by Lilia Moon
His laugh this time is big and bold and fills up the wide-open spaces around us. “Duct tape isn’t quick-release enough for safety, but duly noted.” He reaches over and gives my shoulders a friendly squeeze. “If I’d known you could be so easily bribed with a plane ride, I’d have led with that.”
I shrug, but I’m not really trying to toss his arm off. “I’ve never been in one this small.”
He grins at me, his eyes full of devilry. “Size isn’t everything.”
I glance down coolly at his cock.
He snorts. “Entirely average size, better than average skills. Just like my plane here.”
There’s a couple of sentences you don’t hear every day. I heft the lunch bag, which is all the gear I was able to convince him to trust me with. “Less innuendo, more progress toward my ass in a cockpit chair.”
He leans down, mouth to my ear, as he guides us toward the plane. “Are you always this demanding?”
I growl under my breath. “Not usually. Apparently you bring out the worst in me.”
He pulls open a door and swats my ass, and it’s not particularly gentle. “Up you go. I have a preflight check to do. Once I get the engines running, don’t touch anything that looks like it might make a plane fly.”
I give him an incredulous look over my shoulder as I clamber up. “Has that ever actually happened?”
He grins. “Most pilots have an extra daredevil gene—what do you think?”
I think it’s probably a lot like handing people a butane torch and telling them not to turn it on. Most people listen. The ones who don’t are the ones who become the metalworkers, every damn time. But at least they don’t launch themselves unescorted into the sky in a metal banana. “Is it safe to touch things before the engines go on?”
He swats my ass again, entirely gratuitously this time. “Yes. Although it’s more fun after.”
There are a bunch of decades of my life when that probably would have tempted me, but I don’t cross hard lines anymore. Not when my wits are mostly still gathered, anyhow. I climb into the cockpit, which is freaking tiny, but it does have two seats, and more little gauges than they have in most spaceships. I pick the seat that has the steering wheel tucked away and get my butt into the chair. Which isn’t all that easy. Pilots must be pretty flexible people. It doesn’t feel quite so squeezy once I get seated, but I suspect I’m smaller than its average occupant.
I grin. I sat in a rocket module at the space museum once. This feels just like it, except with a better view.
I look out the windows at the lake we just came from. We don’t get much of the reds and oranges they do out east, but we get every shade of yellow and gold there is, and the sky has decided to show off today too. A postcard to fly in, almost like the guy outside planned it.
Reluctantly, I shift my gaze to Rafe, walking around the plane with a tablet in one hand, looking very professional as he eyeballs some things, leans in and runs his hands over others. A man who takes preflight checklists seriously. Probably a good thing if you’re about to take to the skies in a bright yellow deathtrap.
I sigh and lean my head back against leather for a moment. I wasn’t nearly so risk avoidant once, and I know we’re not done with the conversation about why I am now, even if we raided my kitchen and left on what feels like a really high-class field trip.
He still deserves to know—and eventually his basic decency is going to force me to tell him.
Chapter Nineteen
Rafe
I look over at the woman perched on the edge of the seat beside me, her nose glued to the window as I fly us east to the main body of the lake. She didn’t squeal when we took off, but it was a near thing, and not one propelled by fear.
Some people like flying, some hate it—and for some, it feeds their souls in a way that can’t be matched by anything else. India Jennings has just discovered she’s one of the latter. Which is feeding my soul pretty nicely too. I bank left over the lake, aiming between two mountain peaks off in the distance. I’m staying low, which is one of the things my plane does best. Letting her be a tourist in her own skies.
“Seven years and I didn’t know this was up here,” she says softly, more than a trace of wonder in her voice.
I’m not sure whether she remembers that the headset she’s wearing comes with a live mike feed or not. “It’s pretty amazing. Any particular direction you’d like to go?”
She glances over at me. “You can just go anywhere?”
Pretty much. “No flight plan needed, and the weather’s good for at least an hour in every direction. Pick a course, Bright Eyes.”
She grins into her reflection, her nose pasted back on the glass. “North. Fewer people.”
A woman after my own pilot heart. I change our heading a little and scan what I can see of the skies ahead. This low, we’ll have to detour around a mountain or two, and I’m a fan of following valleys and contour lines, so it’s not going to be compass north, but we can definitely head away from people.
Her eyes peel away from the scenery outside long enough to study my hands on the yoke.
I lift them off. “Want a turn?” She’s not ready for one yet, but she might as well know the offer is there.
She shakes her head, turning back to the window. “I need to see, first.”
Interesting choice of words, and ones that echo what she yelled at me earlier. India doesn’t come across as a woman who faces her demons, but I think she does. She just does it inside in the dark where no one else can see or help.
That isn’t helping my cock settle down any, or the rest of me either. Brutal emotional honesty is at the top of every list I have. For friends, for scene partners, and most definitely for those I let into my life any deeper than that. India’s got a whole bunch of layers wrapped around her, and she doesn’t trust the world to handle who she is at all, but under all that crap, I think she might just be a really rare jewel—someone who’s seen all the way to the bottom of who she is.
