Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Lucian
When You Hit the Emotional And Physical High Point (Pun Very Intended)
“And you love it.” He leans in, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with his thumb, lingering a little too long on my cheek.
“You like how I make you feel. You enjoy knowing I’m sitting here wondering if you wore anything under that dress.”
“Lucian.”
“Or,” I offer with my most innocent expression—which, let’s be real, looks about as trustworthy as a fox in a henhouse—“we can just sit here in complete silence while I stare at your legs and fantasize about everything I’m going to do to you once we get to the estate.”
“I’m not having sex with you in your family home,” she screeches.
“Not with me, huh? What if I come up with an alter ego? One with a tragic past and a forbidden passion for mouthy women?”
She groans.
“Ugh. I wish Sarah wasn’t—where did you say she was?”
“The room.” I nod toward the end of the aisle.
She meets my gaze with a steady look.
“The medication would have been enough. Crating her seems unnecessary.”
“It’s safer, Doc,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“And stop using our child as a distraction tactic. We’re discussing benefits—specifically, in-flight ones.”
She turns toward the window like that’ll somehow save her.
Like, I can’t tell she’s already getting worked up just from the idea of me.
Her chest lifts with every breath, and I know her thighs are pressed tight together beneath that sundress.
She’s fidgeting. Playing with the hem.
Twisting her lips to keep from biting them.
She’s so goddamn hot when she’s trying not to combust.
The jet hums beneath us, a smooth vibration that seems to resonate with her tension.
The pilot announces takeoff clearance, and I offer her a glass of wine—something red and overpriced.
She accepts it as though it were armor.
It won’t help.
Nothing will.
Not with the way she’s already squirming in that seat like she forgot how to sit still.
We sip in silence.
But the air between us?
It’s like foreplay.
I avoid looking at her directly, but I don’t need to.
Her leg brushes against mine, and her breath hitches.
My fingers rest on the armrest, lazy yet deliberate, positioned just close enough to serve as an invitation.
I know what she’s thinking.
I’m banking on it.
“So,” she blurts, desperate to break the tension.
“Are you going to warn me about your family?”
I chuckle.
“I’ll run interference. Dad will grill you, but Papa? He’ll adore you.”
“And what exactly did you tell them?”
“You’re smart, sarcastic, and possibly armed. You’re also the reason Sarah has developed a preference for fancy TV shows over sports.”
She blinks.
“That’s it?”
I lean in, close enough for her to feel my breath.
“That’s the PG version. The rest . . .” I smirk.
“They’ll figure out from the way I look at you.”
Her throat bobs.
She glances down at her drink.
Then, at her dress.
Then—because she’s the most dangerous kind of curious—she whispers, “And how do you look at me?”
I don’t answer.
I set my glass down.
Undo my seatbelt.
And I look.
Real slow.
From the soft waves of her hair to the neckline of that dress that’s daring gravity to try its luck.
My gaze drops to her thighs— smooth, parted just enough to tempt.
I look at her like she’s the fucking meal.
Not dessert.
Dinner.
Main course.
My tongue runs across my bottom lip as I lean in, close enough to watch her pupils dilate.
“You look at me like you’re starving,” she breathes.
I grin. “That’s because I am.”
The seatbelt light blinks off.
Good.
Because I don’t wait.
I reach down, hook my fingers under the hem of her sundress, and push it up—slow enough to tease, fast enough to own it.
Her thighs fall open for me without hesitation.
And there she is.
Goddamn.
She’s soaked. Pink. Glowing like temptation itself, slick with need and just fucking waiting for me.
“Fuck, baby,” I murmur, dropping to my knees in front of her like I’m about to deliver a prayer.
But first—improvisation.
I glance toward the minibar, grab the gold swizzle stick from the old-fashioned glasses, and test the tip with my thumb.
It’s smooth. Slim. A little warm from the cabin.
Perfect.
Olivia’s eyes go wide.
“Lucian?—”
“Oh no, princess. You don’t get to use that voice unless you mean it.”
I press the metal rod to her lips.
“Open.”
She does. I slide it across her tongue, slow and filthy, then pull it away and trace it down her collarbone.
Down her sternum. Down between her thighs.
She shivers when it hits her entrance.
“Stay quiet for me.”
Then I slide it inside.
Her gasp is stifled, but her back arches.
Hands grip the armrests.
She’s flushed all over.
“You feel that?” I murmur, dragging the stick in and out, lazy and cruel.
“That’s what you get for teasing me with that fucking dress. You wanted to play brat? You’re going to come like one.”
Her hips buck.
She’s close.
But I’m not done.
I slowly slide the swizzle stick out of her, watching her walls cling to it, still desperate for more.
She’s glistening, pulsing, so fucking wet I could probably make her come again with my fingers alone—but I have other plans.
I lift the stick to my mouth and suck it clean.
Her taste hits me like sin.
Eyes wide, lips parted, she watches me like she’s not sure if she wants to slap me or beg for more.
Probably both. Good.
I want her right on that line.
“Still with me?” I ask.
She nods, glassy-eyed.
Barely there. Beautiful like this—wrecked, unraveled, pliant.
I shift, one arm sliding behind her back, pulling her toward me as I reach down to unbuckle my pants.
My cock springs free, already hard, leaking at the tip.
“You’re gonna take me, sweetheart. All of me.”
She doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t hesitate.
She leans into my chest, her breasts pressed tight against my ribs.
I guide her hips, lining her up, and then—slowly, so fucking slowly—I slide her down onto me.
Her pussy parts for me like she was made to fit there.
Every inch I push inside earns a sound from her throat—a choked moan, a gasp, a helpless sigh that makes my cock twitch.
