CHAPTER 32 #2
I whimpered at the loss, and Jagger dragged his thumb roughly across my bottom lip, smearing the mess across my lips before slipping his finger into my mouth.
I didn’t hesitate and licked it immediately, savoring the taste.
My eyes stayed on his the whole time, wide and wanting, showing him exactly how much I loved this.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now turn around. Get on the bed and on your knees. Ass up for me.”
I scrambled to obey, my heart slamming against my ribs as my knees sank into the plush dark sheets.
My back arched instinctively as I pushed my hips back toward him.
The oval windows waited right in front of my face, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be terrified at the moment . . . not with what was about to happen.
Jagger nudged the inside of my ankle, forcing my thighs wider until I was spread open and exposed. He smoothed his rough palms over my hips before he gripped me hard and dragged the thick head of his cock teasingly through my folds. I whimpered as he brushed my clit with every pass.
“Beg for it, Eden,” he rasped. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”
I bit my lip, my thighs trembling. “Please—”
“That’s not good enough,” he said, and even though I couldn’t see him at the moment, I knew he was smirking. “Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you want. Tell me how empty that pretty pussy feels without me stretching it open.”
Heat flooded my face, my chest, everywhere. My core clenched on nothing, aching so fiercely it hurt. I pressed my forehead to the cool sheets for a second, then lifted my chin, my voice coming out shaky but desperate.
“Please, Jagger,” I breathed. “I need you inside me. I need your cock so bad it hurts. I’m dripping for you—look how wet I am, how much I want you.
Please fuck me. Stretch me. Fill me up. Please .
. . just please give it to me. I’ll do anything.
I’ll take it however you want. Just don’t make me wait anymore. ”
“That’s my girl,” he said through gritted teeth as he drove forward and buried himself to the hilt, stretching me wide and filling me so completely my breath punched out in a broken cry.
The burn was exquisite, and my walls pulsed around him greedily, trying to pull him deeper even as he already bottomed out.
Jagger’s hands locked on my hips as he withdrew almost to the tip, then slammed back in.
The wet slap of our bodies filled the cabin, mixing with my gasping moans and his curses.
Each punishing drive jolted me forward. The angle was devastating—he hit that spot inside me over and over until my vision sparked white at the edges.
“Fuck, Eden,” he groaned. “This cunt was fucking made for me. Listen to how you’re sucking me in every time I pull out.”
I glanced back over my shoulder, catching the flex of his abs, the clench of his jaw, and the way his eyes were locked on where we joined—like he couldn’t look away from the sight of his cock disappearing inside me again and again.
Jagger leaned over me so that his chest was pressed to my back. He slid his hand up to collar my throat while the other one banded across my stomach and found my clit. He rubbed fast, merciless circles that matched the punishing rhythm of his hips.
“Eyes on the sky, Eden,” he murmured into my ear as he gently squeezed my throat. I stared into the endless azure out the window as he rutted inside me again and again.
“Jagger—please—”
“Say it,” he demanded, his thrusts turning savage. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” I gasped. “Only you. Always you. Please don’t stop—don’t ever stop.”
“Fuck yes.”
He pressed harder on my clit, and the tension snapped. I came with a scream that echoed off the walls. He fucked me through every shuddering aftershock, drawing it out until I was sobbing his name and I was nothing but sensation and surrender.
Jagger didn’t stop until his hips stuttered, and with one final, punishing thrust, he buried himself deep and flooded me with his cum until I felt it spill, hot and slick around him.
We stayed locked together, both of us panting as I stared dazedly out the window. He finally pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to my nape. “Still scared of flying?” he murmured, sounding completely smug because he knew he’d just fucked me silly.
“Apparently your dick is the cure for that,” I said with a tired laugh.
He chuckled, then eased out of me, turning me around until we faced each other. “Welcome to the Mile High Club, baby,” he teased. “Paradise Edition.”
I pressed my cheek to his chest, still feeling him everywhere.
And thirty thousand feet above the world, I’d never felt more alive.
Jagger
I would never forget the look in Eden’s eyes when we stepped out of the bedroom.
Not because of what we’d just done—though that alone was worth commemorating—but because Blanche was standing there in her orthopedic shoes with a tray of brownies like this was a church social and we hadn’t just defiled a multimillion-dollar aircraft ten feet away.
Eden’s hair was slightly wrecked, and her cheeks were flushed in a way that made my dick hard all over again. She had a dazed, floating expression that made it very clear she’d just been well fucked.
“Oh good,” Blanche said brightly. “You’re alive. I was about to assume there was turbulence back there I wasn’t feeling.”
Eden made a sound that I’m fairly certain wasn’t a real word, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Blanche didn’t even raise an eyebrow. She simply held out the tray like she’d been doing this since the invention of aviation.
I loved her.
The septuagenarian staffing decision had not been random. It had been born of experience. Traumatic, couch-related experience.
The idea had first taken root after flying on Lincoln Daniels’s plane.
At the time, I’d thought it was strange that he’d hired an entire roster of elegant grandmothers to handle in-flight service.
I’d assumed it was some wholesome branding quirk.
Maybe he liked the vibe. Maybe he had unresolved childhood issues.
Then I’d learned the real reason.
No one flirts with your wife when the flight attendant looks like she might knit you a sweater and judge your life choices at the same time.
I’d privately rolled my eyes . . . until the day I walked out of my own plane’s bathroom and found one of my flight attendants naked on the couch, legs spread, and smiling as if she’d just won a raffle.
She had not won anything. She had been unemployed before we landed, in fact.
After that little episode, Lincoln’s grandmother brigade started looking like a stroke of genius.
Blanche had come highly recommended by a retired senator who described her as “discreet and terrifying in equal measure.” She’d interviewed me like she was vetting a charity case, asking about my travel frequency, my expectations, and my boundaries.
I hired her on the spot.
Blanche would never strip on my furniture.
Blanche would never flirt with me.
More importantly now, Blanche would never flirt with Eden.
That was the real brilliance of Lincoln Daniels’s plan.
Eden was still standing there, staring at the brownies as though they were evidence in a trial.
Blanche tilted her head kindly. “Brownie, dear?”
Eden glanced at me, mortified, but I was having the time of my life.
“You should take one,” I said, perfectly straight-faced.
Blanche cleared her throat gently. “Hydration is also advisable.”
Eden managed, “Thank you,” in a tone that suggested she’d prefer to be dropped midair.
Blanche smiled with the unshakeable confidence of a woman who had seen decades of human behavior and found most of it predictable. “You’re very welcome.”
I took a brownie from the tray and nodded at Blanche. “You’re a national treasure.”
“I know,” Blanche replied without hesitation.
Eden choked on her first bite, and I slid an arm around her waist, pulling her into my side as she tried to recover from embarrassment, desire, and the presence of a grandmotherly chaperone all at once.
Lincoln had been right.
Hire the grandmothers. Trust the grandmothers.
And never again walk out of a bathroom to find someone naked on your couch.
Blanche adjusted the tray and turned back toward the galley like nothing had happened.
Eden buried her face briefly against my shoulder. I looked down at her, at the flush still staining her cheeks, at the way her eyes refused to meet Blanche’s.
Worth it.