Chapter 12 #3
We're standing too close in this tiny bathroom, and I can see the exact moment she remembers Friday night—the way her breath catches, the flush that creeps up her neck.
"Don—"
"Come on." I steer her back to the main cabin before I do something stupid. "Sit. I'll get you crackers."
"I'm starting to think you have a cracker addiction."
"I have an Emma-not-throwing-up-on-my-plane addiction." I settle her into her seat and hand her the crackers and ginger ale. "Eat. Slowly."
She nibbles obediently, and I take the seat across from her, watching to make sure she's actually keeping food down.
"You don't have to babysit me," she says after a few minutes.
"I'm not babysitting. I'm monitoring a valuable employee's health."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Would you prefer I call it what it actually is?"
"Which is?"
"Me being unable to focus on anything except making sure you're okay." The words are gritty—a rasp that scrape out of my throat as I say them. "Me spending the last three days trying not to repeat Friday night because I can see how not ok you’ve been"
Emma's cracker stops halfway to her mouth. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." I lean back, running a hand through my hair. "So no, Emma. I'm not babysitting. I'm trying very hard not to completely lose my composure while also making sure you don't pass out from whatever the hell is making you sick."
She's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me with those hazel eyes that see too much.
"I'm scared," she admits finally.
"Of what?"
“You know what.” She sets down the crackers. "I've never been good at letting people in. And you're my boss, which makes everything complicated, and I just... I'm scared of screwing this up."
"Emma." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "You're not going to screw anything up. And for what it's worth? I'm terrified too."
"You don't seem terrified. You seem very in control."
"That's because I'm very good at pretending." I reach across and take her hand. "But the truth is, I haven't felt in control since the moment you walked into that reception and I realized the woman from Miami was about to become my employee."
"Really?"
"Really." I run my thumb over her knuckles, and she stares at our joined hands like she's trying to memorize the sight.
"What happens now?" she asks quietly.
"Now, we get you to a doctor. Make sure you're actually okay and not just stress-sick." I squeeze her hand. "And then... we figure us out. Together. No more avoiding. No more pretending.”
"The product launch is next week."
"I know."
"People will talk if they think we're... involved."
"Let them talk." I mean it. "Emma, I've spent twenty years building Titan. I've never once let personal feelings influence business decisions. But I'm also not going to let business prevent me from being with someone who matters."
I lean back, releasing her hand before I do something inadvisable at thirty thousand feet. "Now eat your crackers and try to sleep. We've got two more hours."
She obeys, curling up in her seat with a blanket I pulled from the overhead compartment. And I watch her—because I can't seem to stop watching her—as she closes her eyes.
Half an hour later, Emma’s asleep. Finally.
Across from me, she’s curled beneath a Titan-branded blanket, face turned toward the window, lashes fanning over flushed cheeks. The nausea’s eased, thank God.
I should be sleeping too. Instead, I’m staring at the muted cabin lights and thinking about Thane, of all damn people.
Thane—my business partner, the pragmatic conscience of Titan. The one who actually reads the fine print while Logan cracks jokes and I bulldoze deadlines.
He’s in the Maldives right now with Julia and their kids, probably wearing linen and drinking something with mint. And when he gets back and realizes I’ve crossed every HR line in existence with my new associate head of strategy, he’s going to lose his mind.
And he’ll be right to.
Because this—Emma—wasn’t supposed to happen.
I run a hand through my hair and let my head fall back against the seat.
The hum of the engines blurs into memory: my mother’s voice, low and tired, telling me to lock the door when she left for her night shift.
The smell of dish soap on her hands. The way her smile never quite reached her eyes those last few years.
Marie Mitchell. She worked herself to the bone for me. Three jobs. No help. No husband.
He left before I was born—some smooth-talking coward who couldn’t handle the weight of responsibility. My mother paid for it every day until her body quit on her.
Sixteen years old, and I was the one who found her.
That kind of thing brands you. Makes you swear you’ll never need anyone, never rely on anyone. You build control like armor because losing it once almost killed you.
And now? I’m undoing it all for a woman who smells like citrus and sin and drives me insane just by existing.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. It never does when she’s that close.
I feel her before I see her. The shift in the air. The soft rustle of fabric.
And then— Weight. Heat.
I open my eyes.
Emma is straddling my lap.
No hesitation. No fear. Just her—hazel eyes dark, mouth soft, breathing slow like she’s made a decision and isn’t letting herself back out.
My spine locks. Every muscle. Every instinct.
"Emma…" My voice is low, warning and want all wrapped together.
She leans in, her lips barely brushing mine as she exhales.
God.
“You shouldn’t do this, you need to rest,” I say, even as my hands slide to her waist, and her mouth curves—dangerous. Determined.
“You’re not stopping me,” she whispers, and I don’t.
