25. An Interesting Honeymoon
CHAPTER 25
An Interesting Honeymoon
ALISTAIR
I’m amazed at how well Ivy is dealing with the violence she has just witnessed. I know she’s tough despite what her appearance would lead one to believe. I admire grace under pressure. It’s just another reason to love her. Perhaps I’m looking for the silver lining in this chaotic and dangerous time. Seeing that Kalashnikov pointed our way when Ivy, Alex, and Brumilde were in the car almost made me panic. I’m not too worried about taking a bullet, but if anything ever happens to my new little family… well, I’d rather not think about it. The most important thing is to keep everyone safe until we establish a way forward. It’s difficult not to obsess over the recent developments. The idea of drones bombing the manor—when my parents were home—is enough to make me go postal. Losing a bright and fiercely loyal intelligence agent in Blackwood is devastating. Mikhail Kuznetsov’s violence has been shattering and ruinous, and I’ll never forgive the man for murdering Mariya Ivanov, the mother of that precious boy in Brumilde’s arms.
The Mirror Bratva started this war, but I am going to end it.
I refuse to live in fear of a menace of a family who live over a thousand miles away from us. I will do anything and everything it takes to end them. My muscles are tense, my jaw aches from being clenched. I am no good like this. No superior strategy comes from a place of fear. I need to relax in order to think clearly and plan our next move. I sigh out a deep breath and make a conscious decision to push every anxious thought of our treacherous situation out of my mind. A clear head is required, but that is easier said than done. I close my eyes and take a few breaths to ground my flitting fearful thoughts.
When I open my eyes again, I realize what I need, and who I need it from.
Ivy’s taken her shoes off and is prancing around the Gulfstream cabin like the lovely hippie she is, offering drinks and snacks and bobbing her head to a tune no one else can hear. When she’s done, she flops down into the seat opposite me and grins. Utterly delicious, as always.
She hands me a flute of chilled champagne. It’s all the encouragement I need to snap my laptop shut. There is a small growl in the back of my throat. “Look at you, playing sexy airplane stewardess.”
“This isn’t the fifties, Alistair,” she replies. “We’re called cabin crew now.”
“Yawn. I’ll take an air hostess over cabin crew any day.”
Ivy nods. “That’s because you’re a bad man.”
A chuckle escapes me. “Am I?”
She moves her eyebrows suggestively. “Wanna join the Mile High Club?”
“Thank you for the alluring invitation,” I reply. “But you’re around twenty years too late.”
“You slut! ” she whispers.
I slant my head as if in thought, then nod once. “Accurate.” I take a sip. “So then I guess the better question would be would you like to join the Mile High Club?”
“Yawn,” she mimics. “Not in the mood anymore. Turns out my boyfriend’s a ho.”
“I can’t believe you’re slut-shaming me,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Bitterly disappointing.”
“You’re the one who’s disappointing,” she says, putting her bare foot between my thighs.
When I adjust myself and look back up at her, she quickly lifts her skirt and flashes me.
“Now who’s the hussy?” I hiss.
“I guess we both are,” Ivy replies, lips curving up. “It’s why we get on so well.”
I find myself growling again. I’m ready for her.
“That day at the protest. I was ready to give up men and sex altogether.”
“God, that would have been an utterly tragic waste.”
“Good thing you saved me,” she says, mischief dancing in her eyes.
“Indeed,” I reply. “Although I think the word ‘save’ is a little strong. I just gave you a hand.”
She smiles suggestively. “You gave me a little more than a … hand.”
I laugh.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she says. “I fucking love your hands.”
“You were worried I’d kidnapped you,” I muse.
Ivy chuckles. “It was a fair suspicion. I woke up in a strange room, with a strange man staring at me.”
“You have a point.” I concede.
“ And you hacked my phone.”
“Also fair.”
“You were also fucking gorgeous, so that was worrying.”
I almost spit out my champagne. “What do you mean ‘were’? Were gorgeous, past tense?”
