I’m horny. Please… just fuck me. I promise I’d tip you extra when the plane lands.

The words fell out of my mouth before I could catch them, low and shaky, right against the soft collar of his uniform as he leaned over to collect my empty champagne flute. Zion froze for half a second—long enough that I felt the heat crawl up my neck.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said quietly, voice velvet-smooth and professional, the way they train them to sound even when a passenger is clearly ...