"When the seatbelt sign is off, all boundaries are too."
Celeste didn't do economy.
She also didn't do commitment, limits, or apologies.
As a luxury travel columnist with over 2 million followers and a reputation for sipping Dom Pérignon at 30,000 feet, Celeste lived her life like a never-ending holiday. Her social feed was filled with villa views, infinity pools, and brief but blazing flings with beautiful strangers she never saw twice.
But this flight was different.
This wasn't a trip she planned.
It was an escape.
Her phone buzzed as she settled into Seat 1A first class, of course, bound for Bali. The screen lit up with a name she hated: Anthony. Her ex. Or, more accurately, the man who once thought he could own her.
She let the screen dim and leaned back in the buttery leather seat, grateful for silence.
Until he boarded.
Not Anthony.
Him.
The stranger.
He wore a tailored navy suit, no tie, and an air of quiet authority. Salt-and-pepper stubble, a Rolex that looked inherited, and a calm, commanding presence that made every flight attendant take one extra glance.
He sat directly across from her Seat 1B. Their knees nearly touched.
When their eyes met, something sparked.
Recognition?
No.
Temptation.
"Celeste," she offered with a playful smirk, sipping her champagne.
"Julian," he replied, accepting the drink the attendant handed him without looking.
Their conversation started formal, small talk about flights, turbulence, travel. But under the clink of crystal glasses and whispered exchanges, a new game began.
Julian wasn't a talker. He was a watcher. Every glance from him lingered, calculated, like he was reading her with his eyes.
Celeste, used to being in control, felt herself unraveling.
He didn't flirt.
He invited.
As the flight reached cruising altitude, the attendants dimmed the cabin lights. Most of the passengers in first class slipped into sleep masks and reclined silence. But Celeste and Julian remained wide awake.
He leaned in slightly, voice low.
"You enjoy being watched, don't you?"
She tilted her head. "Only when the watcher is worthy."
A smile touched his lips. "Then let's make this flight interesting."
He didn't wait for permission. He simply reached for her wrist, slowly, letting his fingers slide along her pulse. She should've pulled back. She should've said stop.
But instead, she whispered, "What do you have in mind?"
The curtain separating first class from the galley was partially drawn. The lights low. The hum of the engine drowned out the soft gasp she made when Julian's hand slid under the blanket draped across her lap.
It wasn't crude. It was controlled.
A test. A tease. A fantasy unfolding above the clouds.
Hours later, when they finally landed, Celeste's legs still felt like air. Julian waited for her to disembark. Their eyes met again at the terminal.
He slipped a black card into her palm. No name. No number. Just a QR code and a note:
For your next journey should you want turbulence again.
He walked away, not waiting for a response.
Celeste smiled to herself, heart still racing, and whispered,
"Next flight, Julian. Window seat."