Page 48 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

My lids fly open to find a stewardess standing in the doorway.

The one facing me, opposite the door Seb locked.

Oh, no, no no. We forgot the other door.

Her eyes widen as she takes me in, her eyes dipping to where Seb threw my lace underwear, right in the aisle near her feet.

I squeal for real, my thighs clamping around Seb’s head, but he doesn’t stop, he merely goes harder, forcing my orgasm while his hand thrusts out from beneath my skirt, his fingers glistening with my arousal as he flips the bird at the stewardess.

She dips her head and retreats, maintaining a composure that makes me wonder if it’s not the first time she’s burst in and found one of the Hawkston brothers indisposed like this.

“Stop, fuck, stop,” I plead, but he grips me tighter, holding me in place as his tongue works faster, fingers resuming their internal work, and I completely lose it, pleasure unravelling like a loose coil of ribbon, sprawling through my body.

My thighs tremble and my feet kick off the seat, but Seb holds one up with a strong grip on my thigh, allowing him more access to push me right to the edge of what I can bear, until I’m screeching, “Stop, stop, stop!”

He removes himself from beneath my skirt and sits back, looking delighted, his mouth and chin glistening. I sit there, breaths heaving, legs trembling, letting the sparkles of my orgasm diminish.

“You didn’t lock the other door,” I say, reproach edging my voice. “She saw me.”

“What happens in the jet stays in the jet. They’ve all signed NDAs.”

“Yeah, but… fuck.” I’m still breathless, my limbs tingling from the orgasm. “I’m not just some random woman you’ve dragged onto the flight for entertainment. I have a reputat—”

Seb propels himself upwards until he’s leaning over my chair, his face next to mine. His gorgeous face. “I thought your reputation was why we were doing this in the first place?”

“Fake doing this.”

“Fake relationship. Real orgasms. Works for me.”

I put my foot against his chest and push him away. “Hand me my thong.”

He moves back and grabs it from the floor. I snatch it from him and pull it on, standing when I’m done.

“Where are you going?” he asks, stepping aside as I move towards the aisle.

“I’m going to apologise to that poor woman. That was completely unacceptable. We can’t—”

“Seb! Open the fucking door,” comes Matt’s booming voice. I’d totally forgotten someone was trying to get in from the other side.

Seb rolls his eyes but wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and moves to open the door. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Matt hisses.

Seb mumbles some response and I make my way down the aisle in the opposite direction, intending to apologise to the unsuspecting stewardess.

I pass through the far door to find her rearranging champagne glasses. I glance around for Jack, but I can’t see him. Fuck knows where he is.

“Can I help you?” the stewardess says when she sees me. She’s pretty, her makeup thick, but immaculate.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t have seen that. And—”

“It’s my job. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Her tone is kind, but the words sting nonetheless, the implication all too clear. I’m just another woman. I might think I’m something— Erica Lefroy, after all —but here, on the private jet, I don’t count. Because it’s just Seb, doing his thing, in his space. It’s normal .

“Oh. Right. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay. Because I’d hate to do that to you. Nobody deserves to walk in and see that, especially—”

She stops rearranging the glasses and turns to me, her face all compassion as she lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Miss Lefroy. Please, don’t worry. I’m all right. It was only one time. It didn’t mean anything to me. I’m not upset.”

Wait. What?

My face must be doing things I can’t control because the stewardess puts an arm around my shoulders to guide me back to my seat, her voice soothing as she says, “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring you some sparkling water?”

Numb, I let her escort me back down the aisle and I drop into my seat like a zombie next to Seb, but I can’t shake the thought that, not only has he messed around with other women in here, but he’s messed around with that stewardess.

I sit staring into space.

“What?” Seb whispers. Damn him, sensing that I’m out of sorts. He never misses a change like that. Matt and Aries are sitting across the aisle now, although they’re not concentrating on us at all, and Jack still hasn’t reappeared. Maybe he’s still sorting out orange Smarties.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’ve gone all frosty.”

I heave a breath, wanting to tell him. To explain.

But there are too many people around, and this revelation has thrown me.

I don’t know how to handle it; in fact, I feel like I can’t.

Panic is coiling through me like a serpent, cutting off my air supply.

