35. Flying Tensions And Heated Turbulence
Flying Tensions And Heated Turbulence
~ E LIZABETH~
"Is flying to another country really necessary for protection?" I fan myself with the safety pamphlet, trying to create even the slightest breeze in the stifling cabin air. We're cruising at 37,000 feet, and yet I feel like I'm sitting in a sauna. Even after stripping off my sweater, leaving me in just a thin tank top, the heat is almost unbearable.
Holmes doesn't even look up from his laptop, his fingers moving steadily across the keyboard. "It's for your own good until we can determine who's behind these threats."
"This is completely unnecessary," I groan, slumping back in my first-class seat. The leather sticks uncomfortably to my skin, and I shift, trying to find a position that doesn't feel like I'm melting.
"It's pack protocol," he says simply, as if that explains everything. As if whisking me away to another continent is a perfectly reasonable response to a few threatening letters and one failed kidnapping attempt.
One failed attempt that ended with my supposedly dead best friend sniping someone in the middle of campus, but still.
"Is it also protocol to force me to sit next to you?" I ask, eyeing the empty seats around us in the half-filled first-class cabin.
The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly. "No, that's simply a preference."
A growl of annoyance escapes me. "I'd rather sit with Carter." Who's currently stuck in economy class because this last-minute flight didn't have enough first-class seats available. Holmes had wanted to use a private jet—because of course he did—but apparently Christmas air traffic made that impossible.
Two days until Christmas.
The thought should fill me with joy, but right now it just adds to my irritation. Everything's been chaos since the incident in the woods. The guys have implemented what they call "protective measures" but what I call "driving me insane with hovering." I can't go anywhere alone, can't even walk to class without an escort.
They even got my father involved, which resulted in additional security that I definitely don't need. Though watching Dad and Holmes argue about the best way to keep me safe was entertaining, if slightly terrifying.
"No more assassins," Holmes had demanded.
Dad had just shrugged. "Cannot make promises. Is tradition now."
I shift again in my seat, guilt creeping in beneath my discomfort. I know I shouldn't be this annoyed. The pack is just trying to protect me, and honestly, it doesn't bother me as much as I'm acting like it does. I'm just in a shitty mood today, everything feeling too tight, too hot, too...much.
Which is ridiculous, because this should be the happiest I've been in years.
For the first time since Harvard, I won't be spending Christmas alone. I have a pack—one that's actually been approved by my family (Marissa's opinion notwithstanding). I've gotten into my dream dance school, with the potential to return to Harvard when I'm ready to face those demons. My childhood love is part of my pack, something teenage me would never have believed possible.
And Jessie... my best friend who I thought was dead is alive. We haven't had the chance to properly reconnect yet, but I know it's coming. She promised we'd catch up after the holidays, and despite everything that's changed, I know she still keeps her promises.
I should be grateful.
Instead, I'm sitting here feeling like I'm going to crawl out of my skin, agitated and annoyed and so damn hot I can barely think straight.
"I need to use the bathroom," I announce abruptly, already unbuckling my seatbelt.
Holmes finally looks up from his laptop, his visible eye narrowing slightly as he studies me. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," I snap, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just need to splash some water on my face or something."
He doesn't look convinced, but he moves his legs to let me pass.
As I squeeze by him, I catch a whiff of his scent — cedar and spice, familiar now after these weeks together — and something hot coils in my stomach.
Definitely need that cold water.
The aisle feels endless as I make my way toward the bathroom, my skin prickling with awareness.
Everything feels heightened somehow—the brush of fabric against my skin, the recycled air flowing from the vents, the subtle vibrations of the plane beneath my feet.
What is wrong with me today?
The bathroom mirror reflects back a face I barely recognize—cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, hair sticking to my neck with sweat. I've splashed cold water on my face at least three times, but the heat won't subside. If anything, it seems to be getting worse.
"Get it together, Elizabeth," I mutter to my reflection, gripping the edges of the tiny sink. The metal feels cool against my palms, grounding me for a moment before the wave of dizziness hits again.
Maybe I caught something on the plane?
That would explain the light-headedness, the way everything feels slightly off-kilter. Though the recycled air usually gives me a headache, not... whatever this is.
A thought strikes me, making my stomach drop.
What if I'm...
"No," I shake my head at my reflection, immediately regretting the motion as it makes the room spin slightly. "Don't be stupid. Your birth control is perfectly fine."
