Dameon
She’slate.
I flip my wrist to check the time. Hailee was supposed to arrive thirty minutes ago. She has ten minutes to get her ass here before I tan it red, making the long flight very uncomfortable for her.
“Sir, we’re scheduled to depart in ten minutes,” my pilot reminds me.
“I’m aware,” I grit out.
The pilot wisely steps back, resuming his pre-flight checks. Punctuality was a lesson instilled in me by my father from an early age—a virtue I expect from everyone. Either arrive early or on time. Arriving late and making others wait implies that you prioritize your time above theirs. Sending a car for her would have been my preference, but she insisted on meeting me here. A mistake I won’t make again.
A taxi approaches and pulls up alongside the plane. I check my watch again; she made it with just one minute to spare. She doesn’t realize how close she came to standing for the next eighteen hours.
I watch through the plane window as Hailee hurriedly exits the vehicle, retrieving a small suitcase from the trunk before briskly striding toward the plane with her luggage rolling behind her. A flight attendant stationed on the tarmac greets her and takes her belongings. Hailee pauses to take in the size of the aircraft, her jaw slackening slightly.
My private jet is huge, rivaling the scale of commercial airliners. Living in Sydney means long-haul travel is an evil necessity. If I need to spend an outrageous amount of time in the air, I want to be comfortable and have all the luxuries I would at home. But beyond the comfort, it grants me the privacy, efficiency, and flexibility I demand.
If she’s impressed by the sheer size of the plane, wait until she sees the interior. It’s set up like an upscale apartment, complete with a master bedroom and a spacious ensuite, a full dining room and kitchen, and a suite for the crew. I’ve nicknamed it my “flying penthouse.” Given how much it cost, it damn well better drop a few jaws.
Hailee finally ascends the stairs, the flight attendant trailing behind to secure the aircraft door. As she steps into the main cabin, her eyes widen.
“You’re late,” I remark as I rise from my seat to greet her.
“I’m sorry, Dameon, the traffic was horrendous!” She’s flustered, and her cheeks are red from exertion, yet her wide eyes continue to appraise the interior.
“I guess I should have asked for more money, huh?” she jokes, puffing lightly.
“Speaking of… Have you signed the documents yet?”
“Not yet,” she responds with a sweet smile.
I raise an eyebrow in question.
“Don’t stress. I have eighteen hours to look through them and sign. It will be done before we land, I promise.” Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she raises her hand in a scout’s honor sign.
She’s absolutely adorable, my every desire wrapped in one perfect small package. She’s wearing tight jeans that hug her ass and a white crop top that exposes her tanned midriff, effortlessly pulling off cute and sexy at the same time. Though she looks phenomenal in jeans, this will be the last time she wears pants again in my presence.
“Come, take a seat.” I lead her over to two plush leather couches facing each other with a small table in between, where my laptop is resting. We strap in and the plane starts rolling down the tarmac. I click my laptop out of sleep mode and begin to respond to emails, but the white-blonde goddess across from me continually steals my attention.
The realization that she’s agreed to my offer sets my heart racing. Now that she’s here, I want to own her. I know she submits beautifully, and there’s nothing I want more than to have her at my mercy for a whole year. I want to dominate her body and infiltrate her mind, to be the last person she thinks of before falling asleep and the first thing on her mind upon waking. I’ve lost count of how many blow jobs I’ve received in my lifetime, but nothing compares to her hot little mouth wrapped around my cock and her big emerald eyes looking up at me, eager to please. The thought leaves me hard as a rock. Luckily, I’m wearing sweats.
“Would you like a drink, sir?” My flight attendant Chelsea leans in with a coy smile, her cleavage on full display. I hadn’t noticed her approach, my mind consumed with owning my beautiful sub.
“Scotch, neat,” I reply.
“Of course, sir,” she purrs, lightly touching my shoulder. “Miss, can I offer you a glass of champagne?” The smile Chelsea directs at Hailee is as fake as her tits, and she doesn’t make any effort to conceal it either. But if Hailee is bothered by her tone, she doesn’t show it.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Hailee replies graciously. So far she’s only been polite, warm, and bubbly around me. I’m curious to push her buttons, to discover what it will take to see her inner bitch emerge. I know it’s there, lurking beneath the surface. But there will be a time for that, later… after she signs.
“Actually, no alcohol for my companion,” I interject. “She has some important documents to sign first.”
“Of course, sir.” Chelsea smiles before departing.
I arch an eyebrow. “I believe you have some homework to do.”
Hailee rolls her eyes at me, and I cannot wait to put an end to that habit. I’m almost thrilled at the prospect. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I felt a buzz or excitement about a woman in my life. I watch as Hailee pulls out the documents from her handbag and lays them out flat on the table before her.
Handing her a pen, I grin. “In case you didn’t bring one.” Her unamused glare almost makes me chuckle. “Actually, it’s a good thing you haven’t signed yet. I’ve had the contract updated.” I slide over the new paperwork. “If you have any questions, you know what to do.”
