But Damian doesn’t look at Cole. Doesn’t look at anyone. Just keeps his arm stretched across the backrest, hand brushing the edge of my shoulder, steady as stone.
And it hits me—he’s not trapping me.
He’s keeping me here.
Keeping me steady.
Keeping me his.
The engines roar louder, the cabin vibrating like the floor itself wants to buck me off. My hands fist tight in my lap, nails biting through fabric, breath ragged against the glass.
“Hollywood.”
Cole jerks his head up from across the aisle, still grinning like he’s waiting for the show. “Yeah, Cap?”
Damian doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even glance away from me. His eyes stay locked on mine as he says, flat and final:
“I need you to pretend you’re not going to hear shit in the next twenty minutes.”
Cole blinks. His grin falters, then snaps right back. “Yes, Cap.”
I groan, slumping lower against the window. “Oh mygod—”
But then the plane lurches forward, engines growling deeper, and every ounce of air leaves my chest. The ground falls away. Steel rattles under my shoes. My lungs lock up like they’ve been chained.
Damian’s hand slides into my hair. Fist tight. Commanding.
And his mouth drops to my ear.
“Good boys don’t panic,” he murmurs, low, lethal. “Good boys breathe when I tell them to.”
A whimper claws out of me, high and wrecked, caught between fear and the sharp pull of his grip.
“You want to live through this flight, pup?” His thumb strokes slow against my scalp, rough and grounding. “Focus on what I’m going to do to you once we land.”
My breath stutters.
“Sir—”
“Shh.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Picture it. Hotel room. On your knees the second I shut the door. You’re going to swallow me deep, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, sir.” My voice breaks, shame and panic twisting together.
“There you go. You’ll choke on me until your throat’s raw, then I’ll drag you onto the bed and fold you in half. You’ll beg, you’ll cry, you’ll thank me for every second.”
The plane tilts, rising harder, steel shuddering—and I whimper into his chest. His hand clamps firmer at my roots, forcing my head against his shoulder.
“Stay put,” he rasps. “You’re not going anywhere. Not from me.”
And just like that—my breath unlocks. Not fully. Not safe. But enough to breathe. Enough to cling to him, shaking, while filth and promises drown out the steel storm outside.
The engines howl, the floor rattles—and then his voice is in my ear. Calm. Deliberate. Like the chaos doesn’t exist.
“You’re going to crawl the second we land, pup. Straight to your knees. Beg for it.”
A strangled groan claws out of me, muffled against his shoulder. My hands clutch at his sleeve, knuckles white.
His grip tightens, steady. “Breathe.”
