He slips in next to me and pulls me close—calling my bluff by kissing me again and again.

“When’s the last time we had sex?” I whisper against his lips.

“This morning in the shower.” He slides a hand between my legs, gently rubbing my clit. “You don’t remember?”

“Yes...” I moan softly as he bites my bottom lip and rolls me on top of him.

“Are you sure?” He kisses my neck. “I can fuck you again to make you remember.”

“Ahhh...” I feel his cock hardening beneath me, feel him palming my ass as he continues kissing my skin. “Andrew...”

I draw my head back and kiss his lips, running my fingers through his hair. I feel him pulling at the back of my bra, unsnapping the first hook, but a familiar sound breaks our moment.

It’s the patter of little feet against the hallway’s hardwood floor.

Sighing, Andrew kisses my forehead and gently rolls me off of him.

“I’m scared...” Autumn says as she walks into our room. She walks over to Andrew’s side of the bed and lifts her hands up. “Can I sleep in here?”

“Yes.” He immediately picks her up and places her between us, tucking her in once again. His hand reaches out for mine and he caresses it, silently saying we’ll finish in the morning.

“How much longer do you think she’ll do this?” he whispers an hour later. “It’s starting to happen twice a week.”

“Is it bothering you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good.” I sit up and lean over Autumn, briefly kissing him on the lips before returning to my pillow. “Because I’m pretty sure it’ll keep happening until you learn to tell her no...”

TURBULENCE

SYNOPSIS

Strap yourself into the cockpit for the 'flight of your life' via the newest erotic romance from New York Times bestselling author Whitney G.

Jake Weston and I met under a cloud of clichés: Boy meets girl. Boy charms girl. Boy screws girl.

He was the sexiest, cockiest man I'd ever encountered, but I had no idea he was a senior pilot when we met. No idea we worked for the same airline and had secrets just like me.

After a passionate night of unforgettable sex, I thought I'd never see him again, but when I did, neither of us could walk away...

We weren't supposed to be together, we definitely weren't supposed to fall in love, and yet our turbulent and forbidden love affair took on a life of its own.

We knew we could potentially crash and burn, but what we had was so intoxicating and inescapable that we were both willing to risk it all...

This is us.

This is our messed up love.

This is Turbulence.

This is for you.

Only for you.

TURBULENCE (n:)

The quality or state of violent disorder or commotion.1 Chaotic or unstable motion in the atmosphere.2 US. Anything and everything that characterizes us.3

PRE-BOARDING

GILLIAN

Prologue

How many times will you burn me?

Three, four, five, maybe ten—

Is it me who’s burning you?

Yes, ‘this’ needs to end.

If you walk away first, I’ll follow suit.

I’ve told you this before, and yet you never do...

The first time I flew through severe turbulence, I swore on my life I’d never fly again.

It happened during a red-eye flight from Seattle to London, when three hours in, we were swept up in a sudden summer storm. The plane shook violently as the passengers screamed and prayed for their lives, and my calm assurances of “Hold on! Everyone, please just hold on!” fell on deaf ears.

The pilot was young and inexperienced, his soft voice not comforting in the least. And as the glasses from the first class cabin shattered onto the floor amidst toppling luggage, I promised myself that my days in the sky were long over if we ever landed.

I broke that promise hours later, of course, but I could finally say that I’d experienced the worst of what turbulence could ever be.

Or so I thought.

“Miss?” A passenger in first class interrupts my thoughts, touching my elbow as I walk down the aisle. “Miss?”

“Yes?”

“How much longer until we arrive in Paris?”

“Eight hours, sir.” I resist the urge to tell him that he asked me this question fifteen minutes ago. “Would you like something else to drink tonight?”

“A refill on my white wine, please.”

I nod and quickly oblige, retrieving the wine from the galley’s cooler and filling his glass to the top. I need to take care of him as fast as possible so I can finally sit alone and address the unbearable ache in my chest.

“May I have a blanket as well?” the man asks before I can step away.

I force a smile and retrieve one from the overhead bin above his seat, unwrapping it for him and placing it onto his lap. “Would you like anything else?”

“No, but—” He stops mid-sentence and raises his eyebrow. “Oh, wow, your face is really red. Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” I lie. “It’s allergy season.”

“Allergies? On a plane?”

“Would you like anything else from me, sir?” I feel a tear rolling down my cheeks. “If not, I’ll be sure to check on you again soon.”

He doesn’t answer me. Instead he pulls a handkerchief from his breast-pocket and holds it out to me.

“Whatever it is,” he says, looking me up and down. “I hope it’s not a guy. You’re much too beautiful to cry over something like that...Wait. It is a guy, isn’t it?”

I don’t respond. I simply take his handkerchief and walk away.

I head toward the back of the plane—past a cabin full of sleeping passengers, and lock myself in the lavatory. As more tears fall down my face, I pull out my phone and log into my private blog so I can reread the words I wrote months ago. So I can remember the agonizing feeling of failing to listen to myself.

~BLOG POST~

This is the last time I will say this to myself.

The very last time.

My heart can’t take another sequence of angry arguments, another round in this dangerous game of “Will we make it? Should we make it?” or another spin on this never-ending carousel of highs and lows.

Yes, the way this man fucks me is incomparable and leaves me craving more the second he pulls out of me. And yes, the way he pleasures my pussy with his mouth and makes me come for hours on end will forever be unparalleled. But the way we fit (rather, don’t fit) has finally reached its climax.

I will not go back.

I will not go back.

I. Will. Not. Go. Back.

A knock comes to the door before I can read the rest, and I sigh.

“Someone’s in here,” I say. “The occupied light is on.”

The knock comes again, much louder this time, so I groan and open the door.

“The occupied light is clearly—” My words are cut short with a gasp, as I take in the sight of the man I currently despise, the man I’ve been attempting to avoid this entire flight. The pilot. His beautiful blue eyes are glaring into mine, his jaw is clenched, and no matter how badly I don’t want to be attracted to him right now, I can’t help it.