Misguided Vows (Lethal Vows Book 5)

I try not to make it obvious that it’s my first time flying in business class, but I’m certain if I have even one piece of hair out place, people will know I’m a fraud. When I first flew to London from Los Angeles I flew economy, and to be honest, I always thought I would. But here I am, with a ticket to New York—business class both ways. And I must confess, I like what I see so far.

Okay, so I may not have been subtle about my excitement since I boarded. Of course, I wanted to experience everything, so the minute they said to board, I was one of the first in line.

“Champagne?” the flight attendant offers me after I’ve gotten settled in my seat.

“No, thank you, water will do.” She hands me a glass before she walks off, and I sit back and watch as others board. I see men in suits, several women with designer bags, and even some kids, take seats in the rows in front of me. Wow. I feel like if I experienced this as a kid, I would never be able to fly economy again.

Someone in a sharp blue suit blocks my view. At first, I’m annoyed, then my gaze drops to his ass. Shit, he has a nice ass. I can definitely get used to business class.

I’m sinking deeper into my seat and looking over the rim of my glass, trying to be subtle, as I scan farther up the man’s body, when he removes his jacket and hands it to the flight attendant. She takes it with a smile, obviously admiring the view from the front, and now I’m curious about that angle too. He has a well-defined back, and even in that blue button-up I can tell he has muscles. Is it me or is it hot in here? Fuck, it’s really been too long since I’ve been with a man if I’m drooling like this. I take a sip of water. When the flight attendant walks away, I’m startled as he speaks.

“Do you stare at all passengers with those fuck-me eyes, milady?” he says and turns to face me.

Water involuntarily sprays out of my mouth and all over him. His blue shirt, which I was just admiring, is now slightly see-through. His blue eyes narrow on me, and as he looks down at his shirt, his gaze twinkles with mischief again.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

This man is bad news.

“If I wanted to get wet, I’m sure I could think of other ways to do it,” he says, and looks me over with a smirk. Heat scorches my cheeks, and I convince myself it’s from the humiliation as the woman across from me stares in horror. He blocks her from my view so I’m only focusing on him.

“I’m pretty sure stalking is poor etiquette,” I whisper shout.

His eyebrows raise and he looks down at his shirt pointedly. “Do you really want to discuss lessons on etiquette right now?”

I cross my arms over my chest. What did I do in a past life to deserve this torture?

“It’s time to take your seat, sir.” The flight attendant taps Will on the shoulder. I roll my eyes, pissed to realize I’m stuck with this asshole sitting in front of me for the entire flight. He cocks a boyish grin at me before taking his seat.

As the flight attendant walks by again with the tray of drinks, I stop her.

“I’ll take the champagne now.”

She smiles and hands me a glass. I gulp it down as we prepare for take-off.

This will be fine. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

We’re served a meal, and I don’t see him. He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t even turn around.

I put on a movie and take another glass of champagne, and that’s when he decides to stand up. He opens the overhead compartment, and I watch him over my glass as his shirt rides up slightly.

He’s such an ass, but damn, there’s no denying the Gods were generous when they sculpted him. He looks good. Fucking smells good too.

I press the call button to order another glass of champagne. Once I finish ordering, he looks down at me and then proceeds to lean over and invade my space. What cheek he has! I’m trying my hardest to focus on my tablet, looking at new designs and materials I’ve been curious to use.

He doesn’t speak, just takes me in with those blue eyes, and it makes me squirm in my seat. I can’t fucking concentrate.

“Can I help you?” I growl at him.

He quirks a cocky smile and innocently says, “No, I was just stretching,” before stepping back and sitting down.

Gah. This asshole knows how to get under my skin.

I drink another glass of bubbly to try to ease my frustration.

Now, I need to go to the toilet, and I can feel the alcohol kicking in. I didn’t plan to drink alcohol during the flight, but his presence required it. It’s a miracle I didn’t drink myself into oblivion last night at dinner. But asking me to have the amount of strength to tolerate him two days in a row is a no-go. As I stand, so does he, and we come face-to-face. He may be taller than me, but I stare down my nose at him.

“Fancy seeing you here—” I lift my finger to his lips to shut him up.

“Do not call me milady again. Do I look old to you?” His lips curve under my finger into a slow and steady smirk. He opens his mouth to speak, but my finger is still there. What am I doing? I quickly pull it away, embarrassed, and turn away to move through the lightly dimmed cabin as I make my way to the bathroom.

Just as I reach the bathroom door, a hand grabs me and pushes me inside. I’m startled but know it’s him even before I turn and my head slams into his chest. I gape in shocked horror as he shuts the door behind us, locking us in. The bathroom is bigger than the ones in economy, but it’s still close quarters.

