“Colt—” she says as I sneak into the washroom, but I cut her off, kissing her quickly and claiming her body with my hands. She melts against me, pushing into my kiss as my touch unlocks any remaining doubts inside her.

“Remember, quiet,” I whisper in her ear before nibbling on the delicious lobe. She whimpers, her soft breasts flattened against my hard chest, but I can feel the hard tips of her nipples. She runs her hands up my chest and around my neck, holding me close as she pulls herself up to my ear this time.

“Just do it. Just fuck me already. I dare you.” The words are needy moans, and she tells me how much she means it when she spins in place, a very tight fit in the small space, and pushes her ass back toward me.

She pushes at her leggings, lowering them and her knickers at the same time until the full lushness of her ass greets me. If there were room, I’d bow down and kiss her, eat her pussy out from behind. But there’s no space, no time for that right now. But I can grab her cheeks, so I do. Cupping the flesh in my greedy hands, I knead her.

“Going without you, Mr. Wolfe.” Her right hand leaves its balancing perch on the sink and drops between her thighs. I can’t see her hand in the mirror, but I can tell she’s rubbing her clit and it lights a fire inside me.

“Fuck, Elle. Wait for me, damn it.”

I grab a condom out of my wallet and then let my trousers and boxers fall. One quick stroke of my cock and then I’m rolling the condom on. Elle is bucking against her fingers, her luscious ass bumping against me and not helping matters in the least. But at last, I’m sheathed and lined up as she arches for me.

“You ready?” I ask her. In the mirror, her cheeks are stained pink, her eyes at half-mast with pleasure, and her bottom lip puffy from where she’s biting it to stay quiet. Her nod is sure, her body certain of its answer.

I don’t dally. No, I slam into her in one forceful thrust, bottoming out as she goes tight as a wire. Every muscle clenches, and I can feel her pussy clamping down on my cock. Her free hand claws at the mirror over the sink, and her mouth opens in a silent scream. Actually, not so silent.

I cover her mouth with my palm, growling in her ear to be quiet. She nods and kisses my palm, so I keep it there.

We don’t have time for sweet and tender, slow and leisurely, and I don’t think either of us even wants that right now, anyway. This moment has been building between us, and like a match to kerosene, we ignite instantly.

Trying to be quiet, I pound her, our bodies pumping together with hard, violent thrusts that thrill every nerve inside our bodies. My hips ache I’m fucking her so hard, but Elle takes it, begging me silently for more.

“Take your tits out for me. Let me see you.” One hand stays on the mirror for leverage, the other leaving her clit to work the wide V-neck of her shirt off her shoulders and then lift her breasts out of her bra. The bra acts as a shelf, setting her tits up in a sexy frame that lets me see her pearled-up nipples. They bounce hypnotizingly with every thrust of my cock into her sweet pussy. “Beautiful girl.”

Her hand drifts back to grip my hair, nearly pulling it out at the roots, but I don’t give a single fuck as long as I can stay inside her. The reach back makes her body bow, letting me in even deeper, and we both reach the edge of what we can take.

“Come for me, Elle. Come all over my cock. Right now.” The words are spat from between my gritted teeth, barely formed whispers.

She whimpers and lets go of her death grip on my hair to press my palm against her own mouth tighter. She’s crying against the flesh, knowing she’s being too loud but unable to stop it as I feel her pulse around me. Her quivering walls milk my cock, pulling every bit of cum from me as my balls pull up tight.

She droops, exhausted and spent, and I hold on to the condom as I pull out of her. “Oh, my God, that was . . .”

I arch a brow at her in the mirror, waiting for her to find the words, but she shakes her head. “I can’t even find adjectives. You fucked my vocabulary out of my head.”

I tie off the condom, tossing it in the trash and handing Elle a couple of paper towels to clean up. “Might I suggest fantastic, amazing, incredible, brilliant?”

Elle smirks, throwing the messy towels in the trash. I like that it’s not awkward or fake, either of us pretending that sex is this neat and tidy thing. Hell, I’m rinsing my meat and two veg in the sink while she watches, for fuck’s sake.

“You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, it seems.” The tease is light and bantering.

I dry off, slipping back into my boxers and trousers as Elle rights her own clothes. I place a smacking kiss on her mouth, murmuring against her lips. “I was talking about you, love.”

She blushes, looking pleased as punch with herself. And with me.

“How long have we been in here? What degree of walk of shame are we talking about out there?”

“There’s a scale?” I inquire, thinking that perhaps I missed this bit of Americana.

“Oh, yeah.” Elle nods definitively. “One to five, one being the worst. Five is just an awkward ‘I’ll call you’ when you both know that’s not going to happen. Maybe that’s bumped to a four if the sex was bad too. A one is full-blown morning after, in your party dress from the night before, walking through the frat house as the entire pledge group offers to make you breakfast and complements your singing ability.”

She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “I was a little loud in my drunken state, apparently. I might’ve yelled yeehaw at one point? Tiffany and I went to a country bar a few times.”

She looks as though she’s evaluating what she might or might not have done on this apparently not-all-that-hypothetical story that illustrates a level-one walk of shame.

Part of me wants to laugh at the outrageousness. Part of me wants to travel back in time and destroy any man who ever had sex with her or heard her having sex. The Neanderthal urge is a weird, foreign thing for me. I’m usually more casual, or at least I have been in my own relationships. Which haven’t ever been anything serious. But there’s some jealousy in my core, a greediness in my gut. I want to know her stories. I want to be in her stories. All of them.

“Well, I think we’re safe. Probably not more than ten minutes in here, and no one seemed the wiser when I came in.”

“Ten minutes? I’ve played seven minutes in heaven that weren’t remotely this good. Maybe your high opinion of yourself . . . and me . . . is warranted, after all.”

I like this. The playful lightness she brings to every situation. Even sex in an airplane lavatory.

“I’ll go first, make sure the coast is clear. You follow in a couple, okay?”

Elle nods, and I make my escape. As I suspected, no one even looks this way as I sit back down. Elle slips in a few minutes later, her ponytail a little tighter and her skin glowing.

“How’s everyone doing?” The flight attendant has made her way back to the front of the plane and is standing at my side. I nod politely, and she holds out two water bottles. I take them, slightly confused, and then she pulls two wet wipes and two tiny bags of pretzels from her pocket. “These flights do get rather long and boring, don’t they? We have about eight hours to go, so stay hydrated.”

Elle goes stiff next to me, so I jump in to defer any weirdness. “Thank you. We are feeling peckish, I guess. And a good nap is probably a good idea.”