And someone who’s clearly still fighting with what she’s seen there.
I scowl. I need to know what happened back when she used to travel in kinky lands. I tripped over the leftovers plenty in Matteo’s office, and that’s dangerous for both of us. But I don’t need to know right this exact minute, so it’s time to practice some calm. Some patience.
Which is something I often do in my plane. I ease back on the yoke a little, letting the vibrations under me shake away any sense of urgency. The first lesson of good flight maneuvers is to do everything at the right time, and I’ve been soaking in that lesson at regular intervals ever since my first slow flight and stall.
I adjust the flaps and check my trim. The skies look calm, but the second lesson of good flight maneuvers is that shit can happen. My hands move automatically. Power. Pitch. Bringing us into slow flight. I glance over at my flying companion. Her nose is still stuck to the glass, but there’s an attention to her body language that wasn’t there before. Not nerves yet, but not that far away, either.
She doesn’t do slow.
I adjust the flaps again. I know precisely how much I can push my lady of the skies. She’s not a fan of bumpy landings, but she does slow-and-easy like a seventy-year-old jazz singer.
“It’s a long walk home from here if you crash us.”
I’m pretty sure India’s aiming for casually conversational with her tone, but her nerves have moved another big step closer to the surface.
I wince. That isn’t why I brought her up here. This was meant to be safe space. I look at the Dom deck I’ve been dealt and make a choice. “This is a standard training maneuver. It’s called slow flight.”
She glances at me over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “It feels like that thing that happens right before we stall out and crash into a mountain.”
She’s got good instincts for someone who’s never been in a small plane. “This is one of the things pilots practice to avoid the crashing part. We do stalls and recoveries, too.” I adjust
the flaps one more time. “I won’t let us stall, but I like slow flying. Especially when we’re over a really pretty river valley.”
“That’s the top end of what feeds into Kootenay Lake.” She’s breathing into the words I told her. Trusting them. “It will split in two a little further up. If you follow the left fork, it won’t be too long until you intercept the Columbia River. There are more people over that way, though.”
I don’t know if playing tour guide is her version of fighting nerves or expressing a wish list, but I’m happy to let her talk. I keep us headed due north. I ease up on the flaps a little and adjust the trim to where she’ll be able to feel the plane pulling at her. “Want a turn?”
She pivots to face forward, caution and eagerness doing battle in her eyes. “Maybe. If you turn up the speed a couple more notches.”
Speed isn’t the only way to get to safety, but it’s definitely the one she prefers. I shift us back into standard flight mode and gain a little altitude. And smother a grin as India practically bounces on the seat beside me.
Chapter Twenty
India
I’m a badass. I think that as soon as I put my hands on the steering-wheel contraption, just like he tells me to. The plane rumbles a little harder, like she knows I’m in charge now. I grin. “Take it easy on me, sweetcakes. I’m new here.”
A chuckle in my ear reminds me I’m not alone in my yellow flying banana in the sky. “She’s easy to fly. Just keep the nose level and don’t let her talk you into anything fancy.”
That’s what I say to all the beginners holding torches. Some of them even listen. However, a flying airplane is way more complicated than a lit torch. I can feel the rumbles straight into the palms of my hands. “She’s tugging left. Why?”
He just grins. “Go where she’s pulling you. See what happens.”
That’s how eyebrows get crispy, but I let my hands follow the tug. The plane adjusts course a little—straight at a mountain. It’s nowhere near us, but still. “Uh, I’m guessing that sweetcakes here doesn’t actually want to play chicken with really big rocks?”
He chuckles. “No. There are a bunch of things on the plane that respond to air pressure and wind current, and the pilot’s job is to adjust them so those tugs don’t stick around when you don’t want them to. But it can be fun to explore where they want to take you. You can learn a lot about basic flight dynamics that way.”
There’s no tug away from the mountain, which means sweetcakes might have a bit of a death wish. “If I turn her back the other way, what happens?”
“Try taking us up instead. Just ease her nose into the air a little.”
I do. Which is way fun until I realize we’re also slowing down. “Where’s the gas pedal on this thing?”
“You’ve got good instincts.” His hand closes over mine and pushes forward slightly. “Here, like this.”
Wow. Three-dimensional steering wheel. I push a little more and feel the zippy response.
“Maybe level out now,” says the amused voice in my ear.
I fire a glance out my window and realize just how much closer the mountains are now. Shit. I try to bring the nose back up, but then zippy turns into something with a weird rattle. Rafe’s hands move, adjusting knobs, which fixes the rattle, but we’re still going damn fast, and all I can think about is how high up we are and how close to big immovable rocks and how very little I know about flying airplanes.
My throat goes tight and hot. I look over at Rafe, trying to keep what just hit me out of my eyes, and nod at his steering wheel. “Thanks. You can take over now.”
He shoots me a puzzled look. “You sure? You’re doing great. You have a nice feel.”
I shrug and peel my hands off the controls. “I’m pretty sure that won’t keep us from crunching into the side of a mountain.”
