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by Shandi Boyes

The flight attendant quickly masks her alarm at Marcus’s demands, but she wasn’t quite fast enough for me to miss her flabbergasted response.

  “Yes, certainly, Mr. Everett,” she replies, her tone high. She drifts her massively dilated eyes to me. “Is there anything particular you’d like to eat, Ms. Garcia?”

  Raising my brow at the way she snarled my name, I shake my head. “If it isn’t too much of a bother, a bottle of water would be lovely, Ms. . .” I leave my sentence, hoping she will fill in the blanks.

  She doesn’t. She just pivots on her heels and makes her way back to the galley of the plane, her dramatic saunter amplified by the swing of her tiny hips. I turn my eyes back to Marcus. I don’t need to ask if he felt the tension teeming out of the sassy blonde; the tick impinging his jaw is all the indication I need that he spotted her uncalled-for bitchiness. I haven’t done anything to her—I don’t even know her—so her rude response is entirely unnecessary.

  Suddenly, my breathing halts as an overwhelming bout of nausea spreads through me.

  "She isn't an ex-sub of yours, is she?"

  My lungs start working again when Marcus utters, “No.”

  I don’t need to check his eyes for deceit; the disgruntled look on his face answers the rest of my silent interrogation. If his facial expression wasn’t compelling enough, any doubt left lingering dissipates when he locks his eyes with mine and mutters, “I’ve never fancied blondes.”

  Although I should be disgusted by the nonchalance of his reply, I’m not. The two female flight attendants are gorgeous in their own rights, but not once since we entered the plane has Marcus glanced in their direction. The only time his eyes weren’t rapt on me was when they were scanning the flight reports Cameron handed him. I’m not going to lie; my confidence has never been so high.

  “Maybe you should let her know you’re not interested, then she might stop fawning for your attention,” I suggest, nudging my head at the blonde standing at the end of the aisle, eyeballing our exchange with jealousy in her narrowed green eyes.

  When she notices I’ve spotted her indiscreet glare, she pushes off her feet and saunters down the aisle. Her grip on the bottle of water so tight, I’m surprised her manicured nails haven’t busted the plastic.

  “I could talk to her.” Marcus draws my focus back to him. “Or I could show her I’m not interested,” he continues as he floats his heavy-lidded gaze between mine.

  Before I have the chance to seek clarification on his suggestion, he bands his arms around my back, dips me, then seals his mouth over mine. His mouth has no chance of capturing the girly squeal reverberating up my chest, beyond stoked at his brilliant methodology. Not only does his brazen move stop the blonde in place, it also stops my vehement jealousy from rearing its ugly head.

  By the time Marcus pulls away from our embrace, my panties are soaked, and the blonde is nowhere to be found. As his lust-hazed eyes bore into mine, Marcus runs his thumb over my arched brow. He looks cocky and smug, like nothing will bring him down.

  Determined to quell his cockiness, I drag his mouth back to mine by the back of his head and reacquaint our lips. I kiss him with everything I have, striving to make him as mindless as he makes me.

  “Growing impatient, Ms. Garcia?” He smiles against my mouth.

  Ignoring the stern cough attempting to interrupt us, I reply, “Yes. Always.”

  I kiss him for several more minutes, not the slightest bit concerned we are holding up the flight crew with our heavy PDA.

  Only once I'm confident I have him in a tizzy do I regretfully pull away from our embrace. If I don't stop our heated exchange now, it may never end.

  “God you make me want to bend the rules,” Marcus mutters. “You make me so reckless, Cleo. So goddamn reckless.”

  I smile, grateful my ploy to unravel him was effective. With his hand on the small of my back, Marcus guides me into the cockpit we are standing next to. “Would you mind sharing your co-pilot position on our flight today, Cameron? I’ve got a new co-pilot I’d like to test out.”

  The stunned expression on Cameron’s face morphs onto mine when Marcus nudges his head to me.

  “W-what?” I stammer out as my excitement is overrun by nerves. “Cameron is the pilot of our flight, isn’t he?”

  I know I sound like a fumbling idiot, but my reaction can’t be helped. My brain is already lacking oxygen from Marcus’s soul-stealing kiss that I’m barely standing upright, let alone lucid enough to sort through the confusion bombarding me.

