Seatbelt sign went off.

Crew vanished into the galley.

Cabin lights dipped into a soft golden hue — warm enough to sleep in, dark enough to sin under.

She adjusted her seat slightly, pretending to get comfortable.

Blanket up to her stomach.

Crop top still barely reaching it.

She didn't look at him.

Didn't speak.

Just... shifted.

Her legs, slowly, deliberately, slipped apart under the blanket.

One knee tilted toward the aisle.

The other toward him.

The fabric lifted with her thighs — and the blanket barely covered the heat underneath.

He tried not to look.

He f*cking tried.

But the soft rise of her top — now hugging her underboobs tighter with every breath —

and the way her thigh peeked out from the slit in the blanket?

It was torture.

Then, she "accidentally" yawned.

Arched her back.

Her body stretched, top lifted just an inch more — now the entire undercurve of her breasts was out.

No bra. No shame.

She mumbled softly, pretending to be sleepy.

"Mmhm..."

A soft little whimper, like her dreams were getting dirty too.

And then... it happened.

She let her head fall toward his side.

Not on his shoulder. Just near enough.

And the blanket slipped down — revealing one smooth bare thigh completely.

Her legs were parted.

Just enough for him to notice:

No underwear.

Nothing but warm, wet skin.

His cock twitched in his pants.

Tight. Angry.

Fighting the fabric like it knew it was being teased.

She didn't move.

Didn't fix the blanket.

She just breathed softly — her chest rising, falling, boobs bouncing gently with each fake breath.

His eyes roamed from her parted lips, to the valley of skin under her top, down to her legs...

and back up to her lips again.

They were parted.

Wet.

Dreamy.

As if ready to moan.

And she did.

Not loud.

But just enough for him to lose his fucking mind.

"Mm... yeah..."

His fists clenched.

He wanted to reach under the blanket.

Feel how warm she really was.

Slide one finger up her wet folds.

Make her moan for real.

But she just slept — or pretended to.

Like the little tease she was.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, the lights came back on.

A soft nudge on her shoulder.

His fingers — warm, careful.

"Hey," he murmured, low voice near her ear, "they're serving dinner."

She stirred, pretending to be disoriented.

Eyes fluttered open. Voice husky. "Hmm?"

The air hostess rolled the trolley closer.

"Ma'am, would you like to eat something?"

She blinked, smiled faintly, and sat up straight — her crop top still barely covering her.

He watched her pull the blanket off casually, and for a moment... her stomach and the underside of her breasts flashed under the dim light.

He bit his inner cheek.

She ordered, "Just grilled fish. And no bread."

Then turned toward him and raised an eyebrow.

He was still staring.

Not at her face.

At her body.

He chuckled, shook his head once, and finally leaned in — voice sinful, slow.

"Do you think it's okay to wear almost no clothes next to a hot guy on a long flight... and expect him not to lose control?"

She tilted her head, eyes innocent, lips parted.

"Hot guy? Who?"

He laughed.

Openly now. Low, deep, rough.

The kind of laugh that made her thighs press together.

He leaned back slightly, eyes still locked on hers.

"You're playing with fire, baby."

She smiled smugly.

Took a slow bite of her food.

But the second she swallowed, she choked slightly. A tiny cough escaped her lips.

He reached for the water.

She took it, nodded, and coughed again.

"Thanks," she whispered. "Didn't expect the fire to come back that fast."

He smirked. "Name?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

He leaned in, extended a hand like this was a business meeting.

"Zayan. Zayan Raizada."

Her hand froze halfway to her fork.

Eyes widened just a little.

She stared.

"Zayan?"

"Raizada?"

Her voice dropped, barely audible.

"The billionaire? The mafia empire's youngest heir? Asia's hottest bachelor...?"

His brow raised, lips twitching into a crooked grin.

"So you do think I'm the hottest?"

She looked away, biting back her smile.

"I think you're cocky."

He leaned closer, voice dropping.

"Only because I've got reasons to be."

And then — he picked up his glass of wine.

But his eyes?

Still locked on her lips.

And the way her top clung to her with every slow breath.