“Does it help for me to explain everything, or is it annoying?”
“No, please explain. It helps.” It gave me something to think about besides my embarrassment, and my impending doom. The engines roared, coming to life. I laced my fingers, popping a few knuckles, then all the words came at once. “I would like to know what every hum is, please, every beep. I want every hiss, bang, and tilt of the plane to be explained as normal, or abnormal in the event of a disaster. Also, please let me know when we’re experiencing turbulence versus a more serious plunge toward the earth.”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound, and the plane started to move, rolling slowly out onto the tarmac. I looked around the cabin but no one else was alarmed, or even paying attention. His friends across the row had already closed their eyes, leaning into each other. The man’s hand traced over the top of his partner’s over-the-knee socks like he didn’t have a care in the world. Were they taking a nap?
I envied their lack of nervousness, and the fact that they had each other to lean on. My career kept me too busy for serious relationships, and I had a history with the man beside me that made me reluctant to lean on him for comfort of the physical type.
“We’re taxiing to our runway,” Devin said as the plane picked up speed. “All movement at an airport is coordinated and back-up coordinated, so there’s no chance of anything accidental happening now.”
“Except a flat tire,” I commented as I felt a bump.
“I doubt we’ll get a flat tire. What you feel are tar strips on the tarmac, like, airplane speed bumps.”
“Okay.”
“Right now, while we taxi, the pilot and first officer are going over last minute checks, making sure all the systems are working correctly, and nothing is turned off that should be on. You can’t see from where you are, but the control surfaces on the wings are going through their paces to be sure they all work. These mechanical systems are triple-backed-up, so they never fail.”
“Never?” The theoretical scientist in me rejected that word. “I’m sure there have been instances of them failing.”
“Okay, very limited instances, but you have a better chance of winning the lottery than dying on a plane because of mechanical issues,” he said, a platitude I’d heard many times by now.
The taxiing stopped. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff. I knew the takeoff was coming next, the rush and rise and loss of safety. Along with the landing, it was the hardest part for me.
“Jesus, please.” I breathed the two-word prayer, though I wasn’t the least bit religious. I was only religious on planes. “Jesus, please. Jesus, please.” The engines revved again. The plane started to move, going from stopped to very fast so quickly that I felt my stomach slide to my knees. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“Deep breaths.” Devin took my hand, enveloping it in his big fingers. “One moment at a time. Let it happen.”
Oh God, that was totally something a Dom would say. I remembered the warmth and force of his fingers stroking my pussy, making me toss in my bonds. It sent me to a weird, detached place where I was partly in the plane freaking out, and partly back in the dungeon with my blindfold and gag. The plane lifted, along with my stomach, going airborne. I could feel the nose tipping up.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whispered.
“Breathe,” Devin insisted, his tone more serious. “We’re off the ground and everything’s fine.” He started describing the principles of lift and thrust as the engines roared louder. I heard nothing he said, just a bump and then another, louder, bump. “That’s the landing gear folding into the plane,” he reassured me, and I bit hard on my lip, waiting. I knew if anything catastrophic were to happen, it would most likely happen now as we gained altitude. The plane banked to the right and I gave a strangled scream, grabbing Devin’s arm.
“Just turning on course,” he said.
“But we’re still climbing!”
His friends across the aisle gave me sympathetic looks, which made me feel even more embarrassed. The roar of the engines ebbed. A stall? Total power loss? No, the plane was nearly to cruising altitude, Devin explained. I realized I was still clutching his forearm, like he was a life preserver and I was in a sinking boat. I wasn’t sure if two minutes had passed, or two hundred.
He leaned down to catch my gaze. “We’re on our way, Ella. May I call you Ella?”
I stared at him.
“Or would you prefer Dr. Novatny?”
