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He complies, gripping my hips as he slams into me harder, the table creaking beneath us. His thumb finds my oversensitive clit, circling relentlessly.
“Again,” he demands. “Come again for me.”
When I start to whimper that it's too much, he leans forward, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss that swallows my protests. His tongue mimics the motion of his cock, claiming me completely.
“You can,” he insists, voice ragged against my lips. “I want to feel you squeeze me again.”
He shifts the angle, hitting that perfect spot inside me that makes my vision blur. I'm clawing at his back now, nails digging into expensive fabric, not caring if I tear it.
“Oh god! Bennett. I can't!”
“You fucking can,” he growls, gripping my thigh and pushing it higher, opening me impossibly wider, thrusting even deeper. “Let go for me, Layla.”
The sound of my name, so raw and desperate, combined with the relentless pressure against my g-spot sends me spiraling into another orgasm, this one so intense I can barely breathe. My entire body convulses, inner walls clamping down on him as pleasure radiates outward in blinding waves.
I scream.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, movements becoming erratic. “Just like that. Milk my cock.”
He drives into me a few more times before stiffening, his release pulsing hot inside me as my name tears from histhroat. He collapses forward, bracing his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing me, our bodies still joined as we gasp for breath.
For several minutes, we stay like that, trembling and sweaty, his forehead pressed against mine as our breathing gradually slows. When he finally shifts to withdraw, I whimper at the loss.
“Well,” I say when I can finally form words again. “That's one way to join the mile-high club.”
He laughs, the sound rich and warm against my skin as he presses a kiss to my collarbone. “I'm pretty sure we've just redefined the standard requirements for membership.”
I shift, wincing slightly at the delicious soreness between my legs. “I think we broke several aviation laws.”
“Worth it,” he murmurs, helping me sit up. His fingers brush my cheek with unexpected tenderness, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You're incredible.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I reply, trying for lightness despite the flutter in my chest. “For a corporate vampire.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “High praise from a Carmichael.”
I link my hands behind his neck and kiss him because I can’t help it.
“We should get cleaned up,” he says against my lips. “There’s a full shower off the bedroom.”
“This plane has a bedroom?” I gasp.
His laugh is rich. “Did you think I’d fly internationally without proper sleeping accommodations?”
“I haven’t exactly been on many private jets.”
“We still have over four hours before we land,” he says, eyes trailing over my body with renewed interest. “Just enough time to really make good use of the amenities.”
“A terrible shame to waste all this luxury,” I agree, stepping closer until we’re breathing the same air. “Practically irresponsible.”
His mouth captures mine, the kiss both tender and possessive. When he lifts me into his arms, I let out a surprised laugh against his lips.
“I can walk, you know.”
“I’m aware,” he murmurs, carrying me toward the back of the plane. “But I like having you in my arms.”
Four hours until we land. Even longer until we return to Chicago and face whatever chaos our disappearance created.
A whole day before we have to decide if this is just an elaborate escape, or the beginning of something that will change everything.