  I can barely breathe when Marcus shakes his head. It isn’t his denial of my assumption that has me gasping for air; it is the breathtakingly beautiful smile stretched across his face.

  Using my shocked state to his advantage, he grips my elbow and directs me toward a flimsy-looking seat at the back of the cockpit. Blood rushes to the surface of my skin when he lowers me into my chair before fiddling with the straps.

  “Oh. . . I don’t need to sit in the cockpit. I’m more than happy to sit in the regular seating.”

  My words stop when Marcus digs his hand between my jean-covered crotch to secure the metal harness sitting between my legs. My pussy pulses as sexual hunger overtakes some of my panic. Hearing my shameful gasps, Cameron strays his eyes from a range of instruments and buttons on the cockpit panel to me. After drinking in my blemished cheeks and massively dilated eyes, he drops his gaze to Marcus, who is crouched between my legs.

  “Would you like me to first-pilot our flight today, Marcus?” Cameron queries, the worry in his tone increasing the panic making me a muted mess.

  “No, thank you,” Marcus responds, his tone direct.

  “Are you sure?” Cameron argues, his response as stern as Marcus’s. “Cleo is a striking young lady, so the potential of you becoming distracted is immense. I’m already distracted by her, and I’m not trying to keep a plane 30,000 feet in the air.”

  My eyes rocket to Marcus, who is scowling at Cameron. I don’t know if he is glowering at him as he doesn’t appreciate being challenged, or because Cameron said I am beautiful.

  Reading the silent wrath pumping out of Marcus, Cameron holds his hands out in front of his body. “Alright, you win,” he mutters under his breath before taking the seat on the left-hand side of the cockpit. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when we’re plunging back to earth in a fiery deathtrap.”

  I swallow several times in a row, aiming to ease the burn scorching my throat.

  After snapping together the latches on my four-point harness, Marcus lifts his eyes to me. The air sucks from my lungs from the sheer closeness of his gorgeous face. My god, this man is handsome—even when scowling. If he hadn’t just strapped me into my seat, I’d be tempted to ease the heavy groove between his eyes with another impromptu kiss.

  The throb between my legs grows when Marcus gathers the straps of my harness in his hand and yanks them down hard. The pinch of the stiff material on my shoulders adds to the dampness coating my panties. The curve of his lips tells me he didn’t miss my soft moan.

  “Are you ready, Cleo?”

  Any panic left lingering in my mind is shoved to the side when I see the confidence in his eyes. He has proved time and time again the past few days that he won’t let anything happen to me, so I am not the slightest bit concerned about Cameron’s mumbled statement.

  I pant, inconceivably aroused by the dominance in his heavy-hooded gaze. “As ready as I will ever be, Master Chains,” I whisper ever so quietly, ensuring there is no chance Cameron would hear me.

  The hankering in Marcus's eyes grows tenfold. After running the back of his fingers down my flaming cheek, he stands from his crouched position. I lick my lips when the crotch of his pants is thrust in my peripheral vision. Seeing his trousers struggling to contain his erection reminds me of our earlier negotiations.

  “How come you negotiated a term in our agreement you knew you couldn’t fulfill?”

  Marcus slides into the pilot’s seat of the cockpit before turning his eyes
to me. Now I know why he seated me behind Cameron. From his position, he will be able to watch me from the corner of his eye the entire flight.

  “Even self-chartered pilots need a bathroom break,” he responds, his voice sliding through me like liquid ecstasy. “It’s a pity you didn’t uphold your end of our negotiation. I was very much looking forward to cashing in your guarantee.”

  Cameron mumbles a reply to Marcus's bold statement, but it’s drowned out by the jet's engines roaring to life. The vibration buzzing through my seat adds to the tingle of my soaked sex. Marcus puts on a set of headphones before he cranks his neck to peer above my shoulder. Following his gaze, I find a set of similar-looking headphones hanging on a hook above my head.

  After twisting my hair into a side braid, I slip the headphones over my ears. The thump of my pussy doubles when Marcus’s seductive voice sounds through the headphones not even two seconds later.

  “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff,” he instructs them.