“Um, Ella’s fine.” My voice broke on the last word. It seemed to have taken an eternity, but we were in the air, and nothing catastrophic had happened yet. The plane was leveling off, and the engines weren’t so loud now. I let go of his arm as casually as I could and returned my hands to my lap. I wondered how high we were, but I couldn’t bear to look out the window. I swallowed as my ears popped.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Any concerns? Any questions you need answered right now?”
I did a body check and tried to slow my breathing. I was alive. The plane hadn’t blown apart due to some undetected crack in the fuselage. Although that might still happen. “So…everything seems normal in this flight right now?” I asked, a hint of pleading in my voice.
“Everything’s great. The most that will happen over the next few hours is a bit of drag or turbulence, but you shouldn’t let it bother you, since it’s a natural part of flight. Before you know it, we’ll be touching down in New York.”
“There aren’t any weird sounds or anything?” I cocked my head. “What’s that hissing noise?”
“Cabin pressurization. The system’s automated and backed up, so everything you hear is normal.”
I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. My fears must seem ridiculous, considering he flew planes for a living. “I’m sorry.” I put a hand to my forehead, trying to see the humor in what was going on. “I have a tendency to worry about things. To overthink. My field of science is based on questions more than answers.”
“I’d love to hear about your work,” he said, settling back a little. “And I’m not just saying that to keep you talking so you won’t be scared.”
We both laughed, and I let out a breath. As the plane barreled through the sky, I started telling him about my previous research at the European Gravitational Observatory in Santo Stefano. I described the three-kilometer wide VIRGO interferometric antenna that we used to intercept the gravitational waves of energy from events happening in the farthest reaches of the universe, light years away, waves that were measured in such tiny increments that those increments were still being invented.
I explained that the study of molecular-sized, light-years-distant waves could eventually lead to answers about the origins and dimensions of our universe. At that point, his friends started listening, eavesdropping at first, then joining the conversation and asking me as many questions as Devin. They were so curious and engaged that my nervousness receded, and the ongoing hum of cabin pressurization bothered me less. A bout of turbulence made me stammer in the midst of explaining the curvature of space-time, but I managed not to fall to pieces, and the ride smoothed out moments later.
“So, you’re doing more of this work in New York?” Juliet asked. “Research on gravitational waves?”
“Yes. Well, it’s an NSF-funded project. The National Science Foundation.” I looked away, biting my lip. “It’s this thing called the Astrophysicists, Cosmologists, and Engineers Consortium, or ACE Con. They’re doing a lot of the stuff we did at Santo Stefano, but honestly, I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“You’ll miss your work in Italy?” Devin asked.
“It’s more that I don’t respect the person in charge.” I pushed thoughts of Leo from my mind, and the frustrating helplessness of my situation. “I work in a very tight field. It’s competitive.” I shrugged. “Sometimes you just have to do stuff for your career.”
Fort nudged Juliet. “You’d know about that. You have the boss from hell.”
“He’s not so bad.” Ju
liet laughed. “Okay, he’s pretty out of touch. His name is Goodluck Boundless, if that tells you anything. He’s an artist, but in his mind, he’s more akin to a god.”
I laughed along with them, but felt a little embarrassed. Talking to normal, non-scientific people was a minefield for me. I thought back to the social skills classes my father had forced me to take as a child, when he saw my braininess alienating me from my peers. Rule number one: don’t blather on about esoteric thoughts and theories until people’s eyes glazed over.
“You work for an artist?” I asked, dutifully turning the conversation to her. “That must be fun.”
“It is fun. Goodluck’s pretty well known in New York,” said Juliet. “Have you heard of him?”
Juliet was pretty, brown-haired and bright-eyed. I hated to admit that I didn’t know her artist, but I’d never heard the name. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not much into the art world.”
“See?” Devin laughed. “I’m not the only one who’s out of touch with the ‘scene.’”
“What do you do for a living?” I asked Fort next, since I already knew Devin was a pilot. I was aware that I was focusing attention on his friends because I couldn’t look at him without blushing.
