Chapter 50 Thirty Thousand Feet
Isabella’s POV
The last few days on the yacht blurred together like a fever dream.
We slept.
We ate.
We wandered through tiny coastal shops that smelled like salt and sunscreen.
And then we went back to the boat.
Where Alexander proceeded to make it very clear that leaving the bedroom had been a terrible mistake.
Again.
And again.
And again.
By the end of the third day my legs felt like they belonged to someone who had run a marathon in high heels.
I wasn’t complaining.
Much.
Now we were thirty thousand feet in the air, the soft hum of Alexander’s private jet wrapping around the cabin like white noise.
And I was sitting on him.
Again.
I shifted for the fifth time in two minutes.
“Alexander.”
No answer.
His eyes were on the laptop balanced on the table in front of us, fingers moving across the keyboard with lazy precision.
I sighed.
“Alexander.”
Still nothing.
I leaned forward slightly so my hair brushed his cheek.
“Alexander.”
He finally glanced down at me.
“Yes?”
“Why,” I asked slowly, “am I sitting on you instead of in one of the perfectly comfortable chairs in this very expensive airplane?”
“Because I want you to.”
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
Like that settled the entire discussion.
I blinked at him.
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
I glanced around the cabin.
There were at least six other seats.
All of them empty.
“All those chairs exist,” I said, pointing dramatically.
“And yet,” he replied without looking up from his laptop, “you’re sitting here.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re not even working.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
His fingers paused.
Then continued typing.
“Half the time,” I continued, “you’re just kissing my neck and smelling my hair.”
His hands stopped.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Then the laptop screen went dark as he closed it.
Oh.
That probably wasn’t a good sign.
He set the computer aside and leaned back in the seat, his arms wrapping loosely around my waist.
His gray eyes studied my face.
“Are you bored of me?”
The question was quiet.
Too quiet.
“No,” I said immediately.
He tilted his head.
“But you’d rather sit over there.”
“Yes.”
A beat passed.
Then he shifted.
Before I could react, he moved me so I was straddling him properly, one leg on each side of his.
“Alexander—”
His hands slid up my back, steadying me.
“Stay.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then his lips brushed my neck.
Light.
Slow.
My entire train of thought derailed.
“You were saying?” he murmured against my skin.
“I…” I started.
His mouth moved lower.
And suddenly whatever complaint I had been building vanished completely.
His hand slid into my hair, tilting my head just enough for him to kiss the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
Warm.
Unhurried.
Infuriatingly effective.
“That’s not fair,” I muttered weakly.
He hummed against my throat.
“You were complaining.”
“I was trying to.”
“Try harder.”
His mouth found mine.
And that was the end of the conversation.
The kiss started slow.
Lazy.
But there was a heat beneath it that I had learned to recognize over the past few days.
Dangerous.
Distracting.
When I felt his hard dick twitch between my pussy lips, a jolt of heat shot through me, making me grind against him without thinking.
The thin fabric of my panties and his slacks did nothing to hide the rigid length of him, pulsing with need right there in the plush leather seat of the jet.
My body betrayed me, hips rocking forward in a slow, instinctive roll, chasing that friction like it was oxygen.
“Alexander,” I whispered, but it came out more like a moan, my hands fisting in his shirt as his lips trailed lower, nipping at the sensitive skin just above my collarbone. His breath was hot against me, sending shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the cabin.
He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands gripped my waist tighter, guiding my movements with a firm, unyielding pressure.
I could feel every inch of him hardening further beneath me, the bulge straining against his zipper, teasing my clit with each subtle shift.
The hum of the engines vibrated through the seat, adding to the electric buzz building between my thighs.
“Stay,” he murmured again, his voice a low growl that vibrated against my neck.
One hand slid up my back, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head, exposing more skin for his mouth.
He sucked gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
The other hand dipped lower, cupping my ass and pulling me flush against him, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his cock.
I tried to protest—something about the flight attendants, or the pilot, or how this was insane thirty thousand feet in the air—but the words dissolved into a whimper as he rocked up into me.
God, he was so hard, so ready, the ridge of him pressing right where I needed it.
My panties were already soaked, the damp fabric clinging to me as I ground down harder, seeking more.
His free hand moved to the hem of my dress, bunching it up my thighs with deliberate slowness.
Cool air kissed my bare skin, contrasting the fire building inside me.
“You’re wet for me,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of my panties, dipping just under the lace to brush against my slick folds.
I bucked involuntarily, a soft cry escaping my lips.
“Yes,” I admitted, breathless, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He teased me there, circling my entrance with one finger, then two, coating them in my arousal before sliding them inside.
The stretch was delicious, his fingers curling just right to hit that spot that made my vision blur.
I rode his hand shamelessly, my hips undulating in a rhythm that matched the throb of his dick against my thigh.
But it wasn’t enough. I needed him—all of him.
My hands fumbled with his belt, the buckle clinking softly in the quiet cabin.
He didn’t stop me; instead, he helped, lifting his hips just enough for me to shove his slacks and boxers down.
His cock sprang free, thick and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum.
It slapped against my inner thigh, hot and heavy, making my mouth water.
“Take what you want,” he commanded, his eyes dark with lust as he watched me.
I didn’t hesitate. I pushed my panties aside, positioning him at my entrance, the tip nudging my swollen lips.
Slowly, agonizingly, I sank down onto him, inch by inch, feeling him stretch me wide.
He was so big, filling me completely, the sensation bordering on pain but tipping into pure ecstasy.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped, my head falling back as I bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside me.
He groaned, low and primal, his hands gripping my hips like vises.
For a moment, we just sat there, connected, the plane’s gentle turbulence making him shift deeper, hitting angles that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
Then he started moving. Thrusting up into me with controlled power, each stroke deliberate and deep.
I met him halfway, bouncing on his lap, my breasts heaving with every rise and fall.
The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the cabin—wet, obscene, intoxicating.
His mouth found my nipple through the fabric of my dress, sucking hard enough to make me cry out, the pleasure-pain shooting straight to my core.
“Faster,” I begged, my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.
He obliged, pounding into me with a relentless rhythm, the seat creaking beneath us.
Sweat slicked our skin, my thighs trembling as the coil in my belly tightened.
He reached between us, his thumb finding my clit, rubbing circles that had me seeing white.
“Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough, edged with his own building release. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
It hit me like a wave—crashing, overwhelming. My pussy clenched around him, spasms ripping through me as I came hard, soaking his lap, my moans echoing off the cabin walls. He didn’t stop, fucking me through it, prolonging the high until I was boneless, quivering in his arms.
Only then did he let go, thrusting deep one last time and spilling inside me with a guttural groan. Hot pulses filled me, his cock twitching as he emptied himself, marking me from the inside out. We stayed like that, panting, bodies entwined, the aftershocks rippling through us as the jet soared on.
When I finally lifted my head, his gray eyes met mine, satisfied and possessive. “Still want that other chair?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
I shook my head, collapsing against his chest. “No. Here is perfect.”