11. Ava
Chapter 11
Ava
I take in the red crescent-shaped marks on the back of Jet’s hand as he places his wine glass down and nods, feigning interest in Jones’s conversation.
Carmichael, his slimmer but pervier companion leans into me, his hot breath fanning my cheek. “Jet doesn’t usually bring such beautiful company with him.”
“Oh?” I smile politely.
“He always comes alone.” His eyes move over my hair and down to my cleavage. “This is a nice change. Tell me, there’s always something I’ve been curious about with redheads…”
Jet’s darkened gaze bores into Carmichael, making me shudder.
“Is your hair that beautiful color everywh—?”
I tip my wine glass over, decanting my merlot into his lap .
“Oops. I am so sorry. I’m so clumsy.” I fake an apologetic smile as I grab my napkin, passing it to him. As he looks down, I use the opportunity to inch my chair away. We’re sitting at a small round table, so my movement makes me brush up against Jet.
He stands quickly. “Take my seat, Ava.”
“There’s none on her seat,” Carmichael says. “It’s all on me.”
Jet holds my eyes. “My seat,” he clips.
I slide across onto it and he steps around and lowers into mine.
“How’s your wife?” he asks as Carmichael blots his wet pants. “You told me she’d taken up painting last time we saw each other.”
Carmichael’s jaw tenses and he drops the napkin back to the table. “She’s enjoying it. She has a talent for it.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
I settle into Jet’s chair and the server brings over a fresh glass of wine. The men begin talking about Atlantic Airways and new route announcements. The majority of the evening has been Jet answering their nitpicky questions about things. He’s right, they are boring. I stifle a yawn, hiding it behind my hand.
“Lost a lot of money, I bet.”
My attention piques as Jet stiffens at Jones’s words.
“We’ve heard rumors that if you don’t get these engine issues fixed, then the whole airline is at risk,” Jones continues .
“Your US operation could drag the UK one down with it. Ruin both sides,” Carmichael adds, his eyes wandering to me and dipping to my cleavage again.
“You should know better than to listen to rumors, gentlemen,” Jet says with a sharp edge to his voice. “Atlantic has been in our family for generations. We aren’t about to change that.”
“Maybe it’s time for something new.” Carmichael leers at me. “I always like trying out something different. Maybe a new CFO would—”
“Hayden Marks is the best there is,” Jet snaps. “You have nothing to worry about. Your minority shares will continue to bring you healthy dividends.”
Carmichael visibly shrinks in his seat. Dinner just got more interesting at least.
The conversation continues with Jones grilling Jet, while Jet deflects every question easily without actually answering any. The two men have had enough wine that they don’t even realize he’s not told them anything new for the past twenty minutes.
“Where’s that pretty young waitress?” Carmichael swings his head around. “I need a refill.”
I catch Jet looking at me from beneath his dark brows, his eyes traveling over my face and narrowing like he’s worked something out.
A spark ignites low in my core, traveling up my spine until my whole body feels like it’s tingling.
I got closer to him than ever before on the staircase earlier. I don’t know what came over me. Relief at having finally stepped onto a plane again, maybe? Or the comedown from all of the memories and emotions it dredged up? After we got back, I went straight to the pool house to work. I wrote more in a couple of hours than I have since the day I arrived at Rochwell house. It’s like the lid was finally lifted off and things started to flow. I can only attribute that to the fact that for the first time in a decade, I took a flight. Something I once loved but has been the source of indescribable pain to me for so many reasons.
Jet’s softer eyes are still on me as I sip my wine.
This isn’t right. We can’t suddenly start getting on. He might think he understands me better since that flight, but he doesn’t. No one knows everything. Not even Gramps.
The thawing in his gaze makes me yearn for him to look at me with disdain again. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. I’d rather he reprimands me for not using a glass and calls me a delinquent than feel sorry for me.
This isn’t right. Everything about the neutral position of his lips is wrong. He’s lacking the signature scowl I’m used to. It’s unnerving, and it makes my throat scratchy.
