Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lucian: Training camp update: Coach made us run laps because someone forgot their helmet.
It wasn’t me. But I still looked hot doing it.
Olivia: Wow. So brave.
So sweaty. A real inspiration to athletes everywhere.
Somehow I don’t believe it’s because someone forgot a helmet .
. . and you have something to do with it.
Lucian: I’m going to ignore your slander.
And just so you know, I think they’ll probably put me on a stamp.
“America’s Most Shirtless.”
Olivia: Already bought a dozen.
Gonna use them exclusively for complaint letters and jury duty excuses.
Lucian: Speaking of complaints: your dog ate the box of my protein bars.
I caught her before she got into the actual product.
Olivia: Sarah is YOUR dog.
By the way—your child took my sock into the shower, got it wet, and then tried to bury it in my new potted plant.
Lucian: She’s an innovator.
That’s called enrichment.
Olivia: It’s called sabotage.
What kind of welcome is that?
“Look at your new home, pretty little plant, here’s a dirty wet sock”?
Lucian: She’s just bored without me.
You should walk her more.
Or let her binge-watch The Bachelor.
Olivia: She only watches prestige television.
We’re halfway through a Succession rewatch.
She’s very pro-Shiv.
Lucian: Smart girl. Knows her anti-heroes.
Olivia: Speaking of families—what is this I heard about me going to visit your family this weekend?
!
Lucian: Oh. That.
Olivia: Lucian.
Lucian: Fine.
I may have mentioned I’m not flying solo to the estate this weekend.
Olivia: You WHAT. I don’t understand.
Lucian: The real question is—how the hell did you find out before I even had a chance to tell you?
Olivia: Aspen, of course.
Lucian: Your sister?
How?
Olivia: Yes.
This is how it went: Hailey told Aspen that you miraculously have a girl now.
(which you don’t by the way).
Naturally, she and Scottie want the 4-1-1.
And who better to ask about this mystery woman than the neighbor.
Enter me. The “neighbor.” They want me to figure out who’s got you so smitten that you’re not only inviting her to meet your family, but is also LIVING with you.
Lucian: Doesn’t your sister know you’re temporarily living with me?
Olivia: Uhh . . . nope.
Lucian: Why?
Olivia: She may or may not have told me to keep you close but stay the fuck away.
“He’s a Crawford,” she said.
Lucian: What does that even mean?
Olivia: It means: football star.
Certified player. Walking red flag with abs.
Lucian: I feel seen.
Olivia: That wasn’t a compliment.
Lucian: No, but it was accurate.
And deeply flattering.
Olivia: Wait—why would you tell your dads I’m coming with you?
!
Lucian: I didn’t tell them you were coming.
I told them I wasn’t coming alone.
Very different.
Olivia: Oh good.
That’ll definitely hold up when I show up and they immediately assume we’re sleeping together.
Lucian: Technically, we are sleeping under the same roof.
And let’s be honest, if they knew we weren’t sleeping together, they’d be more concerned.
Olivia: Are they going to interrogate me?
Lucian: One hundred percent.
Dad will pretend it’s casual.
Papa will hand you a glass of wine and say “So. Olivia. What are your intentions with our disaster of a son?”
Olivia: Great.
Can’t wait. Should I bring a PowerPoint?
Lucian: Only if it includes a section titled “Why He’s Worth the Chaos.”
Olivia: I’m going to need stock photos of stress eating and long sighs for the background music.
Lucian: And a whole slide for “Times I’ve Almost Murdered Him and Didn’t.” You can always use the score from an old horror movie.
Olivia: That one might need a bonus round, what horror movie are we talking about?
Chucky? Children of the Corn?
The Omen? All of them have creepy music.
Lucian: Your choice, the point is that you’re coming.
Right?
Olivia: You didn’t really ask.
You kind of . . . assigned me.
Like I’m emotional carry-on.
Lucian: High-end emotional carry-on.
You even come with your own dog.
They might be more lenient with Sarah if we pretend she’s yours.
They love her but don’t like when she lets the horses out.
Olivia: We’ll talk about this tonight.
I might need to supervise those playdates with the horses—they all need to learn to get along.
Lucian: I’ll bring wine.
You wear that sundress I like.
And maybe nothing else under it, for morale.
Olivia: You really don’t know how to be serious, do you?
I already told you. I don’t own dresses.
Well, I do, but they’re in storage.
Lucian: I’m always serious.
Just not when you’re picturing me pressed against your back, whispering what I’ll do to you once your sister stops texting you long enough for me to get your clothes off.
Olivia: Lucian.
Lucian: I’m just saying—maybe we can use our time on the plane wisely.
Show you the traveling benefits.
We haven’t gone through those yet, have we?
Olivia: You keep talking like that, and I might just make you sleep on the couch.
Lucian: You just say that to keep my bed, but you don’t need to.
As I told you last night, as long as you stay in my house that’s where you sleep .
. . or else.
Olivia: Or else what?
Lucian: Well, only good girls deserve my cock.
You don’t follow instructions and .
. .
Olivia: (gasps loudly) Not the cock.
What in the world would I do without it?
Lucian: Oh, you say it like it’s not your favorite bedtime story.
Olivia: Please, I’ve heard better fairytales.
At least those don’t come with a smug narrator and sleep deprivation.
Lucian: You weren’t complaining last night when I was inside you—filling you.
Olivia: I couldn’t. I had something in my mouth.
Lucian: Yeah. Me.
Olivia: You’re so full of yourself.
Lucian: Sure, but we’re no different.
You like to be full of myself too.
Should we talk about what I’m actually planning for the flight?
