The tone cuts through everything.
My eyes snap open, lock on him. Damian. His hand fisted in my hair, holding me steady.
“I can’t—I can’t—we’re gonna crash—ocean—sharks—”
The words spill out fast, broken, babbling like water pouring through cracks in a dam. My throat’s too tight, but I can’t stop. “I don’t wanna—I can’t—fuck, Captain, they’re gonna eat me alive—”
“No.” His grip tightens in my hair, hard enough to sting. His other hand clamps heavy on my thigh, grounding me. His voice slices clean through the roar. “No oceans. No sharks. Just me. Look at me.”
I do. Christ, I do. My eyes lock on him, wide and wet and wrecked. But my breath is still short and ragged, my head spinning so hard I might black out.
“Now,” he says. “Be a good boy and breathe for me.”
My whole body jerks like he hit me. My brain blanks for a split second, everything rewiring around those words. Be agood boy. My captain calling me that here, now, while the plane’s bucking through storms and sharks are in my head.
“I—I—” My voice cracks.
Damian leans closer, lips brushing the edge of my ear, his hand in my curls