An idea hits me that’s sure to piss him off and provoke a reaction. I make my excuses and head to the ladies’ room.
When I slide back into the seat beside Jet, I reach into his lap beneath the table and lean in close.
“All these tough questions being fired at you, and you’re doing so well, but I thought you still might appreciate a talisman. They aren’t my luckiest pair, but maybe they’ll work for you.”
He freezes, a muscle in his jaw tightening as my breath dusts his ear.
His fingers curl around mine beneath the table as I deposit the tiny scrap of lace into them.
I sit back in my seat and lift my wine glass to my lips with a smug smile. Jet’s listening to Jones as he talks, but the miniscule roll of his jaw tells me he’s grinding his teeth. A vein bulges in his temple, and he nods swiftly, pushing his chair back from the table.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, gentlemen.” He signals the server and passes over his card. “Ava and I flew in this morning. The missed sleep is catching up on us.”
The men’s faces fall as Jet pays and stands, pulling my chair out for me.
“But it’s still so early,” Jones complains.
“And there’s a cab waiting outside to take you for a nightcap and some entertainment,” he says smoothly. “All with compliments from myself and my father, of course.”
Carmichael’s brows hitch. “Well, then. We should go if it’s all organized.”
Jones nods in agreement, and Carmichael manages a final, parting leer of my breasts as we say goodbye.
Jet marches me to the exit of the restaurant with one arm around me, his hand gripping my elbow.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, taking me around the corner of the restaurant into a small alleyway .
“What do you mean?”
“These!”
He yanks my cream lace panties from his pocket and brandishes them in front of my face. I step backward into the wall as he moves closer, pinning me between his body and the brick.
“Oh, those. Pretty, aren’t they? I bought them in New York.” I admire the tiny strip of lace dangling from his finger. The golden flecks woven into the fabric glint in the moonlight.
His eyes bug before he closes his fist around them.
“Why the fuck are you handing me your panties beneath the table at a business dinner?”
I smile internally. The incensed glint is back in his eyes as he towers over me.
“They’re lucky.” I shrug.
He sucks a deep breath in through his nose and slams the fist holding my panties against the wall by my head.
“I should spank your ass so hard that you can’t sit for a week after pulling a stunt like that.” His chest heaves as he leans in closer to me. “We work together, what the fuck?”
Excitement bursts in my core as he struggles to rein in his anger. His choice of reprimand is… intriguing, a rare glimpse into Mr. Always-in-control’s psyche. So he’s into spanking? It’s probably just talk, but still… interesting .
I lick my lips trying not to let my smirk show. “I’m not sure spanking employees is an acceptable form of management. Besides, you’re not even paying me.”
His fingers flex against the wall as the delicate lace dangles from them. I want to demand he be careful, so they don’t get snagged by the rough bricks.
“What the hell are you playing at?” Heat radiates from his body while his blue eyes spark like flames.
“Relax, Jet. It was just a bit of fun.” I pat him playfully on his solid chest.
His nostrils flare. “A bit of fun? You think handing me your panties is fun?”
“Jesus, calm down.” I roll my eyes even though I’m loving every second of his reaction.
A vein throbs in his temple, almost as if on the verge of being ruptured.
“Come on, we both know you’re not actually going to spank me.” I roll my eyes. “So shall we go?”
I try to move past him, but he blocks me. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, energy racing through my veins as he slowly rakes his eyes up, pausing briefly on my breasts, before he glowers at me.
“You won’t do it. You’re too scared of losing control,” I whisper.
“Ava,” he growls, sending a shiver hurtling up my spine.
“Go on.” I lean closer until my lips almost touch his. “I dare you.”
His pupils blow wide. Then he spins me, knocking the air from my lungs as he pins me against the wall with his chest to my back and his mouth lowered to my ear.
“You think I won’t make this sweet ass bright red. Leave my handprint on you… mark you as mine .” His words are like gravel grating over my soul and making me shudder.