She kisses me—and it’s not soft. Not careful. It’s her taking control for exactly two seconds before handing it right back. And I deepen the kiss instantly, my hands threading into her hair, tilting her chin the way I want, forcing a slow exhale out of her.
“You have any idea what you’re doing to me?” I rasp.
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
I let out a breath I’ve been holding for weeks.
“You ruined me that night in Miami, and I thought about you everyday after it—convinced I’d never see you again.
Then spent three weeks watching you pretend you don’t feel this, too.
" My forehead presses to hers. “Biting my tongue in boardrooms and elevators, trying to act like I don’t want you in my lap exactly like this.”
Her breath stumbles. “Don—”
“Don’t,” I murmur, my mouth just beside her ear. “Let me not be the problem for one minute.”
Her body responds instantly, a soft sound escaping that tightens something deep in my chest.
“Still want this?” I ask, trailing my knuckles along her jawline, down her neck. “No takebacks.”
She meets my eyes—clear, steady. “Yes, I do— Please.”
That “please” is my undoing.
I grab the back of her neck and drag her into a kiss that’s anything but polite.
It’s filthy. Hungry. Possessive.
One hand slides under her sweater, finding warm, bare skin and a perfect, bra-less breast.
“Jesus, sweetheart.” I groan against her mouth. “You trying to kill me?”
She shimmies out of her jeans, and I help her, even as her cotton underwear catches at her knees as she wriggles impatiently in my lap.
“No.” Her lips brush mine. “I’m trying to save myself.”
She works my zipper, and when she reaches into my pants and wraps her fingers around me, I see white. Every restraint I’ve built since the hotel room crumbles like ash.
She lifts up, and I guide her down over me—slow, aching, inch by inch, a groan ripping through my chest that is positively feral.
“Christ, Emma.” I grip her waist, head falling back. “You feel so fucking good.”
She begins to move, setting a rhythm that’s slow and deep and torturous in the best way.
“You’ve been thinking about me since Miami?” she breathes.
“Sweetheart, every time I shut my eyes, it’s been you.”
She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders.
“That’s it. Let me feel you.” I groan into her neck. “Show me how much you need this cock, sweetheart.”
Her head falls forward, forehead against mine. “Don…”
“Look at me.” I grip her chin, forcing her gaze back to mine. “You’re mine now. You understand.”
Her moan is everything.
“You like that?” I murmur. “Riding your bosses cock thirty thousand feet in the air?”
She tightens around me. “God, yes.”
I thrust up into her, grinding deeper. “Say you’re mine, Emma.”
“I’m yours. Fuck, Don—I’m so close—”
“That's it, baby,” I growl, my hands firm around her waist, taking control, bouncing her hard and fast on my lap. “Wreck me. Show me how this little pussy comes for me.”
She breaks like lightning—loud, raw, clenching around me as her climax tears through her. And I follow, hips jerking up as I spill inside her with a guttural curse.
When we finally collapse together—sweaty, breathless, clinging—I cradle her head to my chest.
We stay that way, heartbeats tangled, until my pulse slows and my brain comes back online. She doesn’t say anything. Just kisses my throat and tucks herself against me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And hell, maybe it is.
Because this—this need, this tenderness, this impossible connection between us—feels like the only real thing I’ve ever known. A full minute passes before either of us even speaks.
"That was—" Emma starts.
“The best sex you’ve had thirty thousand feet it the air.” I offer.
She smiles, her hands curl into the hair at my nape. She looks contented and sleepy and thoroughly ravished. "To be fair, you’re pretty incredible in a hotel room, too."
"Just pretty incredible?"
"Don't fish for compliments. You know you're good at this."
"I'm good at a lot of things." I kiss her temple. "But making you come is rapidly becoming my favorite."
She laughs, the sound throaty and warm. "Your ego is showing."
"My everything is showing." I glance down meaningfully. "In case you hadn't noticed."
"Trust me, I noticed." She shifts slightly, and we both hiss at the sensation. "We should probably... get dressed. Before we land."
"Probably." But I don't move, and neither does she.
We stay like that for another few minutes, just holding each other, and I think to myself—This. This is what I've been missing.
Not just the sex—though that's admittedly phenomenal—but this. The after. The quiet intimacy of just being with someone who matters.
"Don?" Emma's voice is soft, almost vulnerable.
"Yeah?"
"What happens when we land?"
"I meant what I said earlier. We figure this out. Together." I tilt her chin up so she's looking at me. "I'm not walking away from this, Emma."
"Even with the product launch next week? Even with all the complications?"
"Especially with all the complications." I kiss her softly.
She smiles, and it's like the sun coming out.
We do eventually get dressed.
By the time the pilot announces our descent into Teterboro, we're back in our respective seats, looking almost professional.
Almost.