But the subtly troubled look in his eyes as they toggled between mine and the window told me he was struggling. He wanted to look at me, but couldn’t. And it pained him. I wondered if anyone else but me would ever pick up on it.

I realized they probably wouldn’t, and I understood the sadness and frustration of feeling like this thing had been thrust upon you and, as best you tried, you couldn’t escape it. It controlled you when it shouldn’t. It got in your way and held you back. It was that horrible, self-deprecating voice in your head that undermined everything you did. Some days, it was louder than others, but it was always there.

Fuck. I looked up and drew in some air. I don’t know what came over me in that moment. Call it scotch. Call it the strange and brutally honest conversation we were having, but somewhere inside my mind, what we were doing felt far more intimate than sex. We were showing our insides to one another and the feeling of closeness—something I’d never experienced with a man—left me wanting more. The feeling was powerful and consuming and I think that only someone who’d been deprived of it for as long as I had could understand why I wanted to do what came next.

I stared down at my hands for a moment, my core tingling with the explicit thoughts.

“Close your eyes,” I said, knowing this was insane and, once I let it happen, there would be no turning back. But for once in my life, I wanted to feel like a real woman. Unashamed to feel sexual. Unafraid to take what she wanted. Powerful.

“Why? Are you going to punch me in the face?” he asked.

I slid my hand over his lap and rested it on his groin. “Not exactly.”

I half expected him to push it away in disgust, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and tipped his seat back.

Well, twist the man’s arm. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, but I wanted it more than I wanted to think or rationalize. And he seemed to be offering himself up freely for my personal exploration.

I slid from my seat, pushed up the armrest between us, and got down on my knees. I could already see him straining against his jeans.

God, he’s so perfect. I didn’t deserve this fantasy, but I wanted it anyway.

I maneuvered my way between his legs into the tight space at his feet and then began unbuttoning his jeans. When I glanced up at him, I noticed his sharp breathing and rigid posture. Both excited me. I liked having this effect on him.

Slowly, I finished unbuttoning his fly and found hard pink flesh awaiting me. No underwear. Did most men go commando? I didn’t know, but it was sexy as hell.

I placed my hand on him, and he gasped as I pried his hard cock free. I’d never seen a penis up close and personal, but it was more erotic and sensual than I could’ve imagined—the soft velvety head glistening with a drop of moisture, the veins pushing against the soft skin, and the thickness and length so substantial. I wondered how something like that would ever fit inside. Then there was the patch of male hair surrounding the thick base like a wreath of sin.

I must’ve been staring at it, holding it in my hand for way too long, because he grumbled, “Are we getting on with this or not?”

I glanced up at him and smiled. His eyes were still closed, and he looked tenser than hell. But something about conquering this man’s fears made me wet. I just hoped the videos I’d seen during my Internet explorations were accurate.

I lowered my mouth over the tip of his head, and he jerked his body. I assumed from his groan, he liked it. I, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of the flavor. Salt and male musk. It was different from anything my lips could’ve imagined.

I slid him further in and enjoyed the instant power I felt from having his cock inside my mouth. I slid my head down, his hips pushed up, and his breath whooshed out. I drew back, and his hips pulled back. It was strangely delicious and sexy, and with each stroke of my tongue and mouth over his shaft, I felt like I was the one who was going to come.

He slid his hands to the back of my head, urging me to move faster, his hips pumping his thick cock in time with the movement of my mouth.

“Oh yeah. Suck it,” he groaned. “Harder.”

The gravelly, carnal sound of his voice mixed with his dirty words were like warm gasoline on my fire.

I moved my mouth faster and let the length of him slide back a little further.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered, cupping the back of my head more firmly with those two strong hands. “Fuck yes.”

This was the moment that I usually saw women do one of two things in the videos; take it on the face or suck it up. Both options did not seem too pleasing to me, but I’d started this little therapy session, and I had to end it. Him coming on my face was…well, embarrassing for me and probably counterproductive for him.

Then the thinking part of this first encounter was over.

He came. Hard.

He groaned with a deep thrust that hit the back of my throat, pouring himself into my mouth. I swallowed the salty heat of him down and looked up, meeting his eyes as he watched me take him.

That moment of connection—crude, primal, sensual, and erotic all at the same time—was oddly satisfying. Or maybe triumphant was the right word. I felt powerful knowing I could turn this man on and get him off. Especially given the obstacle.

He finished with one final little thrust and then threw back his head, panting hard. “Fuck. That was amazing, Lily.”

He’d called me Lily, and I couldn’t remember if he’d used my first name before, but it made the moment feel even more intimate.

I stared up at his face. He was so beautiful sitting there with his afterglow, totally free from his thoughts about his phobia or anything else. He was just a guy who’d had his dick sucked and felt fabulous.

I suddenly felt jealous. Oh, to be on that cloud where nothing else matters. I sighed and wiggled my way from between his legs, leaving his pink cock out for me to look at one last time. It was so damned beautiful. Just like the rest of him.

I slid into my seat and reclined, turning away from him. I didn’t know how to feel about what I’d just done to him. I think I liked it a little too much, which was a huge mistake. A man like that was way out of my league.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“Just tired, Mr. Cole. Goodnight.” I should’ve called him Max, but I didn’t want to—I felt the need to keep a little distance between us.

I heard him get up and leave. Probably to his own seat or something. Frankly, I didn’t care. I had no business wanting the things I suddenly wanted. And it scared the hell out of me.

You can’t let this go any further, Lily. You’ll just get hurt. I could feel it in my gut.

Around three p.m. Milan time, I woke up to a gentle prod from one of the pilots alerting me that the flight was over. When I sat up, Mr. Cole was heading out the door, screaming at someone on his phone in Italian.

I hoped everything with the show was okay. From his tone, it didn’t sound like it.

“Thank you.” I nodded to the pilot, stretching my arms.

“Miss Snow!” Mr. Cole screamed from outside. “Hurry your ass, please.”

I looked up at the pilot and shrugged. But then I realized I didn’t have to take the rude talk lying down. And I was capable of reciprocating.

“Hold your pants, Mr. Cole. I have to pee!” I supposed I should’ve used the word “piss” to mirror his rudeness, but pee sounded nicer.

I stood from my seat and gathered my things. As I passed the pilot, he gave me a wink, and I smirked like we were in some secret club belonging to the serfs.