As I lifted Nataya up, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, her body molding against mine as if she were made to fit there.
The heat of her flush seeped through my shirt, her breath hitching as I began moving toward the private cabin at the back of the plane. The air was thick with tension, with the unspoken promise of what was to come.
But then—Natalya, Claire, and Yelena all froze as they realized Polina and the others were watching. Their cheeks burned crimson, their bodies tense with embarrassment.
Natalya buried her face against my chest, her fingers clutching at my shirt like a docile kitten, her voice muffled but clear. "I can't believe this," she whispered, her arrogance shattering under the weight of her own desire—and the eyes of her subordinates.
