Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [82]
She had no idea what time it was, and she was past caring. If she could just breathe she’d be all right, but her throat had closed up and the panic was clawing at her.
And someone was pushing at the door, trying to get in.
Her brain wasn’t working any better than her lungs. “Occupado,” she said, using the first language she could come up with. She’d latched the door, hadn’t she? She didn’t want anyone seeing her like this—she was barely keeping it together, and in another moment she was going to start screaming…
She’d forgotten that locked doors were nothing to her companion. The bathroom was tiny, though compared to the usual cubicles in coach class it was practically palatial, and he pushed his way in, locking the door behind him and putting his hands on her.
“I can’t…” she gasped, hiccupping. “I can’t breathe….”
He pulled her into his arms, slapping his hand over her mouth, and she wanted to tell him that wasn’t helping matters, but couldn’t manage to do so. She could feel the scream of panic bubbling up in her throat. They were going to crash, and the two of them would be locked together in this tiny little space, incinerated, the fire eating her lungs and—
Without a word he picked her up and set her on the shallow edge of the sink, shocking her into silence. With one hand he yanked off her pants and underwear, and she heard the rasp of his zipper, and then he was inside her, pushing against her so hard that her back slammed up against the mirror.
He looked almost brutal in the dim light, and when he took his hand from her mouth, he kissed her, breathing into her. Moving, pushing deep inside her, and her response shocking, immediate.
Instinctively, she grasped the edge of the tiny sink to brace herself when he pulled her legs up around his hips. But then she let go, holding on to him instead, letting him fuck her, not caring, taking in deep, sweet gasps of air as her lungs opened and the hammering of her heart beat in time with the hammering of his cock.
He pulled almost all the way out, and she whimpered, reaching for his hips, trying to pull him back inside her, more, now. She needed the full thrust of him, needed the oblivion, needed not to think, just to feel him, throbbing, pushing, and her legs tightened around him.
“Don’t scream,” he said in her ear, a hot, hungry whisper. He said other things, words she didn’t understand, but she only climbed higher. “Don’t make a sound.”
He lifted her off the sink, pulling her down onto him, and she felt her body explode, every muscle and cell expanding into fiery pleasure. She opened her mouth and made no sound at all as she came, just an endless, arching silence, until he followed, spilling inside her, and only then a faint whimper escaped from her throat.
He pulled out of her, setting her down on the tiny patch of flooring, and she trembled, feeling the dampness on her thighs. She didn’t want to look at him, but if she turned away she’d have to see herself in the mirror, and that was even worse. She leaned against the bulkhead and closed her eyes, shivering.
She expected him to leave her. She heard the zip of his pants, and expected him to step away from her, leave her alone in the bathroom to pull herself together. Instead, his hands were very gentle as he moved her out of the way, running water into the tiny sink.
And then his hands were between her legs, and he was washing her, and she was too shocked to do anything more than let him. He tossed the paper towels, then took her discarded clothes from the floor and put them on her, waiting patiently as she lifted one foot, then the other. She was trembling, weak, totally compliant, and when he finished he wet another paper towel and washed her face with it, gently, like a lover.
She stared up at him, her eyes numb in disbelief. “We’re landing in two more hours,” he said. “Come back to your seat and try to sleep.”
She couldn’t