CHAPTER 32
EDEN
Ihad never been on a plane before.
Not even one of those tiny ones that look like they’re held together by optimism and duct tape.
And now I was standing at the base of Jagger’s private jet.
The aircraft waited on the tarmac like a predator in repose—black as midnight and edged in a deep gold that matched the Paradise Casino’s signature colors. The stairs were already lowered, an open invitation that felt more like a dare than a welcome.
My stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with physics. “That’s . . . small,” I said.
Jagger glanced at it, then back at me. “It’s not small.”
“It’s definitely smaller than the planes in movies.”
He smirked. “Those are commercial.”
“That does not help.”
His hand slid to the small of my back. “You’ll be fine.” That was easy for him to say. He looked like he was about to board a rideshare.
The engines hummed faintly, low and ominous. I swallowed and followed him up the stairs, resisting the urge to look down.
Inside, it didn’t feel like a plane at all. It felt like a floating living room with its cream leather seats, polished wood, and a small fully stocked bar. It was gorgeous, of course. But it was still made of metal and about to be in the sky. So it had a lot of strikes against it.
I sat down carefully, my fingers gripping the armrests like they might disappear.
Jagger took the seat across from me, watching me with an expression that was way too amused for someone who claimed to like me. “You’re pale,” he observed.
“I am not pale.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m calculating the probability of survival.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You survived me. You’ll survive this.”
“That is not the same category of threat.”
He laughed under his breath like I’d told a joke and moved, abandoning his seat to sit beside me instead. His thigh pressed against mine, and he draped his arm casually across the back of my chair.
“Put on your seat belt,” I hissed, and he snorted as he made a dramatic show of listening to me. The door sealed shut with a solid, final sound, and my heart rate doubled.
The plane began to move, slow at first, then faster as we taxied. I tried to breathe normally and not as though I was imagining us hurtling into the sky like a very expensive projectile . . . but I didn’t think I was doing a great job.
Jagger’s hand slid into mine. “Look at me,” he said quietly.
I did.
“Planes are safer than cars,” he continued. “Statistically. And this one is maintained obsessively. My pilot’s flown me through worse than a little takeoff.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He smiled faintly. “You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust that I wouldn’t put you in a situation I wasn’t certain about.”
The engines roared louder. My stomach dropped as the plane surged forward.
“Oh my gosh,” I breathed. The force pressed me back into the seat and then—we were up, and the ground was falling away.
My fingers crushed his as we tilted slightly, climbing, the city shrinking beneath us into something unreal and distant.
I realized I’d been holding my breath when he squeezed my hand. “Eden,” Jagger murmured. I exhaled shakily.
The climb smoothed out after a few minutes, and the pressure around my spine eased as the roar of the plane softened into a steady hum.
All right . . . so we were fine and still alive. For the time being.
I looked out the window cautiously. Clouds drifted below us like something out of a painting. The sun caught the wing at an angle that made it gleam. “That’s . . .” I swallowed. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”
Jagger watched me instead of the view. “You’re doing great,” he said.
“I feel like I just ran a marathon without moving.”
He brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “We call that adrenaline,” he laughed.
“I hate adrenaline.”
“You don’t,” he corrected. “You just prefer to choose when you get it.”
I rolled my eyes, and he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss across my lips before pulling back.
The plane hummed steadily around us. My heart had finally stopped trying to escape my rib cage. And then, because apparently surviving takeoff unlocked new anxieties, another thought crept in.
I shifted in my seat and tried to sound casual. “Your brother . . .”
Jagger’s brows lifted slightly. “What about him?”
“He’s going to like me, right?”
Jagger studied me for a second like I’d just said something absurd. “Of course he’s going to like you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because you’re you,” he said simply.
I frowned. “That is not a real answer.”
He exhaled a quiet laugh and leaned back, still holding my hand. “I’m more worried about you not liking him.”
That caught me off guard. “What?”
“He’s slightly insane,” Jagger said. “The best and the worst guy ever.”
I stared at him. “That is not reassuring.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You know what you need?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes. “To go back to Vegas?”
“A tour.” He grinned.