  He fiddles with some instruments in front of him before saying, “Rochester Clearance. Tampa straight one four three ready to copy IFR to Ravenshoe.”

  A crackle sounds over the line before a female voice replies, “Tampa straight one four three, cleared to Ravenshoe via radar vectors to Clost Island then as filed. Fly runway heading. Climb and maintain thirty-six thousand feet. Expect 89 minutes after departure. Departure on 120.8, squawk 1252.”

  Marcus recites the information back to the traffic controller before it switches to a recorded message updating him on the current weather conditions.

  After a few minutes, the jet judders forward. My eyes go frantic, drifting between Marcus and the tarmac as the plane starts taxiing toward the runway.

  "Rochester ground, Tampa straight one four three ready to taxi IFR, with Sierra," Marcus articulates down the line.

  “Tampa straight one four three clear whiskey to two-niner,” the air controller replies.

  As the jet rolls down the tarmac, nothing but static sounds down the line. The silence enhances the crackling of energy filling the air with muggy heat. It's nearly as compelling as the bristling energy that bounces between Marcus and me during bouts of silence.

  When we reach the end of a long strip of tarmac, Marcus turns his gaze to me. My brows scrunch when he holds out a sheet of paper. Ignoring the rattle encroaching my hands, I accept the article from his grasp. Electricity zaps up my arms when our fingers touch for the briefest moment. My eyes rocket to Marcus. From the way his eyes are dilated, I have no doubt he too felt the current of electricity surging between us.

  “When you're ready, read what's printed on the card,” he instructs, his words barely audible through my headphones since he has switched off his mic.

  I drop my eyes to the card, noticing it has a set of flight instructions scripted onto it. Just like the man who wrote it, his handwriting is stunning. It's elegant and refined, a true replica of the man who wrote it.

  Too excited to express words, I lift my eyes back to Marcus, smile, then nod.

  After taking a few moments to settle the nerves in my voice, I recite the instructions written on the card. “Rochester ground, Tampa straight one four three ready for takeoff IFR, runway two-niner.”

  “Good girl,” Marcus mouths when my words come out with a confident decree.

  A massive grin stretches across my face. I've never ridden in an airplane before, much less aided in its takeoff.

  “Tampa straight one four three, winds two eight zero at fourteen, cleared for takeoff,” the air controller announces, agreeing with my request for takeoff clearance.

  After giving me a flashy wink, Marcus returns his focus to the tarmac. The pants of my breath double as the jet engines roar to full power. I wring the hem of my shirt around my fingers as we glide down the tarmac at a faster rate than my excitement is building. Our speed increases and increases until the tires of the jet have no other choice but to lift away from the tarmac.

  An incredible whoosh hits my stomach when the jet takes off into the clear blue sky. My excitement is so bountiful I can’t help but release a little squeal.

  “Rochester ground, Tampa straight one four three, two thousand, climbing to thirty-six,” Marcus advises with laughter in his voice, his jittery tone telling me he didn’t miss my excited squeal.

  “Four thousand feet, climbing to thirty-six.”

  Marcus continues updating the traffic controller of our ascent until we reach 36,000 feet.

  Once we are nothing but a little blip in the beautiful blue sky, the female air traffic controller guiding our departure says, "Tampa straight one four three, contact Oakland Centre on 127.8."

  “127.8 for Tampa straight one four three, good day,” Marcus replies.

  Inanely grinning, I fold up the sheet of paper and slip it into pocket of my jeans before swinging my eyes to the awe-inspiring scenery outside. The sky is the bluest I’ve ever seen. Other than a small smattering of white clouds floating by, it's utterly faultless. I’ve only ever seen one thing more fascinating in my twenty-six years: Marcus’s captivating green irises.

  “It so beautiful up here.”

  “It is,” Cameron agrees, his agreeance as emotion-packed as mine.

  The hairs on my arms prickle when Marcus’s deep timbre sounds through the headphones. “Have you ever wondered what heaven looks like, Cleo?”

  I don’t need to look at him to know I have secured his utmost devotion. I feel it in every essence of my soul. As my eyes wander away from the panorama the world’s best painter couldn’t replicate, I nod. Just as I suspected, Marcus’s eyes are steadfast on mine.

