23. Layla
LAYLA
“ I s this crazy?” I ask, watching Chicago fall away beneath us through the jet's window. “This feels crazy.”
Bennett's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “Most good stories begin with a little insanity.”
When he showed up at my door last night, I expected morning sex and maybe breakfast. What I didn't expect was him canceling all our meetings and suggesting we 'disappear for a day' like it was as easy as ordering lunch. And maybe it is, when you’re Bennett Mercer.
“We can't just run away to Europe for the day,” I'd protested in between his many phone calls. “We have responsibilities. Meetings. People expecting us.”
One call to his pilot, another to Jenna with instructions to clear his schedule, and a final one to my assistant claiming a sudden bout of food poisoning, and here we are, thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, heading to Lisbon, Portugal, with Chicago's responsibilities shrinking with every mile .
“I've never played hooky before,” I admit, watching sunlight glint off his expensive watch as his thumb strokes my wrist. “Not even in college.”
“Never?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Not even for a concert or a road trip?”
I shake my head. “Always too worried about missing something important.”
He leans back, studying me. “And now you're missing a full day of meetings without a second thought?”
“With several second thoughts,” I correct. “But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoes, a satisfied smile playing over his lips. “Finally making some questionable decisions.”
“You know, I wasn’t like this before I met you,” I say, trying to sound stern, but there's too much wonder in my voice. “Everything I did was a very careful decision. Anything questionable was thoroughly over thought and then tossed out in the window in favor of the safer option.”
His smile turns wicked. “So this is my influence, then? Encouraging bad behavior?”
“Definitely. I blame you entirely.”
He shifts closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Good.”
The flight attendant approaches with champagne. She's the only crew member besides the pilots.
“We'll land in Lisbon in approximately five hours, Mr. Mercer.” Her smile is professional but carefully neutral. “Is there anything else you need?”
“We're fine, thank you, Karen,” he says. “Could you give us privacy until we call? ”
She nods and disappears through a discreet door. I catch her practiced expression of polite blindness.
“Five hours,” I muse, sipping the champagne. It's perfectly chilled, bubbles dancing on my tongue. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
His eyes darken. “I have a few ideas.”
The champagne nearly sloshes over the rim of my glass as he pulls me onto his lap, one fluid motion that brings us face to face. I let out a giggling squeal then steady myself with a hand on his shoulder, laughing.
“Careful! This is probably ridiculously expensive.”
“The champagne?” His hands slide to my hips, anchoring me against him. “Or the upholstery you're worried about staining?”
“Both?” I set my glass safely aside. “Though I imagine you could afford the cleaning bill.”
“I could buy ten more jets,” he murmurs, lips finding the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “But I’d ruin them all if it means being alone with you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, stealing my clever comeback. Instead, I thread my fingers through his hair and bring his mouth to mine.
The kiss deepens instantly, his hands sliding up my back as I press against him. Five hours suddenly feels insufficient for everything I want to do with this man.
“You know,” I murmur against his lips, “I've never joined the mile-high club.”
His laugh is low. “Another first for Ms. Carmichael? I'm honored to be corrupting you so thoroughly.”
“Don't get cocky,” I warn, rolling my hips against his and feeling his immediate response. “I'm still the good influence in this relationship. ”
“Relationship?” His eyebrow arches, hands stilling on my waist.
My stomach drops. Too soon. Too much. I start to backpedal, but his expression isn't one of alarm. It's thoughtful, almost pleased.
“Is that what this is?” he asks, voice gentler than I've ever heard it.
I swallow hard. “I don't know. What would you call it?”
His thumbs trace small circles against my hips. “Something that should scare the hell out of me.” His voice drops. “Something I couldn’t walk away from if I tried.”
The admission seems to surprise him as much as me, and his words hang, the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath my hands the only movement.
“I wasn't looking for this either,” I admit, vulnerability making my voice soft. “But I'm starting to think the best things are the ones we don't plan for.”
Bennett's fingers trace up my spine. “I'm not good at improvising.”