“Alina,” he says, and I stare at his lips as my name leaves his mouth. They’re audaciously pink, and I know how soft they feel because I was touching them only moments before. “You prefer me to call you that?” My gaze is still pinned to his mouth. His hand lifts and his thumb touches my bottom lip. I take in a sharp breath, knowing I should pull out of his reach.

I don’t like this man.

I don’t know this man.

But I like his touch, even if the man is an ass.

“You should answer me; we don’t have long.” He glances at his expensive wristwatch. “I wonder if you can come on my fingers within two minutes,” he purrs, and my breath rattles as I’m sucked out of my thoughts. When he removes his thumb from my bottom lip, I stifle a small moan. His smirk grows and he pushes up against me.

My heart hammers in my chest when his body presses against mine, my face nestled in his neck, and I can feel him.

“Do you want me to slide my hand up your skirt right now, Alina?” he whispers in my ear, and my heart is fucking pounding like a treacherous bitch. And then a low ache begins between my legs at the insinuation.

No.

No.

No.

The pulsing between my thighs intensifies as his feather-light touch glides along my elbow.

Yes.

No.

Maybe?

Fuck it.

My head nods of its own accord.

“Oh, what a good girl you are,” he croons, sliding his hand from my elbow, until it’s between us. He reaches down and lifts my skirt, his cock still firmly pushing against my leg through his pants.

My hips move back just a little to give him more access as he slides his hand up, and I am so thankful right now that I have on a skirt. My hands stay at my sides, unsure if I should touch him.

Should I?

Probably not.

Am I out of my fucking mind doing this?

Yes.

Am I elated about it? Also fucking yes.

He moves my panties to the side, and as his fingers slide between my folds, he presses on my clit, then moves his finger again, dancing down to where I’m throbbing.

I suck in a breath as I stare into his blue eyes that seem to be attuned to my every twist in expression.

The energy around us is charged.

He’s intense.

I blame the alcohol. Or maybe the lack of having sex with someone for so many months.

I want him to touch me all over and to absolutely ravish me.

I inevitably fall forward, my face pressing against his blue button-up shirt, as he slides the first finger in. I grab his other wrist, my hand clenching around his watch, to center myself. A small moan escapes me, a mixture of relief and demand for more. Especially when I can feel his very hard cock between us. I’m so hyper-focused on what he’s doing, that I can’t think straight.

What is even happening?

I hate this man, don’t I?

He slides in and out with a perfect rhythm. His thumb circles my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, but I feel greedy for more as I rub against him. I can’t help myself. The champagne has gone straight to my head, but fuck, this feels so good.

My head lolls back as he inserts a second finger, and now I’m shamelessly riding his hand. Fuck, I hate this man so much. But the way he makes me feel…

“I’ve never seen you so quiet,” he says smugly.

My eyes burst open at his comment, but neither of us change the rhythm.

“Shut up. Your personality is still off-putting,” I whisper shout as I ride his hand to oblivion.

He chuckles, and it does something to me. It’s like it runs down my spine and almost snaps me in two as he says, “But you like my fingers?”

“Very much,” I breathlessly admit as he picks up the pace, as if rewarding me for telling the truth.

Oh fuck.

His lips brush against my neck, and I lean back, basking in the bliss as he kisses down my throat. I feel the pressure of his lips on my skin as he continues finger fucking me. One of my hands snakes into his hair, drawing him closer to me. Wanting his lips and body firmly pressed against me.

Fuck, I’m so close.

I place my other hand against the basin behind my back to support me.

I’m so close.

A moan slips free as I come undone on his fingers. My grip tightens in his hair as I hold him in place, riding the wave of pure bliss. My entire body convulses, and I sigh with relief.

The minute I do, he pulls back, and I realize my mistake. He’s smirking, those crystal blue eyes shining with mischief. Victory. He’d got what he wanted, but I supposed, in a way, so had I. I can’t stand this man, but my body was an obvious beacon of sexual frustration and attraction toward him. I’d be far too stubborn to initiate anything with this man. It’s as if he knows this as he smugly smiles, turns, opens the door, and closes it behind him without so much as saying another word. I lick my lips and take a deep breath, recapping what the fuck just happened.

I run my hands through my hair and look at myself in the mirror, shocked.

Did I just get fingered on the plane?

Am I part of the mile high club now?

Okay, maybe I’m part of the slutty club, because damn, that was hot.

That’s when my gaze lands on the not-so-subtle red mark branded on my neck. My jaw unhinges. Did that little fuck just give me a hickey?