I drag in one gasp. Shaky. Useless. But it’s enough.
“You’ll choke on my cock until your eyes water. Won’t you?” he murmurs, thumb stroking my scalp once.
“Y-yes, sir.” The plane jolts, turbulence shaking the cabin, and my lungs seize again. My nails scrape his arm, useless, desperate.
“Breathe, Elias.” His tone doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften. Just that same lethal calm.
I do. A ragged inhale. A broken exhale. My throat burns.
“That’s it.” His mouth brushes my ear. “Perfect pup.”
Heat floods my lungs, tangled with panic, tangled with devotion. I whimper, nodding into his shoulder.
“I’ll fold you until you can’t breathe. Make you scream so loud the whole floor hears.”
Another jolt. My stomach drops—but his hand holds me steady, nails scraping my scalp until I suck in another breath, shuddering but real.
“Good,” he says, like the word itself can pin me to the earth. “That’s it. You’re doing perfect.”
My face is buried against his chest now, burning hot, shame and need knotted with terror. The plane keeps shuddering.
Filth and praise. Punishment and reward. Every “you’ll beg for it” cut through with a “good boy.” Every filthy promise wrapped in command. Every word keeping me alive.
I cling harder. Shake harder. Breathe when he tells me to.
The rattling finally eases, engines evening into a calm hum. I’m still plastered to him, though, fist twisted tight in his sleeve, his hand heavy in my curls like he’s got me chained there.
I should move. I should sit up straight, pretend I didn’t nearly crawl out of my skin in front of the entire goddamn team.
But then his mouth dips to my ear again.
“You’re going to keep me in your throat until you can’t breathe,” he murmurs, voice low enough to cut through the cabin noise, but not low enough to keep it private. “Then I’m going to fuck you open so slow you’ll beg me to wreck you faster. And I won’t. I’ll keep you spread until you’re sobbing, begging, promising anything just to come.”
The words sear through me. Hot. Filthy. Anchoring. My body jerks against him with a strangled sound, half panic, half pure need.
And then—Christ—there’s another noise.
Cole.
A sharp, choked moan from the aisle seat, muffled behind his hand but loud enough for me to hear. My eyes go wide, face flaming scarlet, pulse spiking all over again for a whole new reason.
Damian doesn’t even twitch. Just smirks against my ear.
The second the seatbelt sign dings off, Cole is up—yanking his headphones around his neck, sunglasses slipping, bolting for the aisle like his ass is on fire. He stumbles down the narrow row, nearly trips over Shane’s feet, and disappears into the bathroom so fast the door slams.
I let out a strangled laugh, cracked and wrecked, still clutching Damian’s arm like a lifeline. “Oh mygod,” I wheeze, burying my face in his chest to muffle the sound. “He actually—he’s—fuck—”
My shoulders shake with hysterical laughter I can’t stop, half panic still in me, half delirium, and Damian just sits there. Solid. Steady. Arm heavy around me like none of this touches him.
And maybe it doesn’t.
But I’m vibrating. Buzzing. Alive in ways I shouldn’t be, pressed into my Captain’s chest while Cole’s probably jerking off ten rows down.
By the time the cabin settles and the plane hums through the clouds, I realize I’m actually breathing. Still clinging, still trembling, but breathing. My cheek is pressed into Damian, his heartbeat against my ear, his hand never letting me go.
I don’t move. I can’t. If I let go now, I’ll float clean off this plane.
The bathroom door bangs open, and Cole saunters back down the aisle. His grin’s wild, sunglasses crooked, hair damp like he dunked his head under the faucet. I already know—I know—and I want to melt into the floor before he even gets close.
