When my heel gets caught in something and he frees it with his teeth, there’s a crude joke about turbulence and landing gear from both of us and a wicked aside aboutaltitude adjustmentsthat makes me giggle in a way I haven’t since I was eighteen and hiding in a potting shed with a boy whose hands shook for all the right reasons.
“Congratulations,” I say against his mouth, breathless. “We are exactly the kind of cliché we used to mock.”
“Correction,” he murmurs, sliding his palm along my thigh in a way that makes focusing impossible. “We’re the upgrade package.”
“First class sin,” I gasp, which earns me a grin I want to frame.
“Customs will have questions,” he whispers. “Do you have anything to declare?”
“Only,” I say, shameless now, “that you are criminally good at this.”
We don’t join a club; we remake it. The plane becomes a cocoon, the hum under us a rhythm to ride. He is all patience and ruin: coaxing, then demanding; guiding, then yielding. He asks, I answer; I ask, he gives; he goes slow until I can’t stand it and fast until I beg for slow. We learn each other’s today versions with reverence for the decade-old ghosts.
“Tell me what else you want, baby. Dirty and explicit. Tell me what I want to hear.”
I tell him exactly what I want. “I need your thick cock inside me. Fuck me, Vasso. Just the way I like it. Hard and fast.”
He groans, then he rewards me exactly like I wrote the lesson plan. He says my name like an argument he intends to win as he notches his impressive shaft where I’m hottest between my legs; I say his like I’m tired of pretending I don’t need to.
“Please, Vasso. Now…please.”
“Naomi,” he says against my mouth, his voice gone low enough to melt steel. Then he thrusts, deep and true and searingly sublime inside me. “Don’t look away.”
“I’m not…I won’t,” I promise, eyes open, greedy.
He pounds into me with steady, unrelenting rhythm, dark eyes pinned to mine, connecting beyond the physical, even as our tongues duel and groans mingle.
Even as his fingers reach between us to caress my plump clit and elevated pleasure erupts up my spine.
Even as I scream his name and climax harder than ever before.
He is beautiful when he unravels—focused and undone, control and hunger war-painted across his face. I kiss that focus; I scratch that hunger; I mark myself with moments I intend to hoard and hate later. He laughs once, rough and happy, when I make a particularly shameless request; I don’t apologize when he groans and saysgood girlso softly it shouldn’t detonate me and does.
There’s a moment—in the middle somewhere—where the bed trembles with a change in air, a pocket we slide through, and we both laugh, breathless and wicked, at the universe’s impeccable timing.
“Does this,” I pant, “mean we’re officially?—”
“Do not,” he says, kissing the question off my mouth, “call it a club.”
“What wouldyoucall it?”
“Mine,” he says simply, eyes hot. “Ours.”
I pretend that doesn’t hit me where I fear it most—hard in the chest. I fail. So I wrap my arms around him and drag him down and let the failure be a win.
When I go, when he takes me there, it’s with eyes open and his hand on my jaw, his mouth not far from mine, his voice telling me exactly what’s happening to me in that tone that makes it feel like a command I’ve been waiting to obey for a decade. He follows, close enough that the line between us erases and for one long, shattering second I can’t tell where I end.
After, the world is quiet. The cabin hums as the air cools.
He lowers his forehead to mine and we breathe together, like two swimmers at the wall. The terrible part is how safe that feels. The wonderful part is the same.
“I’m going to try again and say, congratulations,” I murmur into the hush, sated and sleepy and slightly unhinged. “You’re now an elite member of?—”
“Careful, wife,” he says, lazy and lethal. “Try that one more time and I’ll revoke your bespoke privileges.”
I grin, slow and too pleased with myself. “I didn’t know I had any.”
Emotion I can’t quite read flashes across his face. “You have all of them,” he says, and I don’t flinch from the sentence, not now, not when I can feel his heartbeat steadying under my palm and mine choosing to match it.
