Skybound Ecstasy: The Possessive Pilot Who Flew Straight Into My Heart

"Why are your legs pressed together so tight? Do you like it that much?" The man's voice was low and rough, the sound curling around Gillian Brown's ear and sending a tremor down her spine.

She found herself pinned awkwardly inside a restroom stall, his large hand gripping her waist, his movements growing more relentless with every passing second.

She had pleaded for him to stop more than once, but he seemed determined to push her past her limits.

"Ashton, please—I can't take anymore. Let's stop, okay?" Gillian's voice was thin and shaky, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The man behind her let out a quiet, taunting laugh. "Wasn't this what you wanted, my sweet soon-to-be cousin-in-law? Have you finally had your fill?"

The teasing lilt made her freeze. That wasn't Ashton's voice. Something was terribly wrong.

Heart pounding, Gillian turned her head, her eyes going wide in disbelief.

The harsh light revealed a sharply handsome face, broad shoulders, and a solid chest. This wasn't her fiance, Ashton Moore—it was his cousin, Luke Moore, the man who'd walked away from the family empire to chase the skies as a pilot.

"Why is it you?" Gillian's entire body went rigid, her hands shaking as she instinctively tried to push him away, panic rising with every heartbeat.

But the moment her hands met his chest, Luke caught her wrists in a firm grip, holding her fast.

"Didn't you just wrap your arms around my neck and tell me how much you wanted me?" He leaned in, his gaze dancing with wicked amusement. "You practically dragged me in here yourself. Sure seemed like you were enjoying yourself a minute ago."

At his words, Gillian bit her lip until she tasted blood.

She remembered now—after a single glass of wine left her head spinning, she'd glimpsed "Ashton" leaving the lounge and acted on a reckless impulse, only to find out too late that the man she clung to was Luke.

"I had no idea it was you!" Her voice cracked, eyes shining with angry tears. "You knew who I was, so why didn't you stop? Why go through with it?"

Luke let out a soft, unbothered laugh, one hand cupping her chin as he spoke with infuriating calm. "You kept calling me 'honey,' remember? And you were all over me before I could get a word in. How was I supposed to know you weren't doing this on purpose?"

The accusation made Gillian tremble with rage. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she raised her hand, aiming a slap at his face.

"You bastard! I'll call the police—I swear I'll make you pay for this!"

Luke caught her wrist with ease, pinning it above her head.

"Go ahead. Call the police if you want. But the hallway cameras saw you come in of your own accord—good luck convincing anyone you were forced. And think about it: if this goes public, do you really think Ashton will want a fiancee who threw herself at his cousin? Or that the Browns can handle that kind of scandal?" His rough thumb traced her swollen lips, his tone dangerously soft.

Gillian's face went pale, the weight of Luke's words settling over her like a shroud.

She knew he was right, but the thought of letting this humiliation slide made her stomach twist with bitterness.

Three years engaged to Ashton, and not once had they shared intimacy.

Worse still, the Brown family's business was teetering on the brink—her father, Fritz Brown, accused of contract fraud, their company gasping for a lifeline investment to survive.

If Ashton ever found out what happened now, Gillian could only watch as the Browns went under and her father was left to rot in prison. Her mother, Sophia Brown, was already gone—she couldn't bear the thought of destroying everything her mother had worked for, or letting Fritz fall.

Swallowing her pride along with the sharp taste of blood in her mouth, Gillian forced herself to speak, her voice rough. "Fine. Let's just forget this happened, Mr. Moore. From now on, you stay out of my life, and I'll stay out of yours."

She shoved Luke aside and began to put herself back together, every motion stiff with fury and shame.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded from just outside the stall.

A man's voice rang out, playful and mocking. "Ashton, your fiancee is something else. I can't believe you've gone this long without marrying her. If she were mine, I wouldn't have waited."

Ashton's reply was thick with drink, his tone careless and cold. "You think I'm interested? Three years engaged, and I'm already sick of her. Her family's on the verge of collapse. If it wasn't for my grandfather, always worried about appearances, I'd have dropped her ages ago."

The first man's laughter was sharp. "If you're not interested in marrying her, why not sleep with her before you kick her out? Why let another guy enjoy what's yours?"

The men kept talking, unaware that anyone else was listening from inside one of the stalls.

Gillian stood frozen, bitterness twisting in her chest. So she'd been right all along—Ashton wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her skin. Part of her wanted to burst out and slap him across the face, but shame pinned her in place. After what she'd just done, any confrontation would only blow up in her face.

She'd always known the truth: if Moore Group hadn't backed the Browns, her family would have gone under long ago. Without her engagement to Ashton, everything she cared about would crumble.

Swallowing the ache in her heart, Gillian decided it was safer to wait. She'd slip out unnoticed once Ashton and his friend moved on.

But just then, someone outside struck a lighter. The acrid smoke drifted in, making Gillian cough uncontrollably.

The conversation outside broke off. After a tense pause, Ashton's uncertain voice called out, "Gillian?"