She laughs.
“And why is being attractive a red flag? Is this a new woke thing?”
“No, it’s a BookTok thing.”
“I feel like you’re speaking in code.”
“It’s a popular dark romance trope. Being kidnapped by a bad guy. He’s always super hot. So there are short videos about how readers fantasize about being kidnapped by these guys who tie them up, threaten them, and then give them magnificent sex.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “Are you one of these readers? Would you like to role-play?”
“No thanks,” Ivy replies. “Too close to home to be a fantasy for me.”
“Shit,” I say, immediately sorry. I grab her foot. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”
Ivy shakes her head. “Don’t be. I’m not going to let Jeff fucking Bates dictate my erotic life. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for that particular roleplay. I’m up for other kinds, if you’re keen.”
“Ivy Mickelson, you should know by now that if you are in the room there is never a time that I’m not keen.”
“Ooh,” she says, squirming in her seat. “Looks like we’ll be having an interesting honeymoon then.”
I down what’s left in my glass. “We were always going to have an interesting honeymoon.”
Ivy pilfers the ice-clattering wine cooler with the champagne in it and tells me to meet her in the small conference room in five minutes—perhaps the longest five minutes of my life. It’s a shiny white streamlined room with six pale leather chairs and a drinks fridge. I look around the cabin, wondering casually if anyone would know what we’re up to. Everyone seems absorbed in their devices, apart from Brumilde, who is sleeping soundly on a recliner with baby Alex on her chest. At the appointed time I stand and make my way over. The sliding door to the room is closed, so I knock.
Ivy rolls it open with a flourish. She’s holding the champagne and grinning, but that’s not what makes me laugh. She’s dressed head to toe in the sleek uniform of the jet’s cabin crew: a pretty white blouse with cuffed short sleeves and a smart silver neck scarf, a tailored charcoal pencil skirt, and a matching blazer with an asymmetrical silver clasp. Her incredible legs are in sheer black stockings which I very much hope are held up by suspenders.
“Hello Mr. Ravenscroft,” she purrs. “I do hope you find everything in order.”
Even her red lipstick is the approved shade—I’m not sure how she got that right.
I shouldn’t laugh. I straighten my face and play along. “Better than expected, thank you.”
Ivy quirks an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear that, sir.”
“In fact,” I say, stepping into the room. “The trip so far has exceeded every expectation.”
“I’m delighted to hear that, Mr. Ravenscroft. Your feedback is important to us.”
“Is that so?” I ask, closing the door behind me.
“Oh, yes,” Ivy says. “I’d go as far as to say it’s essential.”
I take a deep breath and prowl toward her. “What I’d like to know is if your underwear is correct.”
She’s surprised. “Correct?”
“You know, cabin crew issue. We can’t have staff wearing whatever they like under the uniform.”
“That wouldn’t do,” Ivy agrees. “The staff should respect the strict uniform policy at all costs.”
“So you’re ready for inspection?” I ask.
“I am,” she replies. “Would you care to take a seat?”
Barely able to hide my amusement, I cross the small room and sit in the elegant leather swivel chair. Ivy passes me a glass of champagne.
“Where’s yours?” I ask.
“Cabin crew don’t drink on the job,” she replies.
“Not even this excellent vintage?” I ask. “That’s outrageous.”
What is also outrageous is the hardness of my cock. It’s difficult to sit back and relax with the throbbing in my trousers.
Ivy sees it. “Strict, but necessary. Our boss is very … rigid,” she says.
“I see.”
“I think he may actually enjoy punishing us.”
I shift in my seat. “How does he punish you?”
“Oh, you know,” Ivy replies. “A riding crop, if it’s convenient. Or his hand.”
I take a deep inhalation through my nose. All senses activated; my body is alive with anticipation. “He sounds like an awful man.”
Ivy starts unknotting her neck scarf. She doesn’t break eye contact.
“To the contrary,” she purrs.