“Could've fooled me,” I say, gesturing to our surroundings. “Spontaneous trip to Portugal seems pretty unplanned.”
“That's different.” His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter. “This is calculated risk. I know exactly how much time we need, what we'll do when we land, when we'll return. The variables are controlled.”
“And us?” I ask. “Are we a controlled variable?”
His hands frame my face, thumb tracing my lower lip. “Not even close. You're the most unpredictable element in my life right now. I can’t predict what you’ll do next. Can’t forecast how you’ll make me feel.”
“Is that a problem? ”
“It should be.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “But I find I don't give a damn.”
“Good,” I whisper, and then we're kissing again.
His hands slide up my back, unzipping my dress and unhooking my bra while his mouth trails hot kisses down my neck. I arch against him, suddenly desperate, fumbling with his belt buckle.
“Here?” I gasp as he drags the bodice down to my waist, exposing my breasts to the cool air.
“Here,” he confirms, voice rough with need. “Now.”
“What if Karen comes back?”
“She won't. Not until we call.” His grin turns wicked. “We could fuck our way to Australia and back, and she wouldn't interrupt.”
The crude words send fire straight through me. I yank his belt free with one sharp tug that makes him hiss.
His hands grip my thighs, sliding under the skirt of my dress with delicious urgency. “Off,” he demands, already bunching the fabric around my waist. I lift my hips, letting him strip the dress away in one fluid motion.
“These too,” he growls, hooking his fingers into my underwear. The thin lace tears with a satisfying rip, his impatience sending a thrill straight through me.
“You're buying me new panties,” I gasp as his fingers find me, already slick and ready.
“I'll buy you a fucking lingerie store,” he promises, sliding two fingers inside me without preamble. “Christ, you're soaked.”
I cry out, my head falling back as he curls his fingers just right. “Bennett. Yes!”
His thumb circles my clit while his fingers pump into me, the dual sensation making my thighs tremble. “You like that?” he asks, voice rough with desire. “Tell me how much you like it.”
“I love it when you fuck me with your fingers,” I whimper, grinding down against his hand. “It’s all I can think about whenever I’m sitting across from you. Your hands. On me. Inside me.”
“Fuck, Layla.”
“Don't stop. Please.”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” he growls, freeing himself with his other hand. His cock springs free, thick and straining, the head already glistening. “Need to be inside you. Now.”
I nod frantically, beyond words as he positions me over him. With one swift movement, he impales me fully, both of us crying out at the exquisite sensation.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he groans, gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. “So tight around my cock.”
I brace my hands on his shoulders, rising and falling in a desperate rhythm. The angle is perfect, hitting spots that make stars burst behind my eyelids. “Yes, yes, God—harder!”
He responds by slamming me down on his length, the wet sounds of our coupling filling the cabin. “You like it rough, don't you?” he pants, one hand tangling in my hair to pull my head back. “Like being fucked like this?”
“Yes!” I cry out, shameless in my need. “Harder, Bennett, fuck me harder!”
He groans at my words, lifting me effortlessly, turning to press me against the nearest wall of the cabin. The cool surface against my back makes me gasp, but the sensation is quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of him driving into me with renewed force .
“Like this?” he growls, his hands gripping beneath my thighs, holding me open for him. “Is this what you need?”
“Yes. God! Yes!” My nails dig into his shoulders. “Don't stop!”
He buries his face in my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point as his hips snap against mine in a punishing rhythm. Every thrust pushes me higher, builds the pressure coiling at my core.
“So fucking good,” I moan as he pounds into me, the cabin wall cool against my back while his body burns hot against my front. His teeth sink into the sensitive juncture of my neck and shoulder, just hard enough to make me cry out in pleasure-pain.
“You're going to come for me,” he commands, one hand sliding between us to press against my clit. “Now. All over my cock.”
His words combined with the perfect pressure sends me hurtling over the edge.
I scream his name, inner muscles clamping down on him as waves of pleasure crash through me.
