Emily goes further

Emily’s fingers paused mid-swipe, the damp wipe crumpled between her fingers as she felt the unmistakable heat and rigidity beneath Kevin’s slacks. Her breath caught—she hadn’t meant to—well, she wasn’t sure *what* she’d meant to do, but the sudden awareness of him, thick and straining against the wet fabric, sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. The club sodan must’ve gone to her head faster than she’d realized, because her thumb moved on its own, tracing the outline of him with feather-light pressure.

Kevin’s sharp inhale was audible even over the drone of the engines. His entire body went taut, thighs tensing beneath her touch, but he didn’t push her away. Emily glanced up through her lashes, finding his gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse stutter. His jaw was clenched so tightly she could see the muscle twitch, but his eyes—dark and hungry—told a different story.

“Emily,” he ground out, voice rough. A warning, or maybe a plea.

She should stop. She *knew* she should stop. But the way his breath hitched when her fingers curled slightly, applying the barest pressure, was intoxicating. The rational part of her brain—the part that remembered he was her boss, that this was a terrible idea—was drowned out by the heady thrill of power thrumming through her veins. Slowly, deliberately, she palmed him through the fabric, her thumb brushing the damp spot where his cock strained against his zipper.

Kevin’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist. His grip was firm, but he didn’t pull her away—just held her there, suspended in the charged space between restraint and surrender. “You’re playing with fire,” he muttered, low enough that only she could hear.

Emily held his gaze, her lips parting slightly. “Maybe I like fire,” she whispered back, her free hand trailing up his thigh again, this time with purpose. The plane jolted, sending her stumbling forward until her chest pressed against his arm. She could feel his heartbeat where her fingers still rested against his zipper, rapid and insistent.

His grip on her wrist tightened briefly before his fingers loosened, sliding down to intertwine with hers. A silent surrender. Emily exhaled shakily, her fingertips ghosting over the button of his slacks. The metal was cool beneath her touch, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him. She flicked it open with a practiced ease that surprised even herself.

Kevin’s breath came faster now, his chest rising and falling beneath his rumpled dress shirt. The overhead light caught the sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Christ,” he muttered, dragging his free hand down his face. “We can’t—not here.”

Emily ignored him, her fingers tracing the outline of his cock through the damp fabric of his briefs. The plane dipped suddenly, and she used the momentum to press her palm flush against him, her thumb brushing the head where it strained against the cotton. Kevin’s hips jerked involuntarily, his thigh tensing beneath her touch.

The flight attendant’s cart rattled past their row, momentarily drowning out Kevin’s choked gasp. Emily froze, her fingers still curled around him, her breath hot against his neck. When the cart disappeared into the next cabin, Kevin exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around hers again. “You’re killing me,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Emily bit her lip, her pulse pounding in her ears. She knew she should stop—knew this was reckless, insane, a terrible idea—but the way Kevin’s breath hitched when her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his briefs sent a thrill down her spine. His skin was hot beneath her touch, the wiry hair at the base of his stomach tickling her knuckles as she wrapped her hand around him.

Kevin’s head thunked back against the seat, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck,” he breathed, his hips twitching upward into her grip. Emily stroked him slowly, her thumb brushing over the head where precum had already beaded. The scent of salt and bourbon filled the space between them, mingling with the sharp tang of the disinfectant wipe still crumpled in her lap.

A flight attendant’s voice crackled over the PA system, announcing turbulence ahead. Kevin’s eyes flew open, locking onto Emily’s with a mix of panic and want. “They’re gonna turn the seatbelt sign back on,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against her wrist. “We can’t—not like this.”

Emily hesitated, her thumb still tracing slow circles around the head of his cock. The rational part of her brain screamed at her to stop, but the **** humming in her veins and the heady power of having Kevin at her mercy drowned it out. She leaned closer, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then tell me to stop,” she whispered.

Kevin shuddered, his cock twitching in her hand. His jaw worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. For a heartbeat, she thought he might actually say the words—might pull her hand away and put an end to this madness. But then his hips jerked upward again, his fingers tightening around hers in silent encouragement.

Emily exhaled shakily, her grip tightening around him. She stroked him slowly at first, then faster, her thumb smearing the moisture leaking from his tip. Kevin’s breath came in ragged bursts, his thigh muscles twitching beneath her. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his fingers dug into her wrist like he was clinging to his last shred of control.