Page 18

FENELLA

T he cabin lights had dimmed hours ago, transforming the luxurious interior into a cocoon of shadows and soft breathing. Fenella shifted in her fully reclined seat and adjusted the blanket over her legs.

Her body thrummed with an energy, excitement about their destination, restlessness from being confined in a metal tube hurtling through the night sky, and the scent of Din's cologne that was driving her nuts. She wasn't used to having him near and not being able to play.

He appeared to be dozing, a little cramped on the narrow bed created by flattening the seat, one hand resting on his thigh beneath the cashmere blanket. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that should have been soothing, but instead made her hyperaware of his proximity.

She glanced around the cabin. Across the aisle, Max had his arm around Kyra, both of them sound asleep.

Further back, Jasmine was curled on Ell-rom's chest while he was watching something on his tablet with earphones on and the screen dimmed.

Even Kalugal seemed to be asleep along with his wife and son.

The gentle hum of the engines created a white noise that masked most small sounds, which was perfect.

A wicked idea began to form in Fenella's mind, one that would shock her stuffy professor, but that made her want to push boundaries even more just to see his reaction.

She shifted closer to him, letting her thigh press against his. His eyes opened immediately.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered, his Scottish accent more pronounced in his drowsy state.

"No," she breathed, turning her head so her lips were near his ear. "I'm feeling antsy."

His body tensed, responding to the seductive quality in her tone or maybe just to the pheromones she must be emitting. "Fenella..."

"Shh," she murmured, her hand snaking beneath his blanket. "Everyone's asleep."

"Not really," he said, but his voice had gone rough. "Immortal hearing, remember?"

"Then they'll politely pretend they can't hear anything," she countered, interlacing their fingers before slowly guiding his hand to rest on her thigh. "Just like we pretend that we can't hear what they are doing."

"No one is doing anything they are not supposed to," Din protested, but didn't pull his hand away. "This is?—"

"Exciting?" she supplied. "Thrilling? Daring? Unlike anything my proper professor has done before?"

She felt more than heard his sharp intake of breath as she guided his hand to where she needed it.

"You're going to be the death of me," he muttered, but she could hear the capitulation in his voice. His properness was crumbling under her touch.

"What a way to go," she teased, moving her hand to his belly.

"Fenella." Her name came out as half-warning, half-plea.

She turned more fully toward him, using the movement to drape her blanket over both of them. In the dim cabin light, his eyes began to glow, and she had the absurd idea of telling him to put on his sunglasses.

"Close your eyes," she murmured. "They are a dead giveaway." When he obeyed her command, she caught his ear between her teeth, and as he shivered, she kissed the spot. "I want to play," she whispered into his ear, letting her breath ghost over the sensitive skin.

His fingers brushed against the gusset of her panties, providing the friction she so desperately needed. Fenella bit back a moan.

She had him.

Her straightlaced, proper professor was doing something wonderfully improper.

"You are insane," he said, but his fingers were moving.

"Insane with need," she breathed, sliding her hand into his pants and cupping him over his cotton shorts. She felt him tense, every muscle going rigid. "Oh my. Someone's very interested in playing."

"Witch," he accused, but the word held no heat—or rather, it held nothing but heat.

"Yes," she said, beginning a slow, torturous rhythm with her hand.

As his fingers slid beneath her underwear, Fenella had to bite her lip to suppress a gasp.

"Shh, we need to be quiet," he reminded her, the smugness in his whisper making her want to do something that would wipe that satisfaction right off his face.

Two could play at that game. She adjusted her grip, changing the pressure in a way that made him inhale sharply through his nose.

Fenella delighted in the way Din's control frayed at the edges.

They found a rhythm, hands moving in concert beneath the blankets, the danger of discovery adding an edge that made every touch electric.

Fenella had never done anything like this—had never even imagined the possibility of doing something so daring. The girl she'd been back in Scotland would have been scandalized, and the immortal she'd become during her years of running would have seen it as an unnecessary risk.

But the person she was now, safe and loved by this magnificent man—this version of Fenella wanted to grab every moment of joy, every chance to feel alive.

"You're thinking too much," Din whispered, his fingers finding a spot that made her thoughts scatter like startled birds.

"Pot, kettle," she managed, increasing her ministrations in retaliation.

