Chapter 2
ASTRID
Too much space for thoughts that won’t stay still.
I lower myself carefully, like my body might betray me if I move too fast.
My wrist still throbs, the burn quiet now but not gone. Pain never leaves all at once. It lingers, pretending it’s forgotten.
Yuri does too.
Him, and that second when gravity disappeared the moment he stepped in.
Somewhere in the chaos, I forgot how much I hate flying. The helplessness of it. Being strapped down, miles above ground with no control and no escape.
I tell myself it’s fine every time. It never is.
Fingers press together. Breathe.
The cabin hums around me. Muted voices, coats shifting, attendants moving with smooth efficiency.
Ordinary things. Supposedly grounding things.
None of it works.
I close my eyes.
And still, his voice finds me.
“I’ve got you.”
Low. Calm. Unrushed.
The way he stepped in without asking permission. The way he took control as if it was already his to claim.
The steadiness of his hands. The certainty in his eyes.
And the silver threaded through his dark hair.
Authority. The kind earned through years of experience and choices that leave marks.
I have never been drawn to boys. Never found softness appealing.
Yuri is not soft. He is a man who looks like he has lived, survived, taken hits, and learned exactly how to give them back. The awareness settles low in my stomach, unwelcome and electric.
The phrase flashes through my mind and refuses to leave.
Experience carved into sharp lines and stillness. A man who knows exactly what he wants and does not ask for permission to want it.
Fuck, how good it would feel to give him full control.
“Focus, Astrid,” I whisper to myself.
Paris.
Answers.
Not distractions.
I exhale and stare straight ahead, jaw tight, determined to let it go.
Then the seat beside me shifts.
The air changes. Heavier. Warmer.
Charged in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
I know who it is before I turn my head.
His cologne reaches me first, cedar and restraint and something darker beneath it. The kind of scent that doesn’t announce itself. It lingers. It claims.
“Long time no see.”
Am I imagining this?
Yuri settles into seat 2B with effortless ease, already buckling his seatbelt, posture composed and relaxed like he planned it. His jaw is sharp, his expression unreadable.
He should not be this attractive. It’s unfair.
“Ages,” I say, keeping my tone light. Sarcasm is my armor when my body reacts without permission. “How have you been, Yuri?”
His mouth curves, slow and amused. “Better. Now.”
I sense the meaning behind the words and it sends a thrill through me.
“How’s your wrist?” he asks.
“It could be worse, thanks to you,” I say with a cool grin.
Yuri presses his lips together, holding back a wider smile, and I’m briefly mesmerized by the glint of amusement in his grey eyes.
It’s as if the sun is about to rise and shine in them after a long, turbulent snow.
A pause follows. Not awkward. Charged.
The plane doors close. The cabin quiets.
I feel Yuri’s gaze on me and my body tightens.
“You’re anxious,” he says.
Right, again.
Who the hell is this man?
“I can’t help admire your observant nature, Yuri.”
“Occupational hazard.”
His eyes are locked on me, now, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to settle my body down.
“Of what occupation?”
He smiles, slow and private. “One that requires paying attention to details.”
The engines rumble beneath us, a deep vibration threading through the floor and into my bones. The plane begins to taxi. I grip the armrests like they’re lifelines.
“You don’t like flying.”
“What’s not to like about being locked in a metal box forty thousand feet above the ground?”
His tone stays calm, deliberate. “If flying were truly dangerous, powerful people wouldn’t trust their lives to it.”
Power. Certainly something this man knows plenty about.
“Well.” I force my voice light. “It’s comforting to know at least one of us is completely in control.”
His eyes find mine. Too steady. Too knowing. “You have no idea.”
Heat slides up my throat. My fingers dig into the smooth leather of the armrest.
The plane turns toward the runway, engines roaring, air pressure shifting.
And I realize the terrifying truth.
Control is exactly what I want to lose.
I become acutely aware of him again.
Big. Not gym-bro built, but solid. Capable. The kind of strength that looks effortless, like he could lift me without noticing the weight.
His dark charcoal jacket clings to shoulders Michelangelo could’ve sketched in a fever dream. Legs long, confident, stretched into my space without apology.
His lips hover maybe six inches away. One small movement could rewrite everything, and I’ve already debated doing too many out-of-character things today.
“You get off on this, don’t you?”
“On what?”
“My fear of flying.”
“Ah, crap,” I mutter as the plane begins its ascent. It’s smooth, steady, yet my pulse refuses to cooperate. The city falls away, swallowed by cloud. My grip on the armrest tightens until my knuckles ache.
“It’s fine,” I whisper to myself. “It’s going to be fine.”
He leans in. Closer than necessary.
The pain in my wrist disappears, replaced by something sharper. Thrumming. His presence presses against me like gravity itself.
“Breathe in,” he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate through my skin. His breath brushes the curve of my ear.
And just like that, fear isn’t the only thing making my pulse race.
Fuck, he’s turning me on.
“Hold it in, then let it out. Slowly.”
“I’m fine.” A lie, shaky and thin.
“Just do as I say.”
His voice. Firm, quiet, threaded with command. Why is that so hot?
I fix my eyes on the seatbelt sign, my so-called anchor. If I turn toward him again, I’ll drown in those silvery eyes. And there’s only so much my body can handle at thirty thousand feet.
“Oh no,” I whisper just as the plane jolts.
My stomach drops. The cabin shudders. Metal trembles and so do I.
Another jolt. Harder. I whip my head toward him before I can stop myself.
Yuri is right there. Close enough to taste the space between us.
God, I want him to close it.
“In, zayka, in,” he says, low and steady, his accent curling around the words like smoke.
