Managed (VIP 2)

I don’t blame him this round. The turbulence is awful. The plane rattles so hard, my butt is in danger of leaving the bed.

“Sunshine,” I whisper.

He doesn’t acknowledge me. I’m pretty sure his jaw is locked shut.

Edging closer, I tentatively touch his shoulder and find his body trembling. “Hey,” I say in a soothing voice. “It’s okay.”

The cabin drops a few feet to mock that statement, and he closes his eyes, turning his head away from me. He’s gone utterly pale, his breath coming faster. “Go. Away.”

“I can’t.” I move closer. “Look, I know you don’t want me to witness this. But I’m here. Let me help you.”

He sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth. “Distracting me with blowjob jokes won’t work right now.”

“I know.” I’m actually worried about him. He appears to be on the verge of an outright panic attack. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” I push back the covers and crawl toward him.

He snaps out of his terror, his eyes going wide. “What are you doing?”

“Cuddling,” I tell him.

If anything he grows more alarmed, and I’m sure he’d back away if he was capable of moving. “What? No.”

“Yes.” I settle down at his side. God, he’s cold. I sit up. He gives a sigh of apparent relief, but I merely pull my end of the covers over his legs before lying back down.

He squirms, making a half-hearted attempt to move away, but he’s already at the edge, and there’s nowhere for him to go. “This is highly irregular…”

“Yep. But we’re doing it.” In normal situations, I wouldn’t dare force this on a person. But he’s already focused on me instead of the turbulence, which is a step in the right direction. I rest my cheek against his biceps. The muscle is rock hard and quivering.

He clears his throat. “I don’t—”

“You’re one breath away from totally losing your shit. Accept the torment that is physical comfort.”

His arms twitch as if he’s trying not to lift them but really wants to. And then he gives up the fight and raises an arm, making room for me to come closer. Victory. I lay my head on his shoulder, wrapping my body against his side.

The contact feels good. Too good. Because, holy hell, touching him—really touching him—sends a jolt of warm pleasure through me. All the sensitive nerve endings in my body seem to perk up and pay attention. Which is wrong in this situation; I’m here to help the poor man, not get off on him.

I have no idea what he’s thinking. For a second he holds me. Or, rather, he holds on to me like a lifeline. Tremors rack his body, but it’s clear he’s fighting it.

“Shhh,” I murmur, stroking his chest. It’s a nice chest, broad and densely packed with muscle beneath the proper clothes. His heart thuds against my palm, and I feel him take a deep breath. “Just think of me as your friendly neighborhood cuddler.”

He’s quiet again before another question bursts from him. “Are you telling me you’d do this for anyone?”

I snuggle down. “No. That you’re insanely hot is a huge factor. I get to cop a feel under the guise of civic duty.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Can it with the outrage. I know for a fact that most people would rather snuggle up to a hot dude. If it makes me shallow for admitting that, so be it.”

He grunts even as his hand slips to the top of my arm. Long fingers stroke once before stilling. “Your honesty is astounding.”

“I know. Now hush, I have feels to cop.” I run my hand just a little down his firm pec, loving the way his abs suck in with his hitched breath. I’m teasing him, but damn, he’s nicely built. I force myself to stop. Only when I do, he tenses, and the tremors return. I realize my petting actually does soothe him.

I consider this a green light. Sinking into his hold, I stroke his chest and hum under my breath. He slowly eases, his body turning more toward mine, and my breasts press into the side of his ribs. The plane continues to jump and shake, and it’s a battle to keep him calm. Every inch of ground I gain, stupid turbulence pulls it back from me.

“I think we should name our kids by number,” I tell him.

His muscles clench and shift under my cheek. I can almost hear him internally debating how to respond.

“Dare I ask why?” he says finally.

“Because we’ll have so many, numbers seem easier. We can do like the king in Stardust. Una, Secundus, Septimus…”

“That seems inordinately cruel. Think of the shit they’ll receive in grammar school.”

“They’ll be too tough to be bullied. And I see you’re warming to the idea.”

I grin when he grunts. It’s not a no—more like a you’re crazy. I can work with that.