A hand settles on my thigh, warm and firm. “We’re really safe up here, India. I’m sorry if I scared you. Accidents are rare in these conditions, especially with a skilled pilot who knows his plane.”
That’s what I used to think about Doms, too. I flash him a grin that probably won’t fool him. “It’s not your skills I doubt, it’s mine. Show me more of your snazzy flying tricks.”
He eyes me.
I just shrug and let him look. His hands are firmly back in charge and I can feel the panic receding. Since he’s a very observant garden gnome, he’ll figure that out soon too. “Warn me if we’re going upside down.”
The concern in his eyes eases. “I won’t be doing that, but now’s a good time to tell me if you puke on roller coasters.”
I snort. “No. I just wanted to be ready to take a picture.”
He grins. “We’re not going upside down, but I can show you a couple of things. Here’s something called a chandelle.”
We bank left, which means I’m suddenly looking up at bright-blue sky. I look out his window instead, which has a strangely tilted horizon that matches the forces tugging on my belly. It also gives me a view of Rafe’s face, which is utterly unconcerned that we’re tilted, turning, and clearly slowing down.
He points the nose down at the end of his turn, taking us back down to tourist level. His little plane rumbles under my ass. She’s totally got this.
I grin. “I like your ride.”
He looks at me again, and I can see traces of his earlier confusion. He hasn’t got me figured out yet, and it’s clawing at him.
I switch my gaze to the view ahead. He can darn well keep wondering. “This isn’t north anymore, buster.” And we’re back to that creepy slow-flying shit.
He chuckles and banks us again, accelerating as he goes, which means the forces pull on my belly a lot harder this time. “This is a chandelle done without enough airspeed at the beginning, which means the pilot has to break the rules so we don’t stall out.”
I’m all in favor of that kind of rule breaking. Especially by a guy who can say those words like he’s ordering a triple-double coffee at Timmy’s. I grin as the plane purrs and levels out, speeding up substantially. I imagine dust spurting up behind us as we accelerate, although I’m pretty sure that doesn’t actually happen way up here. I whoop, because I can and because she deserves it and because for just one tiny minute I’m going to do exactly what I feel like.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rafe
Hot damn.
I grin as India wraps her fingers around her headset, looking totally embarrassed. “Shit, that was probably really loud. You need to teach me how to turn this thing off.”
Not a chance in hell.
I take a good look at the airspace around me. The wind isn’t cooperating with this next maneuver, and I need to not stall out, because the woman beside me is in love with hell-bent but she’s entirely freaked by free fall, and I didn’t bring her up here to make her panic.
That can wait until we’re back on the ground.
I pull the nose up and bank into a climbing turn. “This is called a lazy eight. It will be really obvious why in just a minute.”
I keep it tight enough that my flight instructors of old would recognize the teenage flier who still lives in me—and used to give them regular heart failure. Up through ninety degrees and a quick check on airspeed, and then we’re headed back down, rolling out of the turn and picking up speed.
India whoops again, but there’s nothing but joy this time. A woman who knows how to be happy as intensely as she does anything else.
To be trusted enough to crawl inside that and stay for a while would be truly stunning. Since I don’t have anything resembling that kind of permission yet, I just soak it in from the outside. That means I roll out lower and slower than I went in, which would get me demerits if anyone was watching and judging. I speed up and make my next climb longer to compensate. One lazy eight, a little drunk on joy and freedom.
She laughs as we top the curve and start heading down again, so I let the descent run a little long too, and then I zoom us out into open sky. She flops back in her seat, limbs s
played everywhere, or at least as well as you can pull that off in a tight cockpit. “Pretty fancy for a garden gnome.”
I shrug. “These are just the basic aerobatics required for a commercial pilot’s license. If you want to spend time upside down, I have a friend who would take us up.” I’m about to stop there, and then something internal prods me to keep talking. “This plane isn’t rated for barrel rolls. They can be done, but a misstep or a missed exit and you have a bent plane.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So you’re a risk taker, but not a daredevil, huh?”
I grin. That depends on your point of view. “We’ll save the steep spiral for another day.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “What’s that?”
I move my finger in a loose approximation. “Basically a vertical corkscrew.”
She shakes her head and pats the plane. “I’m sorry, sweetcakes. Some Doms are really mean.”
I stare at her, mostly because she’s just yanked us into kink space with no warning. The tendency to treat my plane like a living organism is one I understand perfectly well.
She sits up and plasters her face against the window as we fly over a really pretty swath of larches wearing their autumn gold. “Don’t look all surprised over there. This is totally a scene and your submissive is frisky, yellow, and dented in several places.”
My plane came by those dents honestly. “If she’s a sub, she’s a bratty one.”
A quiet snort over the headphones. “Aren’t we all?”
It’s the first time she’s referred to herself as kinky in the present tense. I don’t say a word. I just breathe and wait for the moment when she figures that out.
Her spine tenses.
“Don’t,” I say quietly into my own headset. “Whatever just landed, don’t let it chase you away. I was really enjoying where we were.”