I groan, leaning heavily against the sink. My brain feels sluggish, thoughts moving through molasses, refusing to form any coherent pattern.
I've given up trying to figure out what's wrong with me when I finally admit defeat.
Maybe I just need to lie down for a bit.
I reach for the door handle, ready to stumble back to my seat and possibly use Holmes's shoulder as a pillow—he owes me that much for dragging me on this flight.
The door swings open before I can touch it.
Holmes steps into the tiny space with a fluid grace that shouldn't be possible in such confined quarters, his movement so smooth and unexpected that I can only stare, my brain still trying to process what just happened.
The lock clicks behind him with a finality that echoes in the small space.
I open my mouth to demand what he thinks he's doing, but the words die in my throat at the look in his eye. His usual composure has cracked, revealing something raw and hungry underneath.
"I can't do this shit—" he grunts, the words seeming to cost him something.
Then he's moving, closing the distance between us in one step.
His lips crash into mine before I can even process what's happening. The kiss is desperate, demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head. My body responds instantly, arms wrapping around his neck as I arch into him, matching his intensity with my own.
What are we doing?
The thought floats through my mind, distant and hazy, but I can't seem to grab onto it. Not with his hands gripping my waist, not with his scent filling my lungs, not with the heat that's been building all day finally finding its target.
"Don't you dare go into Heat on this plane, Abercrombie!" Holmes hisses against my lips, his voice low but sharp enough to pierce through the fog in my mind.
The word 'Heat' sends a jolt of panic through me, crystallizing my suspicions into terrifying clarity. My hands instinctively press against his face, covering his eyes as if that could somehow stop this from happening, as if not seeing me would make this less real.
No, no, no. This can't be happening.
"Then stop touching me!" I snap, but my voice trembles more than I'd like, betraying my fear. The command is meaningless—we both know it. Holmes has never been good at following orders, especially not from me.
And right now, I don't really want him to.
Instead of backing away, he presses closer, his hips grinding against mine with deliberate precision. The thin material of my underwear is already soaked through, the scent-blocking fabric proving useless against the intensity of my approaching Heat.
I bite back a moan, moving my hands from his face to dig my nails into the cheap plastic wall behind me. Anything to anchor myself, to keep from completely losing control.
His lips curve into that infuriatingly smug smirk, but there's something softer in his eyes now, something that wasn't there during our initial hatred-fueled encounters.
"I'm not the one dripping slick, my Rebellious Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice still mocking but with an undercurrent of genuine concern that makes my heart stutter. "Your body seems to like my touch just fine."
I glare at him, but the heat building inside me makes it hard to maintain my anger.
"You're an ass," I manage, though the insult loses its bite when my breath hitches, his thigh pressing against me in a way that makes my knees buckle.
"And you're a brat," he returns, but his smile has lost its predatory edge, becoming something more intimate. "But that doesn't seem to stop you from grinding against me like you want more."
The warmth spreading through my body is different now—not just the uncomfortable heat from before, but something deeper, more primal. My Omega instincts are screaming at me to submit, to let go, to trust.
And that's what terrifies me most.
"This isn't happening," I whisper, memories of my last Heat threatening to surface. "This can't be happening."
"It is," he says simply, but his hands gentle on my hips, grounding rather than restraining. "But you're safe. I've got you."
The words sink into me, calming some of the panic even as the Heat continues to build.
"Why aren't you stopping this?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the hum of the airplane engines.
His response is to lean closer, his breath mingling with mine.
"Because this time, you trust me. And I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."
The truth of his words hits me harder than any kiss. We've come so far from that initial hatred, from the days of being cats and dogs at each other's throats. I'm not just a Forgotten Omega anymore, and he's not just the untouchable Alpha who saw me as a complication.
"You're going to regret this," I warn, but there's no real conviction in my voice.
His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that makes me shiver.
"The only thing I'd regret," he murmurs against my throat, "is not meeting you earlier all those fucking years ago so you’d never had suffered through this alone."
His words send a fresh wave of heat through me, and this time I don't fight the way my body responds. My scent grows stronger, sweeter, filling the tiny space with unmistakable pheromones of Heat.
His own scent spikes in response, but it's not just dominance now—there's protection there, possession mixed with something that feels dangerously close to love.
