Mina
Water lapped around my breasts, and the combination of the hot water and cooler, misty air, along with his gentle caress, brought forth goose bumps to erupt up and down the length of my body.
He slipped a single finger inside me, pumping slowly, then, with the pad of his thumb, he resumed the intense stimulation of my clit.
"I like that."
I'd orgasmed through masturbation in the past, but if the sensations my body now rode provided any indication as to what the 'Big O' moment had in store, I was more than eager and willing to ride that wave out with the man I'd just met.
Sure, he was almost a stranger, but a stranger who stepped in and landed a plane, saving me and everyone else.
The man's hot, can fly a plane, and he has wickedly talented fingers. What more do I really need to know?
It's not as if seventy-two hours from now, any of this will matter. I'll get on with my life, and he with his. He'll become a lingering memory—one I may need to conjure up from time to time.
I was so close. I felt the sweet burn of the impending release along with the twitching of the muscles working their way around his finger.
A boom on the door, followed by not one but two knocks, made me jump, and I sat upright in the tub.
Dominic's gaze shot to the door leading to my assigned room.
The knob jiggled, but the door remained locked.
"Mina." Filipe's voice rose from the other side of the door, followed by three more knocks. "You in there?"
A handful of seconds ticked by, leaving my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
"Yes." I cleared my throat. "Where, uhm, w-where else would I be?"
"Whatcha doing?" His tone changed, and I knew from experience that twenty questions were about to kick off.
"I'm de-stressing in a tub of bubbles. Why?"
Dominic's hand slid to my upper abdomen, and he eased my body back until I was in the water and lying down once again.
"Are you alone?" Filipe's voice rose a few octaves.
"No, I'm in here with a fleet of bubbles, a guy with a hot body, and a bottle of wine," a nervous laugh left my lips, "which is why I'm talking to you, Filipe?"
A wolfish grin washed across Dominic's face, and his hand returned to its prior position between my legs, making me yelp.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good." I grabbed hold of his hand, stilling his motion. "Just spilled some wine."
Dominic licked his lips, then shook his head. Lifting my hands, he put one on each side of the tub.
"Don't move them," he whispered in my ear, then resumed his gentle, but persistent caress.
His touch was like an electric charge that only made my throbbing clit ache with need.
"When you're done, come to my room if you want. Mona's feeling better, and it looks like the quarantine's partially lifted."
My fingers gripped the sides of the tub so hard, I was sure I'd have to pry them off later.
"Why's that?" Involuntarily, my hips ground to the rhythm Dominic had set, and when he plunged a finger inside me, followed by another on the second stroke, I bit back a moan.
Dominic captured my mouth with his, muffling my mews of pleasure.
"Looks like it's food poisoning from Rosita's the night before the flight," said Filipe. "Seems everyone who had bovine plates got sick. Guess having the fish plate like you was a good call. Anyway, I'm down the hall, the second room on the left—the same side if you want to join us. Ciao."
Head spinning from an all-consuming orgasm, I didn't trust my voice to respond.
Hell, I wasn't even sure if Filipe was still in my room or not—damn lock picker.
I was lucky he didn't pick the bathroom lock. He'd done it before, twice when I'd fallen asleep in the tub: once in New York City when I first started flying, and then again in Madrid when I had extreme jet lag. He was like the younger sister I never had.
An image of my father's face flashed in the back of my eyes—a ghost from my past—and along with it, a shiver shook my body.
The coppery smell of blood infiltrated my nose, and blood splatter patterns whirled through my mind.
A voice from my past, Enrique Vaca's, invaded my thoughts, unearthing one memory in particular—one I had sent to its grave.
Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye to you, my love, I'd never lie—oh, wait a moment, I just spoke a lie because I never really intended to die.
"Hey, you're bleeding." Dominic brushed a thumb over my lower lip. "You okay?"
"Yeah." The motion of his touch pulled me partially back to reality. "I must've bitten it when I . . ."
"Let me." He grinned, then grabbed a washcloth. "I gotcha covered."
Dominic pressed the cloth to my lip for what felt like an eternity. His eyes held mine, and for the first time in a long while, I felt bare—emotionally vulnerable, which was something I had work hard to avoid.
After a bit of time, he gently removed the cloth. "I think you're good."
He offered a hand, and the moment I slipped mine on top of his, he drew me to my feet.
Words from my past lurked in the shadows of my mind, waiting for a breath to breathe life into them: a secret's a secret, and once spoken, you're trapped by its words forever. Never able to tell another about its cruel endeavor.
For the second time, an exposed sensation washed over me—one that had nothing to do with my mode of dress or lack thereof.
He grabbed a towel and handed it to me, and in the process, his gaze racked over my five-one, dripping wet frame. Desire flickered in his eyes, and the mere thought that I evoked those emotions in this Asgardian god made a small smile tug at the corners of my lips.
Holding the towel over my breasts with one arm, concealing the front of my body, I dried off the other arm. When I glanced up, his eyes seemed to look through me, or slightly off to the side.
Now, it was my turn to ask the question he had posed prior.
"Are you okay?"
"Me?" That panty-dropping smile spread his lips. "Oh, yeah. I'm good. Just enjoying the view."
"The view?" I glanced in the direction of his gaze and took in the reflection of my body from the back of my head to the heels of my feet.
My eyes widened, and I turned to face him.
"And it's a glorious sight." Dominic side-stepped for a closer look at my back. "What's with the tattoos? Wait, are these numbers?" He skimmed his fingers below my left shoulder blade, tracing the interlocking butterflies outlined in numbers.
"No. That'd be strange." A giggle slipped past my lips, and I wrapped the towel around my body to cover them. I looked from my clothing to the robe hanging next to his shirt.
"You want the robe?" he asked.
A simple nod of my head sent him retrieving the plush, white fabric. Within seconds, he was back in front of me, draping the garment over my shoulders.
I snaked my arms through the holes. The soft, plush robe felt as light as air.
His arm slid up the outside of my thigh, and he grabbed the flap of the towel. With one fluid tug, he pulled it free of my body while drawing me into his arms at the same time.
"Shall we continue this in my room, your room, or . . ."
He raised a brow.
"Your room." Standing on the tips of my toes, I softly brushed my lips against his. "Because I have a feeling Filipe will return. And next time, he might have company."
"Good to know. My room it is." He claimed my mouth with his but showed restraint and care as not to hurt my lower lip, but there was no mistaking the message behind the simplistic act: the man displayed exceptional self-control.