“What are you—”

A hand covered my mouth, cutting off my question. My heart beat too fast, thumping wildly in my chest. Someone had to hear the rapid beat or my harsh breathing. I tried to pull his hand away. My fingers fumbled, clumsy and stiff with terror. The cell phone clattered to the floor, its sound almost completely enveloped by the roar of the engine beneath us.

We were completely insulated back here. And alone.

“I ask the questions.” The voice cut through the darkness, low and raspy.

I shook my head, whether in refusal or shock I didn’t know. Let me go, I tried to say, but my lips couldn’t even form the words beneath the force of his palm, my throat didn’t make a sound under the threat of his body.

His hand tightened, cutting off the air flow to my nose. I struggled, kicking out and catching him on his leg. He grunted and eased up, enough to let me breath, not enough to let me go. I sank back against the wall, limp with relief, until he picked up my phone.

“What have we here?” Pale blue light from the screen traced broad shoulders and blunt facial features. He looked up. His eyes were impossibly cold, almost reptilian in their unfeeling. An animal. “Are you placing a phone call?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Let’s see.” He still spoke low, barely audible above the rushing sound in my ears. “You’ve sent a text message…two minutes ago. Surely you realize that’s not allowed.”

“I’m sorry. It was just one. Or two! I won’t do it again.”

“Two messages. What could be so urgent?” He pressed a button. “Miss you.” His gaze met mine over the top of the phone. A wicked light danced in his eyes. He was enjoying this. “And thinking about kissing you.”

My cheeks heated beneath his hand.

His smile was sly and calculating. “Lonely, are you?”

I had to look away, humiliated, my innermost thoughts laid bare, flayed open by cold condescension. My stomach tightened into knots. Typing them in the dark, all alone, had been one thing. But I’d never expected this.

“And what’s this? If you were here, I’d kiss you everywhere. Well, well. Was this so important you had to violate FAA regulations? I wonder what the security personnel in France would have to say about that. They would detain you, at the very least.”

A tear leaked from my eye, skating down my cheek and over his hand.

What? Why? My eyes asked the question.

He chuckled. “It’s a safety violation, of course. And this? It could be a code. Suspicious activity. And you’re the perfect cover, all innocent-looking. But you aren’t innocent, are you? Not if you’re sending men texts like this.”

I looked down, ashamed. He reached behind him and produced a strip of fabric. A sleep mask! He spun me around. I barely had time to register that my mouth was free—to beg, to scream—when he had wrapped the cloth around my mouth like a gag. He tied a knot with efficient, practiced movements. My hands came next, trapped behind my back and handcuffed with more fabric. Had he prepared for this?

Or was he always prepared to capture a girl in the backroom of wherever? I struggled, yanking my hands, testing the ties.

“Shh, stop that.” He leaned in close, hands on my hips. His mouth was right against my ear, whispering. Soothing. “Don’t fight me. I only want to have some fun with you. To use you for a little while. You don’t mind, do you? We both know you want it too.”

He reached around and unzipped my jeans. His hand reached inside bluntly, rudely, beneath my panties as if he had every right to be there, in the folds of my sex where the dampness gave me away.

His breath caught. “Oh, that’s nice. Very nice.”

His forefinger dipped lower into a pool of wetness that grew and grew. I imagined a dark stain on my panties. Would it leak through to my jeans? Would everyone know? He drew the moisture up and over my clit, drawing circles that made me jerk in his hold.

He pinched my clit in reprimand. “Take it. Just accept what you have coming and it won’t hurt. Much.”

His other hand drew my shirt up, baring my belly and chest to the cool air. My nipples tightened beneath the lace cups of my bra. It hadn’t been a comfortable choice for a long plane ride, but I’d wanted the lingerie to be a surprise. I’d imagined undressing for Hunter with the skyline of Paris behind me. Not like this, bound and gagged. Not with cruel fingers shoving the thin lace down, exposing my breasts in the small dark room.

I glanced back to the curtain. Would anyone come here? I doubted anything could be heard, especially not my whimpers or his groans, but maybe a flight attendant would catch us. Would they stop him? They’d have to. And they’d see me like this, half naked. Worse than naked, my clothes bunched and pinching, framing the most shameful parts of me.

“Then you’d better get me off fast.” He must have read my mind.

I hung my head, resigned to my fate.

That must have pleased him. He turned me around and pushed me down. The floor was some kind of springy mat, surprisingly comfortable on my knees. I could barely see him in the lack of light. He loomed in front of me, my entire world. But I could hear him. His harsh breathing. The rasp of a zipper.

He didn’t even have to say it. I want to kiss you everywhere. I’d written my own debasement.

My mouth and throat were dry when he yanked the gag out of the way. The fleece fabric had taken all the moisture away—but he put it back. With his fingers first, shoving them in, deep enough so I gagged. Then the spongy head of a cock pressed against my lips. I’d been trained well for this. Without a thought, my lips parted, letting him in. He was already slippery, salty, precum coating his cock. The taste of him coated my tongue as he slid deeper.

He cradled the back of my neck, his hands gentle as he held me still for his thrusts. He started shallowly, letting me get used to his rhythm, his size. His hands tightened in my hair. He pressed in deeper, hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, choking, jerking my head away and struggling against the bonds on my wrists as he continued to press deep.

“Don’t whine. It’s only going to get worse.”

And God, he was right. Because then he started to move, fucking my face in a relentless rhythm. I couldn’t time my breaths or make a sound. I couldn’t even think about stopping him. My world narrowed to his cock in my mouth. I became nothing more than something warm and wet for him to come inside. It didn’t even matter if I struggled or passed out as long as he could use me like this.

Everything blurred. I almost didn’t register when he pulled away. My eyes were flooded with tears. My throat felt raw. He didn’t have to put the gag back in and he knew it. The last thing I wanted was for someone to find me like this. If the French officials minded my dirty texts, they’d definitely mind me naked and shivering in the back of the plane.

“I was going to come in your mouth, but I can’t.” He sounded almost apologetic. “I have to get inside that pretty cunt. It was just too wet. I need to feel it around my dick.”

I blushed furiously. Too wet. As if I’d brought this on myself.

With a gentle shove, he pitched me forward until my face was pressed against the floor. What had seemed soft under my knees felt unyielding against my cheek. The smell of rubber suffused me. How many stewardesses had walked back and forth in their sensible pumps, never knowing what would happen here? How many would continue to do so, stepping on the salt of my tears?

A rough tug pulled my jeans all the way down to my knees. Then he was kneeling behind me. Not between my legs, but with his knees outside mine. I was hogtied, with my hands still tied and my legs locked together by the jeans, unable to even protect myself against what was coming.

“Wait,” I said.

He pressed his cock against my opening and slid home. I bucked against him, twisting away. Even on the inside, my muscles squeezed, trying to push him out. Useless, all of it. He may as well have been a part of the airplane itself, machinery that couldn’t be moved by human strength. Even his cock inside me felt more like metal than flesh, hard and invasive.