Chapter Twenty-Eight Imani
Flying has always been my favourite kind of escape. There’s something about being suspended between earth and sky that makes everything else feel smaller. Up here, the noise of the world fades, the pressure in my chest loosens, and I can breathe again.
I sink a little deeper into the plush seat, champagne glass balanced between my fingers, and glance out the window.
The clouds are soft and endless, painted gold at the edges by the afternoon light.
For the first time since France, I feel like myself again.
Like the version of me that existed before overhearing my parents, finding out that the future I thought I had was quietly dissolving beneath me.
None of that matters now. Asher has managed to pull me out of my head, out of the ache that’s been burrowing deep in my chest. He’s done that for me without even realising it.
He’s sitting across from me, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up showing off toned, veiny arms. Every now and then, our eyes meet and I feel butterflies in my stomach.
He catches the look on my face and his mouth tips up at the corner.
He leans in, bracing his forearms on his knees, and gives me a once-over that’s way too soft to be fair.
‘You don’t need to get into the specifics, but are you feeling better now? ’
‘Yes,’ I say immediately, and there’s no point trying to downplay it because it’s the truth. ‘I always feel better when I’m around you, actually.’
Asher blinks, clearly caught off guard, and then his smile splits his face in two. It’s wide and warm and so stupidly pretty I want to press pause on life and live in this moment forever.
‘Really?’ he asks, and the softness in his voice does something funny to my breathing. ‘Because I was just thinking the exact same thing.’
For a split second, neither of us says anything. There’s just the hum of the engines and golden light spilling through the windows.
I shake my head. This is stupid. We’ve literally got the whole jet to ourselves, and here I am, two metres of distance away from the one person who actually makes me feel like I’m a real person and not just a means to an end. Completely ridiculous.
I can’t stand it.
Before I really process what I’m doing, I unbuckle myself and cross the aisle to where he’s sitting. His eyes widen briefly but then I swing a leg over his lap and settle myself there, arms draped around his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It feels like it is.
The effect is instant. He lets out an exhale so deep it feels like he’s been holding it in for an eternity, and his hands find my waist. He holds me in place like maybe he’s worried I’ll disappear if he lets go.
And then we’re kissing, desperate but soft, making up for every second we’ve wasted being apart from each other these last two weeks.
His mouth is hot against mine and suddenly I’m aware of nothing except the fact that I am straddling Asher Vouvalis in a private jet at thirty thousand feet in the air.
I angle my hips forward and he lets out a deep groan that vibrates against my lips.
Maybe it’s the altitude or maybe it’s just Asher, but I feel lightheaded in the best kind of way.
‘Imani,’ he groans. He says my name like it’s the only word he knows. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and my composure goes out the window.
I roll my hips again, slower this time, and he snaps his head back, eyes squeezed shut. ‘You’re killing me,’ he manages, voice strangled.
‘Good,’ I whisper, and do it again.
If the cabin crew walked in right now, I wouldn’t even care.
His tongue slides against mine and my whole body arches into him.
I let out a low moan and he tilts his hips up until I feel the hard outline of his dick brushing against me.
I tug at his hair and that seems to do something devastating to him.
I feel it in the way he shudders, the way his grip tightens, the way his mouth trails from my lips down to my jaw and then back again, like he’s starved and desperate to taste every single part of me.
I suddenly hate myself for wearing my tried and tested travelling outfit, consisting of a comfy pair of sweats and matching hoodie. If I’d worn a dress or a skirt, he’d definitely have pulled it up by now.
I whimper softly as his hands settle on my hips, thumbs dragging along the waistband of my sweats like he’s physically restraining himself from just tearing them off.
I shiver, and it has less to do with the air conditioning blowing and more to do with the way his mouth finds the spot just below my ear.
He dips one of his hands under my hoodie and splays his palm, warm and soft, over my stomach.
There’s a kind of reverence in the way he touches me.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so worshipped in my entire life.
I tip my head back, eyes rolling shut, and lose myself in the sensation of Asher.
He presses kisses along my cheekbone, then drags his mouth lower until he finds the spot just beneath my jaw. He sets his teeth there and bites down. It’s the tiniest of scrapes, but I swear I see stars behind my eyes.
His hands slide up, big palms cupping my breasts through my hoodie and bra, and it’s so much but somehow not even close to enough.
I moan, all dignity utterly gone, and he groans in return like he’s the one about to unravel.
He squeezes me gently, then a little rougher.
His thumbs trace lazy circles over my nipples through the fabric of my bra and I want to sob at how good it feels.
I don’t even realise I’m grinding down on him until he’s pinching both my nipples through my bra, rolling and tugging until I can’t actually think, let alone remember how to breathe.
My entire body lights up like a power grid.
He’s still working his mouth over the spot on my neck where my pulse is hammering and then he sucks, hard, and I nearly scream.
His fingers run over my nipples, not gentle, not rough, somehow just excruciatingly perfect.
His thumbs coax tight little spirals of pleasure out of me until I’m grinding down on him helplessly, the cabin blurring at the edges of my vision.
I feel like I’m short-circuiting. I want to say something witty or devastatingly filthy, but all that comes out is another whimper.
I can feel the heat blooming down my neck, my chest, everywhere, and it hits me that I’m half a second away from coming in my sweatpants, in the lap of Asher Vouvalis, on a private jet.
The thin fabric of my bra isn’t any kind of barrier at all; it’s like he knows exactly how to touch me to turn my brain to static. He circles my nipples with his thumbs, over and over, sometimes gentle, sometimes hard enough to drag a gasp out of me.
