Chapter 26 ASH
ASH
Mile High
The morning feels different.
Not in a bad way—just… heavier. Like the air is thick with the kind of quiet that comes when something good is about to end.
Olive’s curled up on the terrace with her coffee, wearing one of my shirts and staring out at the ocean like she’s trying to memorize it.
I want to tell her I already have—every sunrise, every laugh, every moment of her hair wind-tangled and her skin sun-warmed.
But instead, I clear my throat and say, “Car’ll be here in twenty. ”
She nods without looking back.
The villa staff have packed our bags, and the place looks too neat now, like we were never here. No more wet towels draped over chairs, no stray flip-flops by the pool. Just a polished postcard version of what was, waiting for the next couple to live in it.
The drive to the airstrip is quiet, her hand warm in mine but her gaze fixed on the blur of palm trees. I don’t try to fill the silence.
The jet waits for us on the tarmac, sleek and gleaming in the sun. Celine greets us with champagne and that knowing smile people get when they see you as a “couple.” I let them think it. Hell, for the last few days, I almost let myself think it too.
As we settle into the same plush seats we flew in on, Olive kicks off her sandals and tucks her feet under her. She looks over at me, just a small smile, but it hits like a sucker punch.
“You ready to go home?” I ask.
Her eyes linger on mine for a second too long before she answers, “I’m not sure.”
Neither am I.
The engines hum to life, and Tulum falls away beneath us—blue fading into white, white into nothing.
I tell myself I’ll forget the way this trip felt. But I already know I won’t.
Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico, Olive’s asleep.
Her head tips toward the window, hair falling over her face, lips parted just slightly.
I reach for her laptop, tucked safely in her carry-on at her feet.
She gave it to me last night—hesitant, almost shy, like she was handing me something breakable. I trust you, she’d said. And damn if that didn’t land harder than it should have.
I start to read. Within minutes, I’m gone.
The story is sharp and tender all at once, the kind of writing that makes you feel like you’re living inside the characters’ skin. Her dialogue snaps. Her descriptions are pure poetry without trying too hard. And the way she builds tension? Hell, I’m jealous.
It’s not just good. It’s really fucking good.
Every few pages I glance over at her, half-expecting her to wake up and catch me with that little smirk she gets when she knows she’s right. But she keeps sleeping, and I keep reading, devouring chapter after chapter until I forget I’m on a plane.
There are rough edges, sure. Places where she clearly wasn’t sure yet what she wanted to say. But the bones are solid, and the heart of it—the voice—is all hers.
By the time I set it down, my chest feels tight. She has no idea how talented she is. How much this could change her life if she let it.
I look at her again, still sleeping against the hum of the engines, and I make a silent promise right there—she’s going to finish this book. And I’m going to make damn sure the whole world reads it.
Finally, Olive stirs, her lashes fluttering.
I wait until her eyes find mine. “Olive, I read it.” I tap her laptop. “It’s brilliant.”
She blinks, still too sleepy to fully process. “You read it already?”
“Cover to… well, wherever you stopped writing. Which, by the way, is a crime. You can’t just leave a guy hanging like that.”
She sits up a little, cheeks coloring. “You’re exaggerating.”
I lean in, holding her gaze. “I’m not. It’s sharp. It’s real. It’s you, but in print. And if you don’t finish it, I swear I’ll… I don’t know, lock you in a room with nothing but coffee and a laptop until you do.”
She laughs, the sound a little embarrassed, a little pleased. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re a goddamn writer,” I say, dead serious. “People need to read this.”
Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to figure out if I’m messing with her. I’m not. Not this time.
I shift closer, the laptop forgotten on the table. “You have no idea,” I murmur, “how much it turns me on, seeing you like this.”
She tilts her head. “Like what?”
I brush my knuckles over her knee, up the smooth line of her thigh. “Confident. Creative. Completely unaware of how damn talented you are.”
Her breath hitches, and I feel the pull between us like a live wire. The hum of the jet, the soft leather seats, the faint scent of her shampoo—suddenly, it’s all background noise.
“You really liked it?” she whispers.
I lean in until my mouth is a whisper from hers. “Liked it?” My lips ghost over her jaw. “I want to crawl into your head and live in the way you write. Every word felt like you were writing it for me.”
She shivers under my touch, her knees falling apart just enough for me to slide my hand higher.
“Ash…”
The sound of my name from her lips—half-protest, half-plea—snaps whatever restraint I had left. I kiss her, slow but deep, savoring the way she melts against me. Her mouth tastes like champagne and the last bit of mango from dessert.
When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Finish the book, Olive,” I murmur, my thumb brushing the edge of her lower lip. “And maybe I’ll let you finish what you’re doing to me right now.”
She laughs softly, but her fingers are already curling in my shirt, dragging me back for another kiss—this one hotter, hungrier.
Her laugh is still on my lips when I murmur, “Come with me,” and nod toward the back of the jet.
She blinks. “Ash…” There’s a warning in her tone, but it’s undermined by the way her pupils blow wide.
I lace my fingers through hers, tugging her up from the seat. The hum of the engines swallows our footsteps as I guide her toward the rear cabin. Past the galley. Past the sleeping quarters. Straight to the oversized, marble-and-chrome bathroom that most penthouses would be jealous of.
I lock the door with a soft click.
Olive’s already shaking her head, but she’s smiling—breathless, like she knows exactly what’s coming. “This is… so inappropriate.”
“Good thing I’m not appropriate.” I back her up against the counter, my hands braced on either side of her hips. “Besides—no one’s going to hear us over the engines.”
Her breath hitches when I dip my head, brushing my mouth along the curve of her neck. The soft scent of her skin—sun-warmed and faintly floral—makes me dizzy in the best way.
“Ash…” It’s barely a whisper now.
