Chapter 24 #2
He’d told me the PR contract was over and that I’d see the news soon enough. So maybe that was what the call was about, Anna calling to coordinate how the media would break the news about their “separation.” At least, that’s what I was going to choose to believe today.
The good news? No sign of the flask that sat there before.
“Okay, time to change transportation,” Chris announced, pulling into a parking spot.
I stepped out of the car, my legs stiff from sitting for so long.
The kids, however, were fully recharged.
I looked around, and my stomach dropped.
We were at an airport. Not the crowded, chaotic kind with long lines and people dragging suitcases everywhere.
No, this was something else entirely. Secluded, quiet, and surrounded by private planes.
Sleek, shiny, terrifying private planes.
Oh no. No, no, no.
Chris handed his car keys to the valet, his gaze casually drifting to one of the planes parked nearby, like this was just another Saturday for him. Meanwhile, I stood there frozen, trying not to panic while every nerve in my body screamed at me to get back in the car.
Carol must’ve noticed my internal meltdown because she leaned close to Chris, whispering. “Dude… she’s scared shitless of planes.”
He didn’t even look surprised. If I wasn’t having a mini stroke, I’d be turned on by how in charge and composed he was being.
“I’m aware,” he replied, calm as ever.
Carol blinked at him like she wasn’t expecting that. “You are?”
“Yeah,” he said with a slight nod. “But where we’re going is worth it. Trust me.”
I felt his hand lightly brush against my back, and I flinched before forcing myself to relax. The kids were bouncing with excitement, their wide eyes darting between the plane and Chris like he was the coolest person they’d ever met.
Act human. Now.
I tried faking enthusiasm, but my heart was racing, and the closer I got to the plane, the harder it was to ignore it.
The idea of flying had always made me nervous.
A giant metal tube that defied gravity? Yeah, no thanks.
The thought alone gave me chills. But for some reason, I ended up standing a few feet from one of the shiny death machines.
Chris leaned closer. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, even though it was obvious I wasn’t. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I couldn’t seem to loosen them.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing the word out.
He gave me a long look as if he could see right through the lie, but he didn’t push it.
“I’d like to talk to you about something,” he said after a pause.
“Can it wait until we’re off the giant flying piece of metal?”
He giggled. “Sure.”
We climbed the stairs to the plane, and I felt like jumping into a movie.
The plane was smaller than any commercial jet I’d ever been on, but inside, it was…
well, extravagant. The seats looked a hundred times more comfortable than any first-class section.
Not that I’d know firsthand. I didn’t fly often, and when I did, the idea of paying for first class seemed ridiculous.
Why bother when I’d be spending the whole flight internally—and sometimes externally—crying anyway? Might as well save the money.
Chris’ hand rested on my waist as he guided me toward our seats. Carol and the kids settled up front, whispering and laughing like they were in on some big secret. It took me a second to realize we weren’t stopping with them. We kept moving. I shot him a look.
“Close to the bathroom in case I decide to throw up from anxiety? Smart.”
He chuckled. “You’re not going to throw up.” He definitely didn’t get how bad I hated airplanes. “And sitting near the bathroom was strategic, yes,” he admitted, giving my waist the slightest squeeze, “but not for that reason.”
Oh.
I swallowed, trying to keep my expression neutral.
Message received.
The tension between us had been simmering for way too long.
Late-night calls every night for the past week; before that, we went almost a month without seeing each other.
No wonder I felt like combusting whenever he touched or glanced at me.
If I hadn’t been half-asleep when he showed up at my door this morning, I probably would’ve told the kids to wait inside and jumped him in the backseat before we left.
We settled into our seats, and damn, they were as comfortable as they looked.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe a little extra luxury would make this whole hurtling-through-the-sky-in-a-metal-tube thing slightly less terrifying.
Chris took my hand, gently squeezed it, and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
Then he signaled to one of the flight attendants up front.
“I travel a lot, you know?” he said.
“Yeah, I can imagine.” I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Not when I was stuck in the window seat, forced to watch the guys with the bright orange vests laughing and probably saying, ‘Yep, this plane’s held together with duct tape and prayers. Good luck to them.’
“I’m not the biggest fan of flying myself. But now I take some steps to make it easier. Would you like to try them?” Chris continued.
I squinted at him. “Depends… is one of them prescription medication?”
He laughed, clearly entertained by my misery. I squeezed his hand in retaliation, digging my nails into his skin. The bastard smiled wider.
“Step one…” he started, as the flight attendant returned, setting two shot glasses of golden liquid on his tray. “Tequila.”
I blinked at him. “Chris, my children are sitting not even ten feet away.”
“It’s just one shot,” he reasoned. “We’re not driving, and I know it takes more than one shot to get you drunk.”
I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but… yeah, okay, fair point.
It was a fuck-it kind of day. If I were going to have a meltdown at 30,000 feet, I might as well have a little tequila in my system while I did it.
With a resigned sigh, I grabbed the glass and knocked it back in one go.
Chris grinned like I’d made him proud before taking his own.