I can’t stop grinding down on him and he’s matching me, hips surging up, like he needs this as badly as I do. His hands are relentless. He finally slips one under the cup of my bra, finds my bare nipple, gives it a perfect, quick pinch—
Oh my God.
I shatter. Right there. Lights out. Brain off.
My body feels like a livewire as pleasure rips through me.
I ride the wave, choking out his name, and he just holds me.
All the chaos that’s been knotted up inside me unravels.
I’m boneless, weightless, trembling in his lap, my forehead pressed to his shoulder and my breath coming in wild little gasps.
I can feel his heart hammering right through his sweatshirt.
‘Imani,’ he says, his voice hoarse. The way he says my name nearly finishes me off for a second time.
I keep my face hidden in his chest, trying to slow my pulse and failing completely.
The hoodie I’m wearing suddenly feels too hot and too tight, and it feels like my skin is buzzing under his hands.
He doesn’t say anything, just rubs slow, soothing circles over my back until the aftershocks have faded and I’m just left in an absurd, delirious sort of bliss.
Eventually, I tilt my face up. There’s a flush climbing all the way up his neck and into his cheeks. His hair is a mess, thanks to me, and his lips are kiss swollen and red. The look he gives me is so nakedly hungry and adoring that it sends another spasm of pleasure shooting through me.
I groan and rock against him. He’s hard under me, thick and insistent, and the press of him through his trousers is borderline obscene. I flatten my palm over him and the action sends a jolt of something shooting through his body.
His head tips back, his teeth digging into his lower lip so hard it looks like it might bruise. He bucks up into my touch, and I squeeze just a little harder, the tips of my fingers brushing the shape of him, and—
A clatter from the galley snaps me back long enough to remember that, yes, we’re technically in public and, yes, the cabin door could open at any second.
I don’t move. Asher doesn’t move. We’re statues. Very horny, very obvious statues.
When, after a few seconds, nobody bursts through the door and catches us, I let out a breath and collapse, giggling, against Asher’s chest.
Asher looks dazed. His curls are shoved in every direction, lips still wet and swollen, cheeks burning red.
I grind down on him one last time just for the hell of it to see him shudder.
Worth it.
I go to slide off him, but Asher won’t let me. His arms lock around my waist and he pulls me in tighter, his lips pressed to my temple. I squirm and an embarrassingly pleased little whimper escapes me. He laughs and then reclines our seat until I’m basically on top of him, right where he wants me.
I open my mouth, but he hushes me and tucks me against his chest. I can still hear his heart racing.
‘Stay,’ he murmurs.
I don’t need to be told twice. I burrow closer, my head pillowed on his shoulder as his fingers trace soft lines against my back.
I must fall asleep against his shoulder because when I come back to myself, the cabin lights are dimmed, and Asher’s hand is still tracing lazy, gentle shapes on that bare strip of skin above my waistband.
My whole body feels warm and boneless in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I want to freeze this moment and live in it forever, this perfectly preserved pocket of peace.
A gentle chime cuts through the haze. Then the soft, professional voice of the lead attendant: ‘Mr Vouvalis, Ms Davies, we’ll be arriving in the Seychelles in approximately one hour. If there’s anything you’d like before our descent, please let us know.’
I jerk upright so fast I nearly clock heads with Asher. ‘Did she just say the Seychelles?’
Asher cracks a slow smile. ‘Surprise.’
For a second, I can’t even say anything.
The Seychelles.
It’s a single word, but it hits like a punch to the chest. Not just because it’s beautiful or far away or the kind of destination you only ever see on a desktop background, but because I know exactly why it matters so much to me and, apparently, so does he.
I look at Asher and my heart starts to race. He’s quietly checking my face like he’s worried he might’ve got it wrong, that I wouldn’t want this, that maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to me.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
My throat goes tight. Like dangerously, embarrassingly tight. I can feel my eyes stinging in that way that means I’m exactly two seconds away from either kissing him senseless or bursting into tears. Possibly both.
Asher reaches for my hand, thumb brushing slow across my knuckles, and I can feel the question vibrating between us before he even says it.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks carefully, as if he’s afraid he might shatter me just by asking.
For reasons I cannot begin to understand, this is what does me in. Not the surprise trip or the jet or the fact that my entire future is crumbling and the only thing I actually want is right here in front of me. No, it’s just Asher, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world he cares about.
I nod, and my voice comes out so raw I almost don’t recognise it. ‘Yeah. I’m… yeah. Thank you.’ I laugh, a watery, breathless mess. ‘I just can’t believe you remembered. Or that you’d even want to do this for me.’
He squeezes my hand, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Of course I wanted to. You deserve everything.’
The kiss, when it comes, is slow and impossibly gentle.
He leans in, and my heart skips and I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous.
I’ve kissed Asher before. I know what his mouth tastes like.
But this isn’t like any of the other kisses we’ve shared.
This is the kind of kiss you dream about and then wake up convinced it can’t possibly exist in real life because nothing could ever be this good or right or devastatingly perfect.
My heart trips over itself, then starts up again, double-time and wild in my chest. His lips are so soft it almost hurts.
And just like that, something unspools inside me.
Something huge and bright and terrifying.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and soft, and it suddenly hits me all at once.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh God.
I’m think I’m in love with him.
Deep, can’t-breathe-without-you, stupid, messy love with Asher Vouvalis. The realisation consumes me so entirely, it’s like I’m drunk with it.
He’s kissing me like I’m both his joy and his undoing and all I can think is – this is it.
This is what I’ve been trying not to feel and now I can’t imagine ever feeling any other way.
There’s no going back. My hands are in his curls, my chest is caving in, and every part of me is humming with him and there’s absolutely no denying it now.
This is love.