I still haven’t acknowledged this particular nickname, but I’m too busy trying to breathe to think of a comeback.
And even breathing is hard, because he’s so close my lungs are filling with his warm cologne scent, and it’s reviving every hormone I’ve ever had.
Finally, Dom settles back against his seat and reaches down to buckle his seat belt.
With his attention elsewhere, I quickly reach for my belt and pull it to the longest length, hoping he doesn’t notice.
Sometimes the seat belts on a plane are a struggle. Sometimes there is more than enough length, and I have to tighten it several inches, and sometimes they seem to be made for only slender bodies—or even men with beer guts who somehow have tiny waists—but not made for wide-hipped, thicker women.
The panic of impending shame edges into my mind, but then the belt clicks, and I realize first class is built differently because the belt is sagging across my lap.
I let out a breath of relief, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like Dom can’t see my body with his own eyes. But the thought of having to ask for a seat belt extender in front of him makes me want to peel off my skin.
Even if you had to, it wouldn’t matter. It’s just a body.
I take another breath. It’s amazing how quickly shit you thought you dealt with can come flying back at you when you’re confronted with a new situation. Such as the attention of an overly attractive man who happens to be your type in every way possible.
A hand I’m becoming familiar with appears in my line of sight, and Dom grips the little tab at the end of the seat belt and pulls it, tightening the belt until it’s secure across my lap.
“Thank you, sir.” A female voice sounds from the aisle, and I see one of the attendants smiling down at us. “Gotta keep your wife safe.”
My mouth pops open to correct her, but before I can think of the right thing to say, Dom sets his hand on my thigh. “Someone has to.”
All I can do is gape.
“Would you like a headset?” the attendant keeps smiling as she asks us.
“We’ll share one,” Dom answers.
The woman hands him a small package, and through the clear plastic, I can see the white coil of cord with two earbuds attached.
Dominic slides those bright blue eyes my way.
“Is this you leaning in?” I whisper.
He smirks. “You’re getting it now, Mama.”
Mama.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The fingers on my leg flex, causing the fabric of my wrap dress to shift so the edge of the top layer slides down between my thighs. I’m still covered, but now the fabric is outlining the shape of my thighs and riding just a little higher.
Dom clears his throat and lifts his hand away.
I think he presses his palm to his lap.
I think he might be adjusting… himself.
But I’m too much of a coward to look.
I busy myself, checking out the tiny water bottle in my seat pocket. I use my fingertip to see if there’s anything behind the safety pamphlet also in the pocket. Basically, I do anything but look at Dom as the last people take their seats. And since I didn’t take anything out of my backpack, I don’t have anything to hold my attention. So I fiddle.
Dom doesn’t fiddle. He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t even take out his phone. He just sits there, fingers laced together, hands in his lap.
If I look at him, I’d know where his eyes are focused, if they’re on me or on something else. But I don’t look. I just imagine them half-lowered, as close to rest as a man like him might get in public.
I have no idea what type of man he really is, but he seems like the type that doesn’t easily trust others. The type that doesn’t cut loose, no matter how much he leans in to a situation.
The speakers crackle, and the pilot tells the crew to prepare the cabin for takeoff.
I fiddle more.
Smoothing my skirt. Crossing my ankles one way, then the other. Lifting the little flap in the armrest that hides the lap tray, then lowering it.
When I adjust the little napkin sitting on the flat space of the armrest between us, an inked hand settles over mine, and my fingers still.
“Nervous?” Dom’s voice is low, making sure I’m the only one who hears him.
“No,” I answer too quickly. Then I let out a breath and try to relax my shoulders. “A little.”
“Why?” He doesn’t sound judgmental. He sounds like he really wants to know.
There’s another announcement, and the plane starts to roll away from the gate.
“No good reason,” I tell him truthfully. “But the sky kinda seems like the ocean to me.”