“I work for Sinclair Jewelers,” Fort said. “Actually, my father is the owner, so I work for him.”
“Your dad owns Sinclair Jewelers?” They were a well-known luxury brand, even in the Tuscan countryside.
“Fort’s filthy rich. His real first name is Forsyth,” said Devin in a haughty accent.
Fort gave him a look. “Does Ella know that your dad owns the airplane we’re flying on right now?”
“He owns the whole airline,” Juliet chimed in, nodding at me. “Talk about filthy rich.”
“My dad’s only part owner,” countered Devin. “He doesn’t own the whole airline, and I don’t own any of it.”
I watched this exchange with amazement. All this time, I’d been sharing the cabin with millionaires. They were Fortune 500 people, and I was a thirty-year-old lab rat. “My father teaches physics at the University of Munich,” I said. “He’s never owned any companies, but he’s a really hard grader, from what I understand.”
That’s right, Ella. Joke and smile as if you have a perfectly well adjusted father, as if he hasn’t been living in a fantasy world for the last fifteen years.
“You all seem pretty normal, for being so rich,” I said, forcing a smile.
Juliet snorted. “Fort and Dev aren’t normal. Trust me on this one.”
Her boyfriend grinned at her. “You’re not normal either, Sparkles.”
“Ignore them,” said Devin, touching my hand. “We’re just people. We go to work every day.”
I turned to him, wondering how he could look so big in the already-big first-class seat. “You’re working now, I guess. Escorting me to New York.”
“Someone has to do it. Might as well be me.” His deep, rough chuckle traveled down my body and ended up somewhere between my thighs. This close, he was powerfully attractive. My body remembered. I broke our eye contact, afraid of what he might uncover in my gaze.
Juliet and Fort returned to chatting with one another. Devin asked, “How are you feeling? You seem calmer.”
“I’m okay.” My main concern now was the landing, since, thus far, the fuselage of the plane had remained intact. “So, how long have you been a pilot?” I asked. “Since you joined the Air Force?”
“No.” He thought a moment. “I flew my first plane when I was eight.”
“What?”
He smiled. “I was with a flight instructor, and my parents. My father wanted me to be comfortable in the air. Now I can fly anywhere I want, anytime I want. Not that you’d enjoy that very much.”
Speaking of what I might enjoy triggered a fresh wave of embarrassment. He looked at me a little too long, and I was terrified he was going to bring it up, broach the subject of last night’s scene. Crazy, that we’d been at Via Sofferenza less than twenty-four hours ago. Would he bring it up? Please, don’t.
It seemed incredibly important to complete the rest of the journey without touching on enjoyment or pleasure, or the fact that we were both kinky freaks. The lights flickered and dimmed, drawing his attention away from my blush.
“You should try to sleep,” he said. “It makes the flight go faster. I’ll get you some blankets and pillows.”
I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, but he was already moving, squeezing past me and walking up the aisle to tug open compartments filled with linens. He brought me a large, dark, fleece blanket that was light but warm, and two pillows.
“Are you going to go somewhere else?” I asked, as he moved past me to sit back down. “I mean, if I fall asleep?”
“Somewhere else?”
I could feel my blush deepening. There was something so reassuring in having him near, because he was a pilot. As soon as he left my side, I felt less safe. “Would you…please…” I bit my lip. “I think I could sleep, since I didn’t sleep much last night, but will you stay right here, in case…”
His gaze held mine, until my face was aflame. “If you want me here, I’ll stay here. Not that anything’s going to happen. Go on, close your eyes.”
I obeyed, because he had a rough, firm Dom voice that he used all the time. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his presence beside me like a gravitational force. As I drifted, hurtling through the air at frightening speeds, I heard him take out his laptop. Fort and Juliet talked quietly from time to time, and the flight attendants chatted in the seats behind us. Everything was okay. I fell asleep to the sound of rushing air and Devin’s typing.
