Chapter Fifty-Five
Fifty-Five
Josie
It clicks.
I’m standing there, staring at the painting, and suddenly it feels like the floor has dropped out from under me.
Not in a thrilling, fun-house way, either; it’s more like I’m in free fall, my stomach churning, my heart racing, everything in me braced for maximum holy-fucking-crap, everything-I-thought-I-knew-is-upside-down impact.
Hamish. Nonna’s cards.
I get it now. Related but twisted. A sick person desperate to be loved.
But it’s not Hamish I’m thinking about.
It’s Mom.
—
Axe doesn’t need telling twice. We’re off the island quickly, ushered by a gorgeous man named Hawk—who looks so much like an action hero, I can’t quite believe he’s a real flesh-and-blood person—and then soon after onto another private jet, and I somehow have acquired a new sundress and underwear.
This time, I’m actually awake to enjoy the ride, holding Axe’s hand, my head on his strong shoulder as we watch the world pass below.
“Distract me,” I say when we’ve been quiet for a while. So far, Axe hasn’t pushed for details or asked why my face looks like I’ve seen a ghost. Instead, he’s just been there—calm, steady, a fortress in strong wind.
“Aye, that shouldn’t be hard,” he says, grinning. We’re sitting next to each other in plush leather seats, and he presses the call button for the flight attendant. She’s standing in front of us in fewer than ten seconds.
“We’re going to need some privacy,” Axe tells her, and she nods, unbothered, and steps forward to draw the curtain.
I don’t wait. I’m on him before she even finishes. I need to get lost in his kisses, in his warmth, in the exquisite safety of his arms. Our lips meet, and I immediately turn the kiss desperate. He groans and whispers into my ear.
“Take whatever you need, bonny lass.” He knows I desire total obliteration, and he’s the only one who can give it to me.
I want him so badly that my pussy feels hollow. I need him inside me right now.
This will not be slow and tender. I don’t want foreplay. I don’t want to make love, not during this foray into the Mile High Club. I want to fuck.
I pull off his shirt in one single tug and then get frustrated that he’s still mostly dressed.
“Stupid, stupid pants,” I say, and he laughs. He sets me down on my feet and stands up. He undoes his buckle and drops his trousers. I yank down his underwear, which is tented by that perfect giant cock, which I give one, then two delicious, slow tugs. Then I push him back down onto his seat.
“I shouldn’t have bothered to buy you panties,” Axe says.
“You should go commando for the rest of our lives.” I shiver at his casual mention of the rest of our lives, relieved that he, too, understands that this new thing between us is going to stick.
Somehow, without saying a word, we both know we’re forever.
Neither of us will ever look up at the night sky alone again.
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Oh, so you want me to go regimental? I was wondering if that was actually a Scottish thing or just something that romance novels made up to make kilts extra hot.”
He chuckles. “Aye, lass, it’s real enough. But I think we both know you don’t need a kilt to make things hot.”
“True,” I say, tilting my hips just enough to make his breath hitch.
Axe pulls the lace of my new underwear down gently this time, so it doesn’t rip. I growl my annoyance. Too slow. He laughs again, delighted by my desperation.
I climb onto him. I’m dripping wet, ready before we’ve even started. Axe doesn’t seem to mind—he’s also raring to go—and when I center his dick and then lower myself in one quick motion, his groan rumbles through me like thunder.
“Good girl,” he says, with his hands gripping my hips and his head thrown back. “Already so fucking good.”
I start to ride him, slow for a few beats, just to adjust to the sheer size of him, and then fast, because I’m suddenly so thirsty for his cock, I can’t wait. I pant in his ear and set a punishing rhythm. He finds my clit with his fingers and circles while he nibbles and sucks on my breasts.
“Fuck,” I say, because he is giving me everything I want and need. That total obliteration. I am lost only in chasing the feel of him, the high of riding him, the shuddering crash that is going to leave me spent. “You were made for me.”
“I was made for you,” he repeats, and I can tell he, too, is gone. Meeting me in this place of pure pleasure. More than thirty thousand feet from reality. He tilts his hips, and somehow he finds a whole new angle that hits me in the perfect spot.
“Please, please, please,” I beg, near tears, though I don’t know what I’m begging for. I want nothing more than what he’s already giving me.