She lowers inch by inch until she’s seated fully, her ass pressed to my thighs, her skin flush against my balls.
Fuck.
My voice is ragged when I growl, “There she is. My good girl. Taking all of me like you were fucking born for it.”
She shivers in my arms, head tilted back onto my shoulder.
I kiss the underside of her jaw.
Her lashes flutter closed.
Her fingers trail down between her legs.
“Go on,” I whisper. “Touch that clit. Let me feel you tighten around me while you make yourself come.”
She obeys, rubbing soft, fast circles against herself, whining when I shift my hips and thrust up just a little.
Not hard. Not fast. Just enough to tease.
She’s so wet I can feel her slide over me with every rock of her hips.
I grip her thighs and open her wider.
Spread her until she’s vulnerable and completely mine.
Her legs shake around me, and she cries out again, a desperate sound muffled by my name on her lips.
I thrust again—deeper now, dragging my cock in and out, watching her fall apart piece by piece.
“Fuck, Lucian. I’m—I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can,” I growl into her ear.
“You’re gonna come for me just like this. Rub your clit while I fuck you slow and deep. Let me feel it, baby.”
She moans—high and sharp and wrecked—and then I feel it.
She clenches around me like a vice.
Her fingers stutter.
Her breath shatters.
She comes with a cry that punches through the cabin, her body trembling in my arms as I keep fucking her through it.
And I don’t stop.
Not when she clenches again.
Not when she begs.
Not even when she’s dripping all over me.
“You’re gonna take my cum too,” I whisper, voice raw now.
“You want it? Want me to fill you up and make you drip down your thighs like a good little cock-hungry slut?”
“Yes,” she sobs.
“Fuck, yes.”
That’s it.
That’s all I need.
I grip her hips hard and thrust up—deep, fast, unrelenting.
One.
Two.
Three more strokes, and I come, loud and possessive, holding her down as I spill into her.
I don’t pull out.
I stay there, buried to the base, balls tight against her ass, my come flooding her in deep, warm pulses.
“Fuck,” I pant into her shoulder, kissing the sweat-damp skin there.
“You feel that?”
She nods weakly.
I shift her slightly, keeping myself inside her, and press a hand low on her belly.
“Mine now,” I murmur.
“Inside you. Filling you. You’re gonna keep it in. Don’t you dare let a drop spill.”
She whimpers.
I smile.
“You like me to fill you, don’t you?” I say, teeth grazing her earlobe.
“That’s why you let me fuck you raw. Why you take every drop like a good girl. You want me to do it again. Stuff you so full you can’t think straight.”
She’s still trembling.
And smiling.
And utterly fucked.
Just how I like her.
She’s limp in my arms.
Breathless.
Boneless. Wrecked in the most beautiful fucking way.
I hold her like she’s breakable—not because she is, but because, I want her to feel taken care of right now.
Worshipped. Like she’s more than a fantasy finally realized.
She is.
Her pulse flutters beneath my lips as I kiss the side of her neck.
She smells like sex, skin, and the faintest trace of rose from whatever lotion she put on this morning.
I reach for the blanket beside us and drape it over her shoulders, shielding her from the cool air.
My arms stay wrapped around her, and my hands stroke soft circles down her thighs and across her belly.
She’s still trembling slightly, little aftershocks that make her clutch at me, and I murmur against her skin.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
“You did so fucking good for me. You always do, baby.”
Her fingers curl around my forearm.
She doesn’t speak—just presses her cheek against my chest and exhales as if she’s been holding it in since takeoff.
I keep us like that for a while, letting her settle.
Letting her feel safe.
But I can feel my cum dripping out of her, warm and slick against my thigh.
And she feels it too.
She shifts a little, making a soft, embarrassed sound.
“It’s gonna . . . leak everywhere.”
I chuckle gently, brushing the hair back from her face.
“No, it’s not.”
She blinks up at me, dazed and flushed.
“What are you?—”
“I packed for this,” I murmur, already reaching for my bag.
I pull out the small, smooth plug—black silicone, discreet, elegant, and specifically chosen for her.
Her eyes widen, cheeks pinking fast.
“Lucian . . .”
I dip my head, kissing her collarbone as I warm it between my hands.
“It’s not just for fun,” I say softly.
“You’re sore. You’re open. This will keep everything in while you rest. No pressure. Just let me take care of you.”
She stares at me for a second like she’s not sure whether to roll her eyes or fall harder.
Probably both.
But she nods.
Good girl.
“Lie back,” I tell her, and she does, reclining across the long seat with the blanket pooled around her waist.
I kiss her inner thigh, nuzzle the sensitive skin just above her knee, then slide two fingers inside her—slow and gentle.
She gasps, still slick, still sensitive.
My cum leaks out around my fingers.
“See?” I murmur, rubbing it back inside her.
“You’re still full of me.”
She moans softly, legs trembling again.
I press the plug in slowly, kissing her stomach as I go.
It slips into place with a wet sound, and she whimpers, shifting on the seat.
“Too much?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“No. It’s . . . weirdly sweet.”
I grin.
“Told you. I’m the romantic type.”
She huffs a laugh and pulls me into a kiss—slow, languid, all tongue and trust.
When we finally break apart, I properly tuck the blanket around her and lie beside her, pulling her into my arms.
Her head rests against my chest, her legs intertwined with mine.
I trace idle patterns on her back while the jet hums softly beneath us.
“I meant what I said, Liv,” I murmur.
“You’re mine now.”
She doesn’t answer right away.
But her hand finds mine beneath the blanket.
And she squeezes.
Hard.
“I know,” she whispers.
“And I think I’m fucked.”
I grin against her hair. “We really are.”