Before I could protest, he unbuckled my seat belt with one smooth flick of his wrist, then stood and tugged me up with him. His fingers laced through mine, and he led me toward the back of the plane.
The cabin narrowed as we moved past the bar and the cluster of seats. A sleek black door waited at the end, and Jagger turned the gold handle and pulled me inside.
My breath caught when I saw we were in a bedroom. A real freaking bedroom thirty thousand feet in the air.
The space carried the same black-and-gold aesthetic as the rest of the plane, but this time it centered around a king-sized bed.
A row of oval windows lined one side of the cabin, framing nothing but open sky—an endless sweep of blue with thin ribbons of cloud drifting past. I got a little queasy staring outside at the dizzying drop below.
Jagger kicked the door shut behind us, and I jumped when he turned the lock. He turned to me, his eyes dark and hungry. “Still freaking out about flying?”
I swallowed. My pulse was a drumbeat between my thighs. “A little.”
He stepped closer, crowding me until the back of my legs hit the bed. “Let me fix that.”
His mouth slammed against mine. I parted my lips for him right away, tasting the faint burn of whiskey he’d had when we’d first gotten on the plane. His palms roamed without mercy, slipping beneath my top and cupping my breasts before his thumbs brushed over my sensitive peaks.
I whimpered against his tongue, and he drank in my cries before pulling back just long enough to rip my shirt off and then unhook my bra in one swift motion. Sudden coolness washed across my bare skin, and my nipples drew even tighter under his scrutiny.
“Fucking hell. Look at you,” he growled.
Jagger sank to one knee in front of me and pulled on the waistband of my leggings and underwear, dragging both down together in a single impatient yank. I stepped free on trembling limbs.
He rose slowly, never once breaking eye contact with me as he pulled off his shirt.
The air between us thickened as his fingers moved to his belt and he tugged the leather loose before shoving his pants low enough to release himself.
His cock jutted free, and I licked my lips at the fact that the swollen tip was already weeping precum.
Jagger fisted himself and closed the last step between us. “Open your mouth, baby,” he purred.
I parted my lips without hesitation, even though this was the first time we were doing this.
This wasn’t just my first time giving Jagger head .
. . it was also the first time I’d ever really wanted to do it at all.
With Ryan, it had always been a duty that I swallowed down like bad medicine.
I’d hated the taste, the way my jaw ached, and the way it made me feel small and used.
I’d never once felt that spark of heat low in my belly; I’d never once craved the stretch, the fullness, the weight pressing against my tongue.
But with Jagger?
The second he guided himself past my lips, something snapped awake inside me. My mouth watered instantly. I wanted this. I wanted him to fill me, I wanted to taste the salt and heat that was only his. To see his control fray because of what I was doing to him.
Jagger fed me his dick slowly, his eyes on mine as my lips stretched wide around him.
I moaned at the salty taste of him, the sound vibrating around the head as he pushed in, inch by inch.
My eyes were watering from the effort, but I didn’t pull away.
I leaned forward instead, eager and greedy for more.
His free hand twisted gently into my hair, holding me exactly where he wanted while he rocked forward in shallow, measured pulses.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Take it all for me. Fuck, look at you.”
Evidently my pussy liked to be praised because every time he did it, I got extremely wet.
I hollowed my cheeks and curled my tongue along his thick underside, exploring every ridge and vein.
Saliva was dripping down my chin, but I didn’t care.
I wanted the mess and for him to see how eager I was to do this.
This wasn’t an obligation on my part . . . it was a need.
I moaned around him again, and the vibration pulled a rough sound from his throat. His hips stuttered once, then steadied. He fucked my mouth with careful restraint, deep enough to make my head spin, but never enough to hurt. Every slide forward sent another thrill racing through me.
When he finally pulled back, I chased him with my mouth, sucking harder, my tongue swirling greedy circles around the head like I could keep him there forever.
“Not yet,” Jagger growled as he grabbed my chin and tilted my face up, forcing me to release him with a slick pop. His cock bobbed free, glossy with my spit, and a thin silver thread stretched between my swollen lips and the flushed tip before it snapped.