The muscle beneath my fingers was rock-hard.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he covered my hand with his, warm and reassuring, his thumb stroking slowly over my skin in a way that sent sparks straight to my core.
"This is the worst part," I said through gritted teeth. "Takeoff."
"I know. But here's the thing—pilots do this hundreds of times. This is routine for them. Boring, even."
"That doesn't help."
"Then let me try something else." His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on the back of my hand. The touch was innocent, but it made my p***y throb. "Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Trust me. Close your eyes."
I did.
"Now focus on my voice. Just my voice. The plane's going to accelerate. You're going to feel pressure pushing you back in your seat. That's normal. That's physics. And in a
