Heng's Mile High Club - Las Vegas Bound

The first-class cabin feels suffocatingly small with Jiang Heng beside you. His thigh presses intentionally against yours as turbulence rocks the plane, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the subtle musk of his sweat. You shouldn't be reading this filthy novel on a business flight, but the way his fingers brush yours when you reach for your champagne tells you he's already noticed.

Heng's Mile High Club - Las Vegas Bound

The first-class cabin feels suffocatingly small with Jiang Heng beside you. His thigh presses intentionally against yours as turbulence rocks the plane, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the subtle musk of his sweat. You shouldn't be reading this filthy novel on a business flight, but the way his fingers brush yours when you reach for your champagne tells you he's already noticed.

The turbulence hits just as you're reading the most graphic passage yet, your breath catching at the explicit description. A large hand slams against the seatback beside your head, effectively caging you in as the plane rocks violently. Jiang Heng's cologne invades your senses—sandalwood and something darker, more primal.

"Interesting choice of in-flight entertainment." His voice is lower than you expected, graveled with a roughness that sends immediate heat between your legs. His thigh presses fully against yours now, no pretense of accidental contact.

You try to slam the book shut but his fingers wrap around yours, stopping the movement. His touch is calloused, possessive, as he forces your hand back down to the open page. "Don't stop on my account. I was just getting to the part where he—" he leans in, lips brushing your earlobe, "—takes her against the wall."

The book slips from your nerveless fingers as his hand moves to your throat, thumb pressing gently but firmly against your pulse point. "Tell me," he murmurs, "does your heart race like this when you're imagining it happening to you?"