“Josie, I’m going to—I don’t think I can hold on for—”
But he doesn’t finish his sentence, because suddenly I’m screaming from the delicious pleasure of release, and I come harder than I’ve ever come in my whole life. I grip his shoulders so tightly, I’m sure I’ve broken skin.
He follows me over the edge, and I feel his juddering release inside me. I still, and he holds me there, forehead to forehead, our bodies still joined, both of us a sweaty mess of exhilaration. We breathe each other’s air as we pant, and tears spring to my eyes.
Despite the horror of what I have to face when we reach the ground, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more at peace than I do right now.
A few minutes later, after we’re dressed, I curl back up on Axe’s lap, and I tuck my head into his neck.
And I sleep like that, distracted and satiated, for the rest of the flight.
—
The moment we land, Axe escorts me off the plane, his grip gentle and yet strong, and guides me to the car that will drop me off at home. Still no questions, no pressure, no demands—just that quiet I’ve-got-you vibe.
He somehow knows exactly what I need.
At no point do I feel like I have to pretend to be okay. He will not be shaken by the real me.
When we’re at my door, Axe finally turns and cups my face in his hands. He’s careful. Like I’m precious but not in any way fragile.
“Do you want me to be there with you while you do whatever you have to do, or do you need to do this alone?” he asks.
“Alone,” I say. He nods in full understanding.
“I love you, Josie Greene,” he says, and I’m overcome with so much joy and gratitude and sadness all at the same time.
Axe MacKenzie loves me. Nothing else matters, and all I want to do is pull him inside and let him hold me and fuck me and love me till the sun comes up on another day. But there’s still business to finish.
He kisses my lips with the softest peck. “I’m going to trust you to let me know when you need me.”
Then he walks away and takes my whole heart with him.
—
Thirty minutes later, I march into Spa-la-la, because according to Alan, my mom is here using my free gift certificate from Axe’s dead brother. The irony in this is so obvious, I’d giggle if I wasn’t already so overcome with rage.
The air reeks of lemongrass with an undertone of useless rich ladies, and when I blow past the woman at the desk, she hits me with a raised eyebrow but doesn’t stop me.
I must look deranged enough that she doesn’t want to.
I find Mom in a treatment room, reclined in a plush chair, getting a facial, cucumbers over her eyes like a parody of the good life.
Old instincts kick in—some sick, deep-rooted reflex that almost makes me want to tell her about my adventures.
About how I flew on not one but two private jets in the last three days.
About how I saw Scotland. About how I slept in a motherfucking castle.
But I don’t, of course.
“Hi, Mom.” Something in my tone makes the aesthetician scuttle out the door.
Slowly, my mother pulls the cucumbers off her eyes and looks at me.
Does she know that I know?
Nonna always had a way of speaking through the cards. Like she was weaving together a story from the symbols only she could understand. The Moon, the Star, and the Ten of Pentacles. At the time, they seemed like abstract ideas. Some kind of invisible-ink fortune cookie I couldn’t quite read.
But now—oh, Nonna—I so fucking get it.
“What are you doing here, sweetheart? I’ve tried you a hundred times, and you didn’t return my calls!” Her voice is warm, wounded, and so deeply concerned. She has never broken character. Not once. In all these years.
“I lost my phone,” I say, and feel a rush of satisfaction knowing I will never have to see her increasingly desperate calls and guilt-trip texts again. Will never have to feel even a shred of obligation to call her back. After today, I won’t have a mother.
“You look tired. You should be in bed,” Mom says.
And this time, I can’t help it. I bark out a bitter laugh.
I think of the Moon card, with its hidden truths and deception, Nonna’s way of warning me that something wasn’t right. That what I saw wasn’t the whole picture.
“I feel great, Mom. Actually, I’ve been away, and I left my health kit at home. Didn’t need it.”
“Josie!” She sits up, horror in her eyes.
The Moon card: all her lies.
And next the Star: hope and healing. Nonna, I hear you loud and clear.
“I was never sick, was I?” I fire the words like a bullet. No warning.
For a second, she stares at me, her cucumbers dropping from her fingers onto the floor with a plop.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Josie. You were dying. You lost all of your hair.”
“How could I forget? You carry that tote bag with my picture everywhere you go.”
The Ten of Pentacles: a symbol of family legacy, wealth, security.