I meet her eyes in the mirror above the sink, watching her chest rise and fall, the flush creeping across her cheeks. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t.
So I press her against the sink, my body flush against hers, the cool marble digging into my back.
Her breath hitches as my hands come up, urgent, possessive.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing her cheeks, and pull her into a kiss that’s anything but gentle.
Her lips part under mine, soft and willing, and I groan, the sound vibrating against her mouth.
My fingers tangle in her hair, messy and textured like mine, and I hold her there, drinking her in like I’ve been starving for her.
Olive’s hands grip my shirt, her nails digging into my shoulders as she kisses me back with equal fervor.
Her body molds to mine, her curves fitting perfectly against my frame.
I can feel her heartbeat through her blouse, rapid and frantic, matching the rhythm of my own.
The jet’s engine drones on, a distant backdrop to the storm building between us.
I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her jawline, her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. The faint scent of her perfume mixes with the salty sweetness of her sweat, driving me wild. “Olive,” I murmur against her pulse point, my voice rough with need, “I want you so much.”
She tilts her head back, exposing the delicate line of her throat, and her breath catches. “Then stop talking,” she whispers, her voice husky.
I don’t need to be told twice. My hands move down her body, tracing the curves I’ve been dying to explore.
I unbutton her blouse slowly, deliberately, my fingers trembling with impatience.
The fabric falls away, revealing the lace of her bra, and I pause to admire her, my gaze hungry.
Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breath.
The swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist—every inch of her is a temptation I can no longer resist.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, my voice a raw whisper.
My focus is singular now. I lift her onto the counter, her legs wrapping around my waist as I press closer.
The confined space amplifies every sensation—her warmth, her scent, the way her body moves against mine.
My hands slide down her thighs, squeezing gently, and I pull her closer, our hips grinding together in a rhythm that’s becoming frantic.
The mirror behind her begins to fog up, our reflections blurred in the steam, like we’re in our own world, cut off from everything but the heat between us.
Olive’s fingers dig into my hair, holding me close as she kisses me again, her lips demanding, her tongue tangling with mine.
I groan, the sound muffled against her mouth, and my hands move lower, cupping her ass, lifting her to meet me.
The friction between us is electric, the promise of what’s to come making my blood boil.
“Ash,” she gasps, her voice breathless, “I—”
I silence her with another kiss, deeper this time, pouring every ounce of desire into it.
My hands roam over her, urgent and hungry, like I’m trying to memorize every inch of her.
Her skin is soft under my touch, her body responsive, and I’m drowning in her.
The sounds of our passion fill the small bathroom—the wet smack of our kisses, the soft gasps, the rustle of fabric as it’s discarded.
The jet’s engine hums in the background, a steady reminder of where we are, but it only adds to the thrill.
The risk of being caught, the confined space, the urgency of it all—it’s intoxicating.
I grip her thighs tighter, pulling her closer still, our movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Olive’s nails dig into my back, her body arching into mine as she moans my name. Her breath is hot against my ear, her voice a mix of pleasure and surrender.
“Ash, please,” she pants, her hands clutching at my shoulders. “I need you.”
I don’t need her to finish the sentence.
I know what she wants, what we both need.
I reach down, unbuckling my belt with trembling fingers, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Olive’s eyes darken with anticipation as she watches me, her lips parted, her chest heaving.
I slide her lace panties down her legs, the fabric catching on her ankles before she kicks them off, leaving her bare and exposed.
Her skin is flushed, her core glistening with anticipation, and I groan, my control slipping further.
“You’re so wet for me,” I murmur, my voice thick with desire. “So fucking ready.”
She bites her lip, her cheeks staining with a deep blush. “Shut up and fuck me, Ash.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I position myself at her entrance, teasing her with slow, deliberate movements, savoring the way she squirms and begs for more. “Say it again,” I demand, my voice dominant, my eyes locking with hers.
“Fuck me, Ash,” she whispers, her voice desperate. “Please.”
I thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely, and she gasps, her head falling back against the mirror.
The sound of skin against skin fills the small space, our movements frantic, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.
I pull her closer, our bodies fitting together perfectly, the friction sending sparks through my veins.
The air is thick with the scent of her, of us, and I’m lost in it.
Olive wraps her legs tighter around my waist, her heels digging into my ass as she meets my thrusts, her body moving with mine in a rhythm that’s becoming increasingly desperate. “Harder, Ash,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I need it harder.”
I don’t hold back. I pound into her, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing in the confined space. Her walls clench around me, tight and wet, and I know she’s close. “That’s it, baby,” I growl, my voice hoarse. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
Her eyes squeeze shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her body trembles around me. “Ash—I—”
Her orgasm rips through her, her body shaking, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I follow her over the edge, my release crashing into me like a wave, my name on her lips as I fill her.
For a moment, we stay like that, entwined, our hearts pounding in unison.
The bathroom is humid, the air heavy with the scent of our passion.
Finally, I pull back, my hands gently sliding down her thighs as I set her back on her feet. She leans against the sink, her chest heaving, her green eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and amusement.
“Well,” she says, her voice teasing, “that was one way to pass the time on a flight.”
I chuckle, running a hand through my messy hair, my body still buzzing with the aftermath. “Yeah,” I agree, my voice rough. “Definitely better than watching another in-flight movie.”
As we step out of the bathroom, the captain’s voice crackles over the speakers, announcing our descent into L.A..
Olive glances out the window, the city skyline just beginning to take shape against the horizon. Her expression shifts—like she’s tucking the memory of the last few days into some private place before reality can reach us.
I watch her, feeling the weight of the change in the air. The villa, the sun, the salt water—that was our bubble.
This… is the real world creeping back in.
And I’m not entirely sure either of us is ready for it.