The intercom crackled, and the pilot’s voice filled the cabin with the usual pre-flight spiel.
I swallowed hard. The engines hummed louder. The planes moved.
Fuck. Here we go.
We’d been in the air for what felt like an eternity, but my watch said thirty minutes.
The plane had leveled out, and the terrifying noises had faded into a dull hum.
Still, I hadn’t moved. Or breathed properly.
Or unclenched a single muscle. I finally turned to Chris, only to find him staring at me with an expression that looked an awful lot like pain.
Shit.
I followed his gaze down to where my nails were still buried in his hand. Honestly, it was a miracle he wasn’t bleeding. I yanked my hand away immediately.
“I’m sorry…”
He forced out a laugh. “It’s okay.”
He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and let his hand rest on my cheek. He just… looked at me.
I really, really wanted to kiss him.
I leaned in, but my eyes suddenly flicked to the side and landed right on Carol. Watching us. My body tensed with self-consciousness, and instead of closing the gap, I pulled back, clearing my throat.
“So… what’s step two?”
Chris’ smile stretched wide, the pain in his hand clearly forgotten.
“Are you feeling good enough to stand?”
I nodded. His hand trailed from my cheek, gliding down my body in the lightest, most maddening touch until it reached my seat belt—the one sitting so low on my stomach. The way his hand rested there for a second too long was enough to make my breath hitch. A soft click made me jolt slightly.
“You trust me?” he murmured.
I nodded again. His voice dipped even lower.
“Then get up. Walk to the bathroom. And wait there.” I should’ve rolled my eyes or shut him down. But I was too anxious and way too turned on to argue. So, I stood.
I stole a quick glance at the kids. Both were zoned out with their tablets and headphones on.
Carol was back to her book, oblivious. I gripped the chair in front of me for balance and slowly made my way to the bathroom, feeling Chris’ eyes on me the entire time.
Once inside, I closed the door and exhaled, catching my reflection in the mirror.
I was smiling.
I didn’t even realize it.
I could blame it on the tequila, but let’s be real, one shot wasn’t doing shit to me. I wasn’t a big drinker these days, but twenty-year-old me had built up a lifetime of tolerance.
“What are you even doing?” I muttered at my reflection, trying to shake off that ridiculous, giddy smile. Before I could spiral too hard, the door swung open so fast I jumped, even though I was expecting it.
Chris stood there, eyes dragging over every inch of me, mentally undressing me.
“I don’t think we both fit in here. It’s too small,” I blurted out. “You spent all this money on a private plane and still end up with a regular-sized airplane bathroom? I mean, you should—”
He cut off my nervous rambling by pressing two fingers gently against my lips while stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
“Shh…”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you just shush me?”
My words came out muffled against his fingers, but before I could fully commit to my outrage, his hands slid down to my waist, pulling me closer. And just like that, any plans to stay annoyed completely vanished. My cheeks warmed, and he shot me with one of those smirks.
“Now,” he murmured, “do you want me to teach you step two or not?”
“Sure…” I whispered.
He let his hands wander. One trailing down my thigh and slipping under my skirt. His lips hovered right over mine, close enough that I could feel his breath but not close enough to touch.
“Always a fan of your fashion choices,” he murmured as his fingers brushed over the fabric between my legs.
I tensed, thighs squeezing together involuntarily.
“Open your legs, Blaze.” His lips teased against mine, and I did as I was told. The second my legs parted, his fingers slipped under my underwear, finding exactly what he was looking for. “I see I’ve been missed…” he murmured against my lips.
“Terribly,” I managed, barely getting the word out before he slid two fingers inside me.
And then, finally, he kissed me, hungry and desperate, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they worked me.
When he pulled away from the kiss, my head tilted back against the wall, and his lips didn’t go far.
They traveled down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
His fingers never stopped moving, and neither did his mouth.
“Fuck, Blaze,” he groaned. “I want you all to myself. Every day. All the time.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and then, louder, more demanding—“Tell me you’re mine.
” I focused long enough to form a sentence, but he wasn’t making it easy.
He leaned back, and his gaze locked onto mine while his fingers curled inside me. “Say it.”
Those eyes. Like I ever stood a chance against them.
“Chris…” I whimpered, barely holding on.
But then he stopped. He was waiting. “Say. It.”
I looked at him—like a good fucking girl—and said it. “I’m yours.”
Who was I even trying to kid? I was his. Completely. Even before I knew him, before he was real, before any of this. I had always been his. The second the words left my mouth, that wicked smile spread across his face, and he was back at it. Faster. Deeper.
“Step three…” he murmured against my ear. And then, his lips brushing my skin, he gave me my final instruction. “Let go.”
That was all it took. I bit down on my lip to muffle the moan that threatened to give us away, and my body melted against him, completely unraveling in his hands. He chuckled, low and satisfied, his breath warm against my neck. But he wasn’t done.
“Good girl,” he whispered. His hands traveled up to my waist, fingers pressing hard enough to make me shiver. Slowly, he guided me. “Now, turn around.”