow of stubble, lips curved like he knew secrets. “ You,” I breathed. “Me.” He offered his hand. “Liam.” “France Harper.” My palm disappeared inside his. His grip was warm, firm, and he held on a second longer than polite. The plane taxied, Liam stretched out long legs, the denim of his jeans brushing my bare knee. Sparks shot between my thighs. I pretended to study the safety card. “So, Frances Harper,” he said once we were airborne, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear, “Want to tell me why a woman who looks like sin in a sundress is flying to Greece alone with murder in her eyes?” I laughed despite myself. “Caught my boyfriend balls-deep in his ex two hours ago. We were supposed to leave together.” Liam’s expression didn't change, but something dark and approving flashed across his face. “His loss. My gain.” He signaled the flight attendant, ordered two more champagnes and a blanket. “You’re shaking.” I hadn't noticed. He draped the blanket over my lap, fingers lingering on my thigh through the fabric. Heat bloomed under his touch. We talked. Or rather, he asked questions and I spilled everything about how Marcus always made me feel slightly less how I’d spent years shrinking myself to fit his ego. Liam listened like it mattered. Every time I apologized for oversharing, he shook his head. “ Never apologize for taking up space, Frances.” His knee pressed against mine under the blanket. Stayed there. The pressure was maddening. When the cabin lights dimmed for the movie, his hand found my bare knee again, thumb stroking low circles. My breath hitched. “You’re stunning when you forget to hate yourself,” he murmured against my ear, lips brushing the shell. “I want to watch you remember.” My n*****s tightened painfully against my bra. I turned my face toward him and our mouths were inches apart. Champagne and want fizzed in my blood. He kissed me first, slow, filthy and deliberate. His tongue slid against mine like he owned it. When I whimpered, he swallowed the sound, fingers tightening on my thigh. The seatbelt sign was off. The bathroom at the front of the first class was empty. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “Tell me to stop and I will.” But I was already standing and ready to be devoured. The bathroom was bigger than the economy bathrooms, all mood lighting and marble counters. Liam locked the door and turned the dimmer lower. I barely had time to breathe before he crowded me against the sink, mouth on mine again, harder this time. His hands slid under my sundress, palms rough against my thighs. “Been hard since you crashed into me,” he growled against my throat. “Tell me you feel it too.” I couldn't speak. I just arched into him, thighs parting as he lifted me onto the counter. My dress bunched at my waist. He stepped between my legs, the thick ridge of his c**k pressing exactly where I needed, through his jeans. He kissed my neck, teeth scraping my collarbone, then lower. When he tugged the neckline of my dress down and closed his mouth over one lace-covered n****e, I cried out loud enough that I slapped a hand over my lips. Liam laughed softly. “Let them hear. Let the whole plane know you're getting f****d properly.” His fingers slipped beneath my panties, two sliding into me without warning. I was soaked. He groaned like it hurt him. “So ready for me.” He pumped slowly, curling just right, thumb circling my c**t. My head fell back against the mirror. I clawed at his belt. He helped, shoving jeans and boxer briefs down just enough. His c**k sprang free, long, thick, flushed dark. My mouth watered. He rolled on a condom with steady hands while I watched, trembling. Then he hooked my knees over his elbows and thrust into me in one stroke. The stretch burned perfectly. I bit his shoulder to muffle the scream. He didn't give me time to adjust; he just pulled back and slammed in again, setting a brutal rhythm that rattled the door in its frame. Every thrust nudged that spot inside that made my vision blur. His mouth found mine, swallowing my moans. Sweat slicked our skin. The air smelled like s*x and cedar. I came first, clenching around him so hard my legs shook. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, forehead pressed to mine as he pulled inside me. We stayed locked together, panting. He kissed me soft and slow, nothing like the man who’d just wrecked me against a sink at ten thousand feet. “Still need a date for this wedding?” he asked, voice rough. I laughed breathlessly. “Desperately.” “Then I’m yours. No strings attached. Just…this.” He brushed a thumb over my swollen bottom lip. “And maybe more of this.” I nodded, dizzy. “No strings.” He helped me clean up, fingers gentle now, stealing kisses like he couldn’t stop. When we slipped back to our seats separately, my legs barely worked.