But he doesn't slow, doesn't stop, just keeps driving into me through my orgasm, prolonging it until I'm sobbing with overwhelming sensation.
“Not done with you yet,” he growls, carrying me to the nearest table without withdrawing. He lays me back, pushing my legs up and apart, opening me completely to his gaze. “Want to see myself disappearing inside you.”
He pulls out almost completely, the head of his cock catching on my entrance before he slams back in with brutal force. I cry out, gripping the edges of the table as he establishes a merciless rhythm.
“Look at you,” he rasps, gaze fixed where our bodies join, his voice thick with lust. “Taking every inch. So fucking perfect.”
I arch my back, sensation overwhelming coherent thought. “More,” I beg shamelessly.
He complies, gripping my hips as he slams into me harder, the table creaking beneath us. His thumb finds my oversensitive clit, circling relentlessly.
“Again,” he demands. “Come again for me.”
When I start to whimper that it's too much, he leans forward, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss that swallows my protests. His tongue mimics the motion of his cock, claiming me completely.
“You can,” he insists, voice ragged against my lips. “I want to feel you squeeze me again.”
He shifts the angle, hitting that perfect spot inside me that makes my vision blur. I'm clawing at his back now, nails digging into expensive fabric, not caring if I tear it.
“Oh god! Bennett. I can't!”
“You fucking can,” he growls, gripping my thigh and pushing it higher, opening me impossibly wider, thrusting even deeper. “Let go for me, Layla.”
The sound of my name, so raw and desperate, combined with the relentless pressure against my g-spot sends me spiraling into another orgasm, this one so intense I can barely breathe. My entire body convulses, inner walls clamping down on him as pleasure radiates outward in blinding waves.
I scream.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, movements becoming erratic. “Just like that. Milk my cock.”
He drives into me a few more times before stiffening, his release pulsing hot inside me as my name tears from his throat. He collapses forward, bracing his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing me, our bodies still joined as we gasp for breath.
For several minutes, we stay like that, trembling and sweaty, his forehead pressed against mine as our breathing gradually slows. When he finally shifts to withdraw, I whimper at the loss.
“Well,” I say when I can finally form words again. “That's one way to join the mile-high club.”
He laughs, the sound rich and warm against my skin as he presses a kiss to my collarbone. “I'm pretty sure we've just redefined the standard requirements for membership.”
I shift, wincing slightly at the delicious soreness between my legs. “I think we broke several aviation laws.”
“Worth it,” he murmurs, helping me sit up. His fingers brush my cheek with unexpected tenderness, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You're incredible.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I reply, trying for lightness despite the flutter in my chest. “For a corporate vampire.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “High praise from a Carmichael.”
I link my hands behind his neck and kiss him because I can’t help it.
“We should get cleaned up,” he says against my lips. “There’s a full shower off the bedroom.”
“This plane has a bedroom?” I gasp.
His laugh is rich. “Did you think I’d fly internationally without proper sleeping accommodations?”
“I haven’t exactly been on many private jets.”
“We still have over four hours before we land,” he says, eyes trailing over my body with renewed interest. “Just enough time to really make good use of the amenities. ”
“A terrible shame to waste all this luxury,” I agree, stepping closer until we’re breathing the same air. “Practically irresponsible.”
His mouth captures mine, the kiss both tender and possessive. When he lifts me into his arms, I let out a surprised laugh against his lips.
“I can walk, you know.”
“I’m aware,” he murmurs, carrying me toward the back of the plane. “But I like having you in my arms.”
Four hours until we land. Even longer until we return to Chicago and face whatever chaos our disappearance created.
A whole day before we have to decide if this is just an elaborate escape, or the beginning of something that will change everything.
Caleb probably thinks Bennett’s lost his mind. My assistant is probably fielding calls. And my father…
I push the thought away. Right now, there’s only this—Bennett’s arms around me, the gentle hum of engines, and the knowledge that for once in my life, I chose chaos over control.
And it feels right.
Not smart.
Not safe.
But perfect, in the way only chaos ever can be.