Minutes passed, or hours. I was jolted awake with a sense of disorientation as the cockpit door was flung open, hitting the wall. There were beeps and alarms sounding within, and the older captain’s hoarse voice shouting, “Kincaid! We need you. Now.”
Chapter Four: Devin
As soon as Ross yelled, Ella startled awake. She was instantly afraid. What the hell was he thinking?
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I told her. “One of them probably has to go to the bathroom. Too much Italian food. I’ll go see what they need.”
“Okay,” she said, clutching her blanket closer around her.
“I’ll be right back. Try to get some sleep.”
Fort glanced at me as I moved up the aisle. I tilted my head toward Ella in a silent request for him to help her if necessary.
I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.
I entered the cockpit and scanned the instrument panel, finding a baffling barrage of issues. The oil pressure indicator blinked, the fuel imbalance alarm was chiming, and engine one was apparently almost out of fuel.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, tapping the fuel display. “This can’t be accurate. Computer error?”
“The computer systems are online and working, and the gauge is functioning, so we’re losing fuel,” said Captain Ross. “It’s happening somewhere in the balance system, and I haven’t been able to stop it.”
“Then don’t transfer any more fuel.”
“Roger that.” He exhaled sharply. “But according to the range indicator, we don’t have enough left to make it across the ocean. And I’m…” He rubbed his neck. A ring of flushed skin circled his collar.
“You’re what?” I studied the captain. Besides the flushed skin, he was unusually short of breath. The co-pilot, who we called Ayal since her last name was unpronounceable, was flipping through manuals, her tense features averted from the blinking controls. I turned back to Captain Ross.
“Do you feel okay, Mike?”
“I don’t feel great,” he said with his usual flair for understatement. “I could really use your help.”
“What can I do?”
His eyes flicked between the computer screen, the blinking lights, and the vast emptiness of sea and sky outside the window. “Communicate for us. I’m turning toward the Azores. Horta Airport. Ponta Delgada. Santa Maria. There
has to be somewhere we can land.”
“Why don’t you let me fly?” I said. “You take over ground control and coordinate our redirect.”
His face was rigid, without affect. He punched the flight monitor, a blunt thunk of knuckles. “Damn it. We’re still losing fuel.”
“I’ll employ fuel-saving maneuvers. Just find us a place to land, preferably not in the ocean.”
It wasn’t a joke, not a funny one, anyway. If our fuel depleted to the point of starvation, the engines would flame out and we’d be gliding, with no ability to power the airplane or accelerate. A plane this size, at a high enough altitude, could glide fifteen to twenty minutes before craft met firmament, but not much longer.
I checked the fuel gauge and did some math as Ross chanted our coordinates and mileage to an air-traffic controller in some faraway tower. Engine one began to sputter. Shrill engine-failure warnings overlapped the low-fuel dings.
“Silence those,” I requested, thinking of Ella back in the cabin. I’d promised her we’d be safe. “Where the hell’s the fuel going?”
Ayal looked up from her manuals. “It’s got to be a leak in the right wing fuel line. We transferred too much petrol before we realized we were losing it in the process…the indicator…we thought the oil alert…we didn’t realize it was related to the fuel system until it was too late.”
“It’s okay. Calm down.” I looked into her frantic, dark-rimmed eyes. She’d flown for five years with Gibraltar. She wasn’t a long-timer like Ross, but she was experienced enough to know that running out of fuel over the Atlantic was a pretty bad emergency. “It’s going to be all right,” I said. “The Azores are in range, and there are nine islands to choose from. We’ll make it.”
“Ever landed in the Azores?” Ross ground out.
“A few times.”
“Without instruments? What if we lose power?”
I shook my head. “Even if we lose engine two, the ram air turbine will power the sensors we need to steer the plane.”
Ayal paled. “What if the flaps and spoilers fail? In flight school, we learned about an engine flameout situation where hydraulic power was lost. If that happens—”
Deep Control Page 3