His head dropped back against the small pillow, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. The sight sent a bolt of satisfaction through her. This controlled, careful male was coming undone because of her touch, in a cabin full of immortals with exceptional hearing.

The power of it was intoxicating.

"I can't believe we're doing this," he breathed, the words barely audible even to her.

"I can't believe it took us this long to try," she countered, shifting slightly to give him better access while maintaining a slow, lazy rhythm with her hand. "All those nights at the bar, we could have been having so much fun."

"The bar?"

"Why not? That storage room is very private. It has a lock..."

"You're incorrigible," he said, but his fingers were doing something that made coherent thought increasingly difficult.

"You love it," she gasped, then bit her lip hard to keep from making more noise.

"I love you," he corrected, the words fierce despite being whispered. "Even when you're trying to corrupt me thirty thousand feet in the air."

"Especially then," she insisted, her movements becoming more urgent as pressure built low in her belly. "You like being corrupted by me."

His only response was to demonstrate just how skilled his hands could be when properly motivated. Fenella had to turn her face into his shoulder to muffle the sounds trying to escape her throat.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice strained as her hand continued its work. "Let go. I've got you."

And he did. Even in this mad moment of public intimacy, she felt safe with him, protected. He would never let anything bad happen to her, would never judge her for her desires, would never make her feel ashamed for wanting what she wanted.

The realization, combined with her trust and his expert touch, pushed her over the edge. She bit down on his shoulder through his shirt, her body shuddering with release as waves of pleasure washed over her. Through the haze of sensation, she felt him tense beside her, his climax following hers.

They lay frozen for long moments afterward, breathing carefully controlled, hands still beneath the blanket but no longer moving. Fenella lifted her head from his shoulder, wondering if she'd left teeth marks through the fabric.

"Well," she whispered, a giggle trying to escape. "That was..."

"Insane," he finished, but he was fighting a smile. "What am I going to do about the mess?"

"Take off your underwear and go commando."

He groaned. "We're never doing this again."

"Liar. Do you need me to help you?"

"No. I've got it."

"I need to visit the lavatory," he said after performing the complicated maneuver under the blanket.

"I wonder why," she teased, earning herself a look that promised retribution later.

He slipped out of his seat with admirable grace, considering the circumstances, and Fenella watched him make his way to the back of the plane.

No one stirred, the cabin maintaining its illusion of slumber, but she wasn't fooled.

Immortal hearing meant that someone must have been aware of their clandestine activities.

The thought should have mortified her. Instead, it sent another little thrill through her system. Perhaps there was a little bit of an exhibitionist in her.

Who knew?

Love was liberating. Evidently, having a partner she felt safe with was all the encouragement she needed to start experimenting with what brought her pleasure.

When Din returned, he slid back into his reclined seat with a carefully blank expression. "You look entirely too pleased with yourself," he whispered.

"I have good reason to be." She snuggled against his side with the smugness of a cat who'd gotten the cream. "I've just inducted my proper Scottish professor into the mile-high club. That's worth a little satisfaction."

"Inducted, corrupted, led astray," he muttered, but his arm came around her, pulling her closer. "What's next? Public indecency in the Cairo Museum?"

"Now there's a thought," she mused, feeling him tense. "All those dark corners, hidden alcoves, the mummy exhibit…"

"Absolutely not," he said with mock firmness. "I'm an archaeologist, not a tomb raider of virtue."

She laughed softly against his chest. "Tomb raider of virtue? Did you really just say that?"

"My brain's not fully functional yet," he defended. "Someone scrambled my circuits at high altitude."

"Poor baby," she cooed with false sympathy. "Maybe you should get some sleep. We still have long hours in the air."

"As if I could sleep now," he said. "I'll be spending the rest of the flight wondering who knows."

"If anyone does, they're probably impressed. I doubt anyone suspected you had it in you."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're a terrible influence."

"The best kind of terrible." She yawned, feeling drowsy now that the adrenaline was receding. "Wake me when we get to Cairo?"

"Of course." His hand stroked through her hair, gentle and soothing. "Sleep, my wicked witch."

She smiled against his chest, feeling accomplished and content. It had been risky, potentially embarrassing, and definitely outside both their comfort zones. Still, it had also been a moment of connection that belonged to no one but them, even if others had been peripherally aware of it.

"Din?" she murmured, already half-asleep.

"Hmm?"

"We're definitely doing that again."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "We'll see about that."