Or do you want plausible deniability?
Olivia: What could you possibly do to me on a plane?
You’re barely tall enough for those seats.
Lucian: That’s cute.
You think I need a full seat to make you squirm.
Olivia: I think you’re delusional.
Lucian: I think you’re dying to find out what I could do with, say .
. . a velvet sleep mask and that little wooden stir stick they give you with your drink.
Olivia: Absolutely not.
Lucian: Oh, absolutely yes.
I could tie your hands behind that thin little airline blanket, lean in real slow like I’m just whispering something innocent, then slide that stir stick right between your thighs and show you how good I am at improvising.
Olivia: You’re evil.
Lucian: Only when it turns you on.
Olivia: I am in public.
Lucian: Oh you like it in public?
I can get on board with that.
We have a voyeuristic among us.
Kinky, and so fucking hot.
Olivia: I’m simply bringing to your attention that there are people on planes.
Lucian: Not in a private jet.
We have privacy. Legroom.
A cabin that’s basically an invitation.
Olivia: An invitation for what?
Lucian: For me to slide my hand between your thighs and make you bite your lip so hard you forget what city we’re flying to.
Olivia: And if I say no?
Lucian: Then I wait.
Like a gentleman. But when you come crawling into my lap mid-flight with those wide eyes and that soft little whimper you try to deny—I’m not gonna be a gentleman anymore.
Olivia: You’re not subtle, are you?
Lucian: I’m not trying to be.
Not when it’s just us on this jet.
No screaming toddlers.
No nosy seatmates. Just you, me, and an altitude that makes your skin feel extra sensitive.
Lucian: You’ll straddle me in a tight little dress, act like you just want to nap on my shoulder—but we both know what you really want.
Lucian: I’ll unzip my bag mid-flight.
Not for a toy. For something a little more .
. . inventive. You know that solid metal stir stick they put in the drink glasses?
Lucian: Yeah. That. I’ll press the smooth, cool end to your lips first. Then I’ll tell you to turn around, hands on the seat in front of you.
Olivia: Lucian . . .
Lucian: You’ll feel it slide between your thighs before you even finish saying my name.
The handle curves just right.
I’ll fuck you with it slow.
Real slow. Just enough to make your knees tremble and your voice catch.
Lucian: Then I’ll take it out and make you put it in your mouth again.
Taste yourself. While I sit back and unzip my pants.
Olivia: There’s more?
Lucian: You think I’m done?
Lucian: Once your pretty little panties are soaked and that needy little sigh escapes your throat, I’ll pull you onto my lap, your back to my chest, and slide inside you.
Lucian: One hand around your throat.
The other teases your clit until you’re shaking for me, whispering my name like it’s the only word you remember.
Olivia: I’m not going to make it through this flight, am I?
Lucian: Oh, you’ll make it.
Barely. But only because I want you conscious when I come in you thirty thousand feet above ground and make you promise me it won’t be the last time you misbehave on my jet.
Lucian: You in, princess?
Olivia: I’m already wet.
Does that count as boarding early?
Lucian: That counts as mine.
Fasten your seatbelt.
We’re not landing anytime soon.
Lucian: I’ll tell the pilot to circle a few extra times.
No rush to land when I’ve got you spread open in the sky.
You want me to tell you what else we can be doing?
Olivia: I should say no.
Lucian: But you want it.
You want to hear it all.
You want me to tell you that I’ll bend you over the leather couch near the minibar.
Legs shaking. Cheeks flushed.
That little whimper in your throat when I tell you not to drop the spoon, no matter how deep I push it.
You feel all that, baby?
Olivia: Fuck, Lucian.
Lucian: That’s the plan.
Lucian: And when I replace it with my cock, you’ll moan so loud the pilot’s going to think we hit turbulence.
Lucian: But I’ll keep your mouth busy.
Maybe I’ll use my tie—wrap it around your throat while I fuck into you from behind, slow and deep.
Pull it every time you clench.
You like that, don’t you?
Giving up control in my hands?
Olivia: I hate how much I love that.
Lucian: No, you don’t.
You crave it. In fact, when I get home, you want me to show you exactly what I’m talking about.
But that’s for later.
Lucian: And after I’ve ruined that sweet little pussy with my cock, I’ll lay you back on the table and eat you until you’re begging me to stop.
I won’t. I want you squirming.
Want you sobbing my name.
Want you ruined for anyone else.
Olivia: You already did that.
Lucian: I haven’t even started, baby.
Lucian: You know the crystal champagne stopper?
Olivia: . . . Lucian.
Lucian: Oh yeah. Smooth, rounded tip.
Just thick enough. Perfect to stretch you open while I watch, stroking myself.
Lucian: I’ll make you sit on it, knees spread, hands tied behind your back with my shirt.
Just like that. Dripping, panting, desperate.
And when I finally fuck you?
It won’t be gentle. It’ll be filthy, fast, rough.
The kind of fuck you feel for days.
Lucian: I want you limping off this plane.
Hair wrecked. Dress inside out.
My come dripping down your thighs.
Lucian: So when people see you the next day, they’ll know.
They’ll know you spent the night getting owned.
Olivia: I’m going to combust.
Lucian: Not yet.
You’ll come for me first. On your knees.
Then on my cock. Then again, in my mouth.
Lucian: And when I land this jet?
Lucian: I’ll fuck you again before we even make it to the house.
Cabin door open. You bent over the stairs.
Anyone could see.
Lucian: But they won’t.
Lucian: That’s just for me.
Now, be a good girl and go touch yourself while I’m training.
See you tonight, baby—be ready for more.