I feel dizzy. I get up from my seat so fast that Matt glances over his paper, eyebrows raised.

I ignore him and pace back through the jet towards where the kids are watching TV.

Neither of them acknowledges me, thankfully, because I feel as though I might burst into tears, or perhaps flames of rage, if anyone speaks to me.

“Hey,” Seb calls behind me.

I don’t turn. I keep walking until I reach the bathroom, and then I step inside and try to close the door, but before I can lock it, his hand slams against it and he pushes it open. “What’s going on?”

I shove him back with a sharp, “Get out.”

“Nope. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.

” Beyond him, I can see Matt’s teenage son peering down the aisle towards us, all gangly limbs and dark eyes pinned on me.

In a split second, I make the decision. I’m not standing out here with an audience.

I tug Seb into the bathroom and close the door behind him.

It’s small. Not tiny like a toilet in a commercial jet—it’s expensively kitted out with a sleek interior—but we’re still pinned into a bathroom and he’s far too close for my liking. For this conversation, anyway.

He crosses his arms, his normally smiling face fixed into an uncharacteristic frown. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, determined not to shy away from this. “You slept with that stewardess, didn’t you?”

He frowns as though he’s cycling through a mental folder of air stewardesses he’s fucked. “Maybe.” My eyes nearly pop out of my head. How does he not know? He tips his head towards the door, back the way we came. “Wait, Abigail? Yes. Maybe six months ago. It was a long flight.”

“A long flight!” I explode. “Seriously? Is that what this is?” I wave between us. “In-flight entertainment?”

“It was entertaining.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Nausea cramps my stomach, and I rub a palm over my forehead. If it wasn’t so tiny in here, I’d be pacing.

He catches my hand, teasing it away from my face. “Hey. Really? You’re going to get mad about everyone I’ve ever been with when you’re the one who keeps saying this thing between us is all for show?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop turning this on me. Don’t make me sound like I’m crazy for having an issue with this.”

“I’m not. I’m just asking. I genuinely don’t get it. I don’t know what we’re doing.”

I thrust my chin at him. “What you’re doing is fucking everything that moves.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, silent for a long moment. “That was before. What do you want me to do? Build a time machine and erase my sexual history?”

I let out an exasperated groan. “Yes, actually. That would be great. Because I can’t do this. I can’t go places with you and there be someone you’ve fucked everywhere we go. Even if this is all fake between us, you should have made sure the stewardess today wasn’t someone you’d—”

“We only crossed the line from a relationship that you repeatedly said was completely-fucking-bullshit-fake into something not-entirely-fake last night. Last night. Excuse me if it slipped my mind to check who was on the staff today.”

I heave a breath, annoyed that he— maybe —has a point.

“You are the most infuriating arsehole in the world. It feels like I’m stuck in a tin can 35,000 ft in the sky with your ex.

If we weren’t in midair, I’d open the door and walk out.

Better yet”—I shove him in the chest but he doesn’t shift an inch—“I’d push you out and watch you fall. ”

His gaze roves my face, and we stand there glaring at one another. He curses under his breath. “She’s not my ex. She’s ju—”

“Do not finish that sentence. Whatever you say is going to torment me, so I’d rather you didn’t say anything at all.” I drag a hand down my face and turn away, muttering, “I feel like an idiot.”

He pulls me back to face him. “Well, don’t.

This”—he gestures between us—“isn’t the same as that.

” He points back to the other room as if we could see right through the locked door to where Abigail is serving drinks.

He rests his hands on my shoulders, and although part of me wants to shrug him off, I don’t, and the heat from his palms seeps through my top.

I want to lean into him and let all of this go.

To rest against him. But at the same time, I hate that I’ve allowed him to get this close.

I hate that I’ve let him touch me, taste me, because now he can hurt me in a way he never could before.

I’ve made myself vulnerable to him, and I loathe it.

“This is different. We’re different,” he says gently.

I can’t bear the sincerity in his tone. I step back from his hold, allowing my anger and resentment to take centre stage as I bite out, “Different how? Aren’t we all just women to fuck?”

He freezes, and every ounce of his disapproval rises to meet my anger like a brick wall. “If you can’t tell what the difference is, I’m not going to spell it out for you.”