As his fingers slid beneath her underwear, Fenella had to bite her lip to suppress a gasp.
"Shh, we need to be quiet," he reminded her, the smugness in his whisper making her want to do something that would wipe that satisfaction right off his face.
Two could play at that game. She adjusted her grip, changing the pressure in a way that made him inhale sharply through his nose.
Fenella delighted in the way Din's control frayed at the edges.
They found a rhythm, hands moving in concert beneath the blankets, the danger of discovery adding an edge that made every touch electric.
Fenella had never done anything like this—had never even imagined the possibility of doing something so daring. The girl she'd been back in Scotland would have been scandalized, and the immortal she'd become during her years of running would have seen it as an unnecessary risk.
But the person she was now, safe and loved by this magnificent man—this version of Fenella wanted to grab every moment of joy, every chance to feel alive.
"You're thinking too much," Din whispered, his fingers finding a spot that made her thoughts scatter like startled birds.
"Pot, kettle," she managed, increasing her ministrations in retaliation.
His head dropped back against the small pillow, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. The sight sent a bolt of satisfaction through her. This controlled, careful male was coming undone because of her touch, in a cabin full of immortals with exceptional hearing.
The power of it was intoxicating.
"I can't believe we're doing this," he breathed, the words barely audible even to her.
"I can't believe it took us this long to try," she countered, shifting slightly to give him better access while maintaining a slow, lazy rhythm with her hand. "All those nights at the bar, we could have been having so much fun."
"The bar?"
"Why not? That storage room is very private. It has a lock..."
"You're incorrigible," he said, but his fingers were doing something that made coherent thought increasingly difficult.
"You love it," she gasped, then bit her lip hard to keep from making more noise.
"I love you," he corrected, the words fierce despite being whispered. "Even when you're trying to corrupt me thirty thousand feet in the air."
"Especially then," she insisted, her movements becoming more urgent as pressure built low in her belly. "You like being corrupted by me."
His only response was to demonstrate just how skilled his hands could be when properly motivated. Fenella had to turn her face into his shoulder to muffle the sounds trying to escape her throat.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice strained as her hand continued its work. "Let go. I've got you."
And he did. Even in this mad moment of public intimacy, she felt safe with him, protected. He would never let anything bad happen to her, would never judge her for her desires, would never make her feel ashamed for wanting what she wanted.
The realization, combined with her trust and his expert touch, pushed her over the edge. She bit down on his shoulder through his shirt, her body shuddering with release as waves of pleasure washed over her. Through the haze of sensation, she felt him tense beside her, his climax following hers.
They lay frozen for long moments afterward, breathing carefully controlled, hands still beneath the blanket but no longer moving. Fenella lifted her head from his shoulder, wondering if she'd left teeth marks through the fabric.
"Well," she whispered, a giggle trying to escape. "That was..."
"Insane," he finished, but he was fighting a smile. "What am I going to do about the mess?"
"Take off your underwear and go commando."
He groaned. "We're never doing this again."
"Liar. Do you need me to help you?"
"No. I've got it."