My pulse stumbles. “What does zayka mean? Oh crap—”
The third jolt hits. My breath catches. My chest tightens.
I hate turbulence. I hate how my body betrays me before my mind can reason it away.
“I’ve got you, Astrid.”
His voice cuts through the panic.
I barely register when his hand closes over mine.
Warm. Heavy. Certain.
“Look at me,” he says.
I can’t. If I do, I’ll lose what little hold I have left on my instincts. The stirring in my chest feels too familiar—panic, sharp and fast.
“Look at me,” he repeats, firmer now.
Finally, I turn my head. His eyes catch mine—steady, unflinching. Not alarmed. Not rushed.
Not unraveling like I am.
“Breathe with me,” he says. “Slow. You know the drill.”
He inhales deeply, chest rising. I follow, uneven at first.
“Good girl.”
The words hit harder than they should, curling through me in a way that’s both grounding and disarming.
The plane jolts again. My fingers tighten around his.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.” His voice drops lower, almost a hum in the pit of my stomach. “It’s going to be alright.”
Something in his certainty cracks through the panic. I breathe again. Slowly.
“That’s it,” he murmurs.
I nod, still mute. He doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes over my knuckles—light, sure, anchoring me to now instead of fear.
The turbulence eases, but my heart keeps pounding.
“What does zayka mean?” I ask.
“A term of endearment,” he says easily. “You looked like you needed it.”
“What do you do, Yuri?”
“Things that require obedience.”
“You’re going for brooding and mysterious?” I tease softly.
“Whatever gets the job done.”
His calm, his control—it fascinates me. A man who says so little and somehow says everything.
Everything about him radiates power—darkness and light balanced perfectly in a frame built for both command and sin. Gold cuff links, custom clothes, the quiet confidence of a man who’s fought and won.
“What about you, Astrid?” he asks.
“I just graduated,” I say, watching him, weighing what to reveal. He feels like a locked door I can’t stop wanting to open.
He nods. “Seeing the world before you settle into it?”
“Not exactly. I’m looking into my past before deciding on my future.”
His brow lifts—interest sharpened, curiosity alive. And God help me, the warmth of that look feels like victory.
Around us, the world falls away. No passengers. No noise. Just honey-thick silence stretching between us.
“Your past is in Paris,” he concludes.
“My parents were from there. They died when I was little. I don’t even remember them, but I need to see where I come from before I decide what’s next.”
He shifts, his arm brushing mine. Neither of us move back.
“That’s a hard way to grow up,” he says.
“I was raised by good people. I’m grateful.”
He nods slowly. “What waits for you when you go back?”
“An unexpected job offer. I didn’t apply. I just… got it.”
“And that’s strange.”
“Very.”
He studies me, lips curving slightly. I can’t stop watching his mouth, the way it moves, the way his words fold over me.
“You don’t trust fate,” he says. “You think good things don’t just fall from the sky.”
“You’re a therapist,” I joke weakly.
“I just know better than to ignore something extraordinary when it appears.”
“And how do you know it’s extraordinary?”
His voice softens, slicing through my composure. “Because I’m looking at it.”
Heat spreads under my skin.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he adds, leaning in close enough that his breath grazes my cheek. “And those roses on your cheeks tell me I haven’t missed my mark.”
“I still don’t know that much about you,” I whisper.
“Still trying to control something you know you can’t control.”
His voice is the sweet and spicy music of sin.
My body screams, despite my brain’s protests.
My reason and my flesh have reached an impasse, and as Yuri brings a hand up and touches the side of my neck, as fireworks explode where his fingertips meet my skin, I realize that I’m about to relinquish control to a man I know nothing about—yet I crave like I might die without experiencing him.
“What are we doing?” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
“It’s nice to see you’re holding yourself accountable for this, too. Love the ‘we’ part,” Yuri replies. “Come with me.”
“I don’t… I don’t usually do this.”
His gaze holds mine, giving me just enough space to run if I want to.
But I don’t want to.
It scares and exhilarates me at the same time, but the chemistry is undeniable at this point.
“I know,” he says, rising from his seat. “Restroom. Front left. I’ll follow.”
His smirk lights a slow burn in my chest. I stand, legs unsteady, heartbeat a furious drum. Each step down the aisle feels like defiance. The attendant barely glances up, only offering a knowing hint of a smile.
God. My body hums, my mind frays.
No one knows.
The first-class restroom surprises me—bigger than it should be, still claustrophobic in its quiet. I catch my reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright.
I can’t believe I’m about to do two things never done before.
Sex on an airplane.
And sex with a complete stranger.
The door clicks behind me. A lock engages.
He fills the space instantly, taller than I remembered, broader, presence eclipsing the small cabin light.
Power without effort.
“We’re in the clear,” he murmurs. “The stewardess thinks I’m checking on my wife.”
A breath escapes me. “You’re impossible.”
His smile sharpens. “Believe it.”
He steps closer, hand finding my jaw, the other settling at my waist.
His touch steadies and unravels me in the same breath.
The airplane hum fades behind the rush in my ears. For a suspended heartbeat, there is only gravity — the kind that has nothing to do with altitude.
He tilts his head. “Last chance to walk away.”
I meet his gaze, pulse skittering. “I can’t walk, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“You can.” His voice drops lower, steady, knowing. “You just hate admitting that you’re ready to let go.”
Then his mouth claims mine. The world narrows to the shock of it—the heat, the pull, the unraveling rush that steals reason right out of me.
My hands find his chest, solid warmth beneath the crisp fabric, as my knees threaten to give.
For one dizzy moment, there’s nothing but motion and heartbeats and the ache of two people colliding in the narrow space between fear and need.
Somewhere in the blur, I taste both heaven and ruin—and realize I no longer care which one wins.