Chapter 7 - Elias #2
The plane jerks so hard my stomach punches into my throat. Oxygen masks don’t drop—thank fuck—but the overhead bins rattle like they’re about to burst. The captain’s voice crackles overhead, calm, measured.
“Ladies and gentlemen, due to current conditions we’ll be making an emergency landing—”
Emergency landing.
That’s all I hear.
My chest caves. My throat snaps shut. My lungs won’t pull air anymore. All I see is ocean, dark and endless, the silver flash of fins cutting through water, teeth waiting to rip me apart. Sharks. Drowning. Falling through black nothing and getting shredded before I even hit the bottom.
I’m gasping but nothing comes. Hyperventilating so bad my vision tunnels, sound muffled, the roar of the engines drowning out everything but my own heartbeat slamming against my ribs.
All I hear is the blood in my ears. All I see is the ocean. All I feel is my ribs splintering under a breath that won’t come.
Then fingers slam into my curls.
Yanking my head sideways. Forcing my gaze up.
“Elias.”
The tone cuts through everything.
My eyes snap open, lock on him. Damian. His hand fisted in my hair, holding me steady.
“I can’t—I can’t—we’re gonna crash—ocean—sharks—”
The words spill out fast, broken, babbling like water pouring through cracks in a dam. My throat’s too tight, but I can’t stop. “I don’t wanna—I can’t—fuck, Captain, they’re gonna eat me alive—”
“No.” His grip tightens in my hair, hard enough to sting. His other hand clamps heavy on my thigh, grounding me. His voice slices clean through the roar. “No oceans. No sharks. Just me. Look at me.”
I do. Christ, I do. My eyes lock on him, wide and wet and wrecked. But my breath is still short and ragged, my head spinning so hard I might black out.
“Now,” he says. “Be a good boy and breathe for me.”
My whole body jerks like he hit me. My brain blanks for a split second, everything rewiring around those words. Be a good boy. My captain calling me that here, now, while the plane’s bucking through storms and sharks are in my head.
“I—I—” My voice cracks.
Damian leans closer, lips brushing the edge of my ear, his hand in my curls forcing me to meet his eyes. “I can’t kiss you if you’re not breathing right.”
My brain short-circuits.
The thought collides so violently with the panic that for half a second I forget how to think, forget everything except the fact that Damian Kade—my captain, my goddamn obsession—just said he’d kiss me.
And for that half second, I actually suck in a breath.
It’s sharp, messy, desperate—but it’s air.
The plane drops.
Not a little jiggle, not a bump. A drop. My stomach slams into my throat, my ears pop, the cabin rattles like the wings are about to tear off. Tyler yelps two rows up. Someone screams in the back, and it rips through me like a blade.
I lose it.
The breath I managed to grab is gone. I claw at the armrests, nails scraping plastic, shaking so hard I’m rattling in my seat as much as the damn plane.
“Mercer.”
Not a question. Not a plea. A command.
Damian’s hand fists in my hair, jerks my head forward so hard my teeth clack. His other hand clamps under my jaw, thumb forcing my chin up. And then—sudden, heavy—his forehead presses to mine.
The world tilts. The screaming fades. All I see are mismatched eyes burning holes through me.
“You hear me?” His voice is low, even, steady like a gun to the head. The plane rattles again, I try to suck in air and fail, a wheeze tearing out instead.
So he does the one thing guaranteed to nuke my panic out of existence.
He starts talking filth.
“You breathe right,” he growls, forehead grinding harder against mine, “and I’ll take that smart mouth of yours and put it to better use. You want that, pup? You want my cock down your throat while you’re on your knees, choking like you’re made for it?”
My brain whites out.
The panic collides with it—panic and filth slamming together so hard I can’t hold both. My breath stutters, air jerks in.
“That’s it,” he rasps. His thumb digs under my chin, forcing my head higher, his hand tugging tight in my curls. His lips brush mine, not kissing, just close enough that I can taste his breath. “In. You want me to fuck you open in my hotel room when we land? Then you breathe for me now.”
I choke out a gasp. Jagged. Broken. But it’s air.
“Good.” His forehead presses harder to mine. The plane bucks again, but his voice slices through it, rough and filthy and impossible to ignore. “Exhale, Mercer. Let it out. Or I’ll bend you over right here in this seat and let the whole fucking team watch while I break you.”
My body jerks, heat detonating low in my stomach, blood flooding my face. I wheeze out a ragged breath.
“There you go,” he murmurs, low and lethal, still feeding me filth like oxygen. “That’s my boy. You breathe right, and I’ll ruin you the second we’re off this plane. You choke, you stutter, you panic—then no cock, no kiss, nothing. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” It bursts out of me between gasps, high and desperate, brain rewired by the promise.
And then I’m breathing. Shaky. Erratic. Too fast—but breathing. Because all I can think about is his voice in my ear, the filth spilling out of him, the leash he’s got tight around my throat.
The plane drops again. Someone screams. My stomach lurches.
But all I hear is him.
“Good pup. Now inhale.”
The plane bucks again—harder this time. The overhead bins rattle like they’re going to burst, cups crash off tray tables, someone in the back is sobbing, and Tyler is whispering something that sounds a lot like prayers into his hoodie.
Damian’s got me caged—forehead to forehead, one hand fisted in my curls, the other clamped under my jaw, thumb digging until I can’t move an inch without him letting me. His eyes don’t blink. “Breathe.”
Air claws shallow.
“Now, Elias.” His grip tightens. “Inhale—or I’ll take you apart so rough you won’t walk tomorrow.”
A broken sound bursts out of me—a half-gasp, half-whimper. I’m not even sure if it’s the panic or the filth. Both, probably. Both twisting me until I can’t tell which way’s up.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, breath brushing my lips, too close, too steady. The plane drops again, my stomach slams into my throat, but his voice drags me through it. “In. Hold. Out. Good boy. Do it again.”
I gasp, ribs jerking, but catching enough to count as air.
“Good,” he growls, and my whole body jolts at the praise. “Again. You want me to bend you over that hotel bed and split you open until you’re begging? Then keep fucking breathing.”
A noise tears out of me—high, wrecked, that could be fear, could be want. I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell the difference. My lungs burn, but I’m dragging air in, out, in, out—because he told me to. Because he promised.
The cabin rocks again, jerking sideways, masks trembling in their compartments. People scream. I choke, vision whitening—
His hand yanks my curls harder, snapping me back to his eyes.
“Look at me. Just me. No sharks. No water. No fear.” His forehead presses harder to mine. “You breathe right now, pup, and I’ll make sure the only thing you drown in is me.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I breathe.
“Good boy.” His thumb strokes once under my chin, cold and grounding. “Again.”
The descent kicks harder. The plane angles down, engines roaring, my stomach dropping with it. Someone screams again, Tyler yelps, overhead bins slam. The captain’s voice is a distant blur through the speakers.
I barely hear it.
Because Damian’s still there, dragging me through each breath like he owns my breath. “In. Out. Again. Good. You’re mine, Elias. You obey me, you survive. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I gasp, but I’m breathing. Shaky, broken, desperate—but air.
The floor rushes up. The cabin shudders. I squeeze my eyes shut, panic clawing again—
And then the wheels slam the tarmac.
The impact jolts through me so hard a yelp bursts out before I can choke it down. The cabin lurches, brakes screaming, bodies jerking against belts. My breath catches sharp—
But Damian doesn’t let go.
“Good boy.”
And my chest actually expands.