Kevin can't hold it

Kevin's hand clamped down on Emily's wrist just as his thighs began to tremble. "Enough," he gritted out, the word strained through clenched teeth. His fingers dug into her skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her pause. For half a second, Emily thought he might actually push her away. Then his hips bucked upward involuntarily, his cock pulsing against her palm, and she knew he was too far gone.

She tightened her grip instead, twisting her wrist just enough to break his hold without letting go. The plane hit another pocket of turbulence, jostling her forward until her lips brushed the stubble along his jaw. "You don't *want* me to stop," she murmured, her breath hot against his skin. Her thumb swiped over the slick head of his cock, smearing precum in slow circles. Kevin's whole body jerked, a ragged groan escaping before he could bite it back.

The overhead lights flickered as the plane shuddered, casting erratic shadows across Kevin's face—the clenched jaw, the sweat beading at his temple, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when she squeezed him just *so*. His fingers scrabbled at the armrests, the plastic creaking under his grip. "Emily—" His voice cracked, raw and ****. "Someone will—*fuck*—see."

Emily didn't care. The thrill of risk coiled low in her belly, feeding the heat pooling between her own thighs. She stroked him faster, her fingers slick with him now, the rhythm uneven as the plane dipped and swayed. Kevin's breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, his hips lifting off the seat to meet her hand with every downward stroke.

A muffled announcement crackled over the PA system—something about remaining seated—but the words dissolved into static as Kevin's hand suddenly clamped over hers, stilling her movements. For one heart-stopping moment, Emily thought he'd finally found the resolve to stop her. Then his fingers interlaced with hers, guiding her grip tighter, *tighter*, his cock throbbing against her palm. "Slow down," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "Or I'll—"

Kevin's entire body locked up—a coiled spring suddenly snapping. His fingers crushed Emily's wrist in a vice grip as his hips jerked upward one final time. A ragged gasp tore from his throat, barely muffled by the drone of the engines, and then he was coming in hot, pulsing stripes across her fingers and the crumpled airline blanket between them. Emily watched, transfixed, as his release spilled over her knuckles, pearly white against her skin.

For three heartbeats, the only sound was Kevin's uneven breathing and the clink of ice cubes in abandoned drinks. Then the plane banked sharply, sending the evidence of what they'd done sliding toward the armrest. Emily's breath caught as a droplet hit her skirt, leaving a faint mark on the navy fabric.

Kevin's hand fell away from hers like he'd been burned. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the mess between them with something akin to horror. "Christ," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His fingers trembled slightly—Emily noted this with a thrill—before he snatched the ruined airline blanket and shoved it into the seatback pocket with more **** than necessary.

Emily flexed her sticky fingers, the cooling fluid stretching between them. She should feel guilty. She *would* feel guilty—later, when the adrenaline faded and reality crashed back in. But right now, with Kevin's gaze darting between her soiled hand and the overhead call button like he expected security to descend any second, all she felt was electric.

Kevin grabbed two cocktail napkins from his tray table with jerky movements. "Here," he said hoarsely, thrusting them at her. His cheeks were flushed—from exertion or mortification, Emily couldn't tell.