I incline my face over my shoulder as I try to bring my breathing under control. My panties are at eye-level beside me, clenched firmly inside his white-knuckled fist.
“I know you won’t. You don’t have it in you to be so reckless,” I taunt. “You’re all about control… You wouldn’t lose it for a delinquent who doesn’t use a glass.”
His eyes burn into mine as my chest vibrates with a quiet laugh.
“I knew it.” I smirk.
Cold air whips around the back of my thighs as my dress is shoved up roughly.
I gasp with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction that I’ve made him crack. Butterflies rage in my core as his warm breath dusts my ear.
“One thing you should learn about me,” he murmurs, “is that I’m always the one who has control.”
He presses his torso against me, forcing my nipples to graze the rough wall. Then he slides his hand over my naked ass cheek and squeezes with enough pressure to make me whimper.
“You’re going to regret ever playing with me, Ava… I always win. ”
The first strike makes me cry out. “Fuck!”
“Count to three,” he hisses.
I clamp my thighs together as he slaps my ass again. Without thinking, I arch back, chasing his hand as he moves it away.
“Count!”
“One,” I cry as he spanks me again, sending a rush of hot blood between my thighs.
“Two,” I yelp as he strikes me again.
“Another,” he grunts.
“Three!” I curse as the final one lands harder than the others, setting off a deep thrumming that travels through my body before culminating in my aching clit.
His warm palm flattens over my skin, massaging it until the stinging fades. “You took that so well.”
Holy fuck.
I mumble incoherently, the warmth of his praise rendering me speechless. All I can feel is a delicious energy in my skin where he struck me. I push back into his hand, wetness coating my inner thighs.
“Please,” I whimper.
“Such a brat,” he mutters as he slips his fingers between my legs from behind. He swipes them over my swollen clit and tuts as I mewl shamelessly and try to grind onto his hand. “Getting wet from being spanked, then begging for more.”
“Jet…” I breathe. He stays still, as I wriggle and writhe until I manage to position myself so that I can slide down onto his fingertips. I moan, clenching around them as I get the tips inside me .
Then they’re gone.
“Huh?” I spin around.
He takes a step away from me. “The fuck am I doing?” he hisses. His eyes darken to deep blue pools as he scowls. “Cover yourself up, for fuck’s sake” he barks at me.
“But—?” I yank my dress down, my cheeks burning as humiliation courses through me.
He slides the fist holding my panties into his pocket, then reaches forward, placing his other hand on my lower back.
“Let’s go. I have an early start tomorrow.”
I shove his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
I march ahead of him to where he parked his car. My pussy throbs with unmet need as I listen to his steady steps behind me.
I can’t believe he did it. It’s been so long since anyone touched me. The last time was a drunken night at university that I barely remember. But despite how close I was to getting off on his fingers, the fact I begged him before he ruthlessly shot me down has shame burning through my gut like acid.
I sense him behind me a moment before he leans forward, opening the car door for me.
“I told you that you wouldn’t want to play with me, Ava.” His breath touches the shell of my ear, and I hate that my clit throbs in response.
“Fuck you. And fuck your games.” I seethe as I drop into the seat. “You’re a fucking asshole. ”
He waits until I’ve finished hurling insults before he closes my door gently and walks around the front of the car. He’s a picture of controlled calm in his dark gray suit and cobalt tie.
I can’t stand him. In fact, I hate him.
He opens the driver’s door and slides into his seat.
“Fasten your belt,” he instructs.
I do it, not to obey him, but because he’ll lean over and do it himself if I don’t. And the thought of having him close to me again makes me shake with rage.
We drive back in silence. He doesn’t even put the radio on. I hear every measured, relaxed intake of breath the bastard makes. Meanwhile my pulse races, and the back of my neck is on fire.
Jet might have won tonight’s little game I started. But if he thinks he’s in control just because I moaned his name in a moment of unexpected arousal, then he’s wrong.
So wrong.