  “I couldn’t think of a better spot to look down on the people I love,” he continues, nudging his head to the breathtaking scenery surrounding us. “I think this is as close to heaven as you can get.”

  “It’s perfect.” I keep my eyes fixated on Marcus. “You’re perfect.”

  Now I understand why he was so adamant on wanting me to sit in the cockpit. He wanted me to experience this flight in a way like no other. It wouldn’t matter if you had a heart as black as Delilah’s, you could never look at this pristinely beautiful sky and not think of the people you love. It's too compelling to be brushed off as anything less than miraculous. He knew it would give me a little bit of closure in my grief—a little bit of peace.

  Overwhelmed by the unexpected emotions streaming through me, a rogue tear glides down my cheek. I quickly brush it away, not wanting Marcus to see it. Although I was quick, I have no doubt he saw it. It isn't just his rapid exhale that gives it away, it's the spark of compassion in his eyes.

  After ensuring my eyes are moisture-free, I lock them with Marcus. “Thank you.” I only mimed two short words, but my soul-baring eyes relay so much more.

  Smiling in a way that steals the air from my lungs, Marcus replies, "This is only the beginning."

  24

  I've barely had time to contain my first lot of excitement when Marcus begins preparing the plane for landing. I've been in complete awe the eighty minutes of our flight; I didn't bother unlatching my seatbelt. I'm not going to lie; my panties are the most saturated they have ever been. I knew from the moment I slid into the back seat of Marcus's Bentley that he would be a man I could marvel at for days. But I had no clue his abilities stretched this far. Tell me one girl you know who hasn't had a fantasy of getting down and dirty with a pilot. Now imagine discovering that pilot is also a dominant rock star?

  Yeah, my panties are soaked for a reason.

  After landing the plane with the same amount of expertise he flew it with, Marcus removes his headset and clambers out of his seat. I attempt to mimic his movements. I hang my headset on the hook above my head before dropping my hands to my belt. Since excitement is thrumming every nerve in my body, I’m all thumbs, meaning I can’t unlatch the harness from its firm grip.

  Spotting my pitiful attempts at releasing myself, Marcus stops his post-flight checks with Cameron and moves to assist me.

 
"Thank you." My enthusiastic praise shamefully exposes my aroused state. I've never been more turned on in my life.

  The chances of leashing my unbridled horniness are nonexistent when Marcus connects his heavy-hooded gaze with me. His eyes expose that he is battling the exact same fight.

  Cranking his neck to Cameron, Marcus asks, "Are you okay to complete post-flight checks?"

  Cameron balks, seemingly stunned by Marcus’s requests. It's only after his confused eyes dance between Marcus and me does reality dawn. Smiling, he responds, “Sure. It’s nothing I can’t handle if you’ve got plans.”

  Gripping my hand in his, Marcus strolls down the corridor at a faster rate than my legs can move. Although we are moving at a speed faster than light, I don’t miss the angry snarl of the pretty blonde flight attendant. Unable to leash my inner bitch, I cockily wink at her, ensuring she doesn’t underestimate what I am planning to do to Marcus the instant we get away from her eagle eye. You’ll be a forgotten memory in under a second; I plan on imprinting myself onto his soul for eternity.

  Warm winds whip up my hair when we descend the six stairs from the flight deck. Just like in New York, a crew of men emerge from a hangar when they spot Marcus moving towards them. Faster than a blink, a set of keys are thrown through the air; Marcus is handed a pristinely laundered suit jacket, and I'm aided into the passenger seat of a very flashy-looking sports car with its doors hanging high into the air.

  It's lucky I am wearing jeans, or the low structure of this car would have indecently exposed inches of my skin. My spine straightens as disappointment consumes me. If I weren't wearing jeans, this ride could have been an entirely new experience as well.

  Swallowing down my disappointment, I watch Marcus jog around to the driver side and slide into his seat. My heart is fitfully beating in my chest, and my brow is slicked with sweat. I can’t remember the last time I was so consumed by such unbridled hankering.

  I writhe in my seat, utterly unashamed that my squirms have gained me the inquisitive stares of the men surrounding us. That's truly outstanding. Not once in my twenty-six years have I failed to stop and evaluate the opinions of the people around me.