"Stop thinking so much," he whispers, his hands sliding under my shirt to find bare skin. "Let me take care of you."
I'm about to respond when a sharp knock on the door jolts us both.
"Is everything alright in there?" a flight attendant calls, her tone more suspicious than concerned.
I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp, my wide eyes meeting Holmes's. His lips are swollen from our kisses, his visible eye dark with desire, but there's also amusement dancing there.
This isn't how I expected this flight to go—trapped in a tiny bathroom with an Alpha who's become so much more than an enemy, trying not to completely unravel while his pack mates sit obliviously nearby.
Holmes smirks, leaning close enough for his lips to brush my ear.
"We're not done, Abercrombie," he promises, his voice rough with need. "But this time, we're doing this right."
And despite everything—the fear, the memories, the uncertainty—I believe him.
“Sir? Is everything alright in there?” The voice of the flight attendant echoes again; muffled but clear, tinged with polite concern.
Holmes stiffens, his gaze flicking to mine, and I can see the gears turning in his head. Then, with a sigh that carries a hint of exasperation, he responds, his voice as smooth and deadpan as ever:
“Yes, I’m fine. Just give me a minute,” he calls out, pausing for effect. “My cock’s malfunctioning from the high altitude.”
The silence that follows is almost deafening. My lips press tightly together, my body trembling as I fight the urge to laugh. Holmes doesn’t even flinch, his expression utterly serious as though he’s just delivered the most mundane excuse in the world.
The sound of footsteps retreating down the aisle signals the flight attendant’s exit, and that’s all it takes for the laugh bubbling in my chest to break free.
“You did not just say that,” I whisper, shaking my head in disbelief, though the corners of my mouth tug upward despite myself.
Holmes tilts his head, his lips quirking into a sly smile.
“What? It’s true.”
The smugness in his tone makes my pulse quicken, and I shift against the counter, trying to ground myself in something other than the growing tension between us.
“Can you be patient?” he asks, his voice low, cutting through the thick air between us like a blade.
I lift a brow, meeting his heated gaze head-on.
“Maybe I can,” I reply, my tone teasing, “but you should try telling that to my body.”
Holmes’s smirk deepens, and he reaches into the pocket of his slacks, pulling out a small metal container. With a flick of his thumb, the lid pops open to reveal a handful of white tablets.
Without hesitation, he plucks one out and tosses it into his mouth.
Then he turns his attention back to me.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, his hand cups my jaw, tilting my head back as his lips crash against mine. The kiss is hard and unrelenting, his tongue coaxing my lips apart as he passes the tablet to me. The faint taste of mint and something medicinal spreads across my tongue, and I have no choice but to swallow as he deepens the kiss, his other hand tangling in my hair to hold me in place.
By the time he pulls back, my breath is ragged, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
“What the hell was that?” I manage to gasp, though the words come out weaker than I intended.
Holmes doesn’t answer immediately.
His hand slips down, sliding past the loose waistband of my pants to find the wet, swollen heat of my pussy. His fingers stroke me with maddening precision, his thumb brushing over my clit in a way that makes my hips jerk involuntarily.
A moan spills from my lips before I can stop it, and Holmes leans closer, his breath hot against my ear.
“I’ll take you slow during your Heat,” he murmurs, his voice rough and filled with promise, “but if I have to go sit back in my seat without fucking you right now, I’ll lose my goddamn mind.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, my body arching into his touch as his fingers delve deeper, teasing and stroking until I’m trembling.
“Stop talking,” I groan, gripping the counter’s edge for support as my legs threaten to give out. “And fuck me already.”
His lips quirk into a smirk, his gaze darkening as his Alpha instincts kick into overdrive.
“As you wish, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with hunger.
Holmes doesn’t waste a second. His hands hook into the waistband of my pants, tugging them down in one swift motion to pool around my ankles. He steps closer, his chest brushing against mine as he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter.
The cold surface bites against my thighs, but the heat radiating from Holmes more than makes up for it. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my slick entrance.
Holmes leans in, his lips brushing against the curve of my neck.
“Hold on tight, Abercrombie. This might get a little rough.”
I open my mouth, ready to snap something smart back at him, but the words are stolen from me as he pushes into me in one smooth, deliberate thrust.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan, my head tilting back to rest against the wall as the stretch of him takes me by surprise. He’s thick, filling me completely, and it feels like every nerve in my body is lit on fire.
“Could’ve warned me,” I manage to gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as I try to adjust to the sheer size of him. “You’re so fucking big!”
Holmes chuckles, his tone rich with amusement as he rolls his hips slightly, making me shudder.
“You make it sound like it’s a curse instead of a blessing.”
“Shut up,” I snap, though the bite in my voice is undercut by the way my words dissolve into a whimper as he moves again, deeper this time.
Before I can muster another complaint, he sets a slow, deliberate rhythm that silences me completely.
His cock drags against every sensitive spot inside me, his movements precise and measured, and the tiny space of the bathroom amplifies every sound—the wet slide of our bodies, the muffled gasps I can’t hold back, the low growl of satisfaction that escapes him as he picks up the pace.
“God, you feel good,” he mutters, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he thrusts into me. “I knew I’d be good at silencing you.”
“Holmes,” I groan, my nails scraping lightly against the back of his neck. “Shut up.”
He smirks, leaning closer until his lips brush against my ear.
“Make me.”
I try to retort, but all that comes out is another moan as he angles his hips just right, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur.
“Move faster,” I order, my voice shaking with need. “I want you deeper.”
“As you wish,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction.
He doesn’t hesitate, adjusting his grip on me as he shifts into a quicker rhythm. The sound of his hips snapping against mine fills the tiny space, and I bite my lip, trying to stifle the sounds spilling from me.
“Don’t hold back,” he says, his voice rough with exertion. “I want to hear you.”
I glare at him, though it’s half-hearted at best.
“Do you want the flight attendant to hear us too? Heck, the whole damn flight?!”
His chuckle is low and sinful as he leans in to kiss me, his lips hot and demanding against mine. The kiss is messy, a clash of teeth and tongues as our need for each other takes over completely.
The seatbelt sign dings overhead, followed by the pilot’s calm announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re expecting some turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”
Holmes groans against my lips, pulling back just enough to look at me.
“Of course,” he mutters, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You just had to choose the perfect timing for this, didn’t you?”
I smirk despite the heat pooling in my core.
“Then you’d better hurry up, genius.”
His grin returns, sharp and wicked as he tightens his grip on my hips.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m already there.”
He thrusts harder, faster, his movements growing erratic as he chases his release. My body responds in kind, the pressure building inside me until it feels like I’m going to snap.
“Holmes,” I gasp, my head falling back as the tension coils tighter and tighter.
“That’s it,” he groans, his voice strained as he holds me steady. “Come for me, Elizabeth. Swallow me up with that greedy pussy of yours.”
His words are my undoing.
My climax crashes over me like a wave, my body trembling as I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders.
Holmes follows a heartbeat later, cursing under his breath as he pulls out just in time, his cock twitching as he spills onto my stomach.
“Fuck,” he mutters, bracing himself against the wall as he catches his breath. “If I’d knotted you on this plane, it’d go down in history.”
I can’t help but laugh weakly, still trying to steady my breathing.
“You’d probably make it disappear in a day like it was all some feverish dream.”
He chuckles, his smirk softening as he grabs a few tissues to clean me up.
“Probably,” he agrees, his movements surprisingly gentle as he wipes away the evidence of our activities.
I watch him, half in awe and half in disbelief.
“You’re surprisingly helpful,” I murmur, my tone teasing.
He shrugs, tossing the tissues in the tiny trash bin before helping me to the small sink.
“Someone’s gotta take care of you,” he says simply.
He washes up quickly, then steps back to let me clean myself.
“I’ll go first,” he says, adjusting his clothes with practiced ease. “You follow after.”
I raise a brow, smirking as I look at the mess we’ve made of ourselves.
“I’m going to have to do the walk of shame because of you, you know.”
He pauses, turning to give me a look that’s equal parts amused and exasperated.
“Would you rather that,” he asks, “or walk out there still a hot and bothered bitch?”
My gasp is loud and scandalized.
“I was not ?—”
He cuts me off with a smug grin, his voice laced with mockery.
“You were worse. A hot and bothered Karen bitch.”
“Holmes Holmesovich!” I hiss, his full name escaping my lips like a curse.
He just winks at me with his good eye, reaching for the toilet handle and flushing it with an exaggerated flourish, the sound drowning out whatever retort I was about to throw at him.
Then, with that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face, he opens the door and steps out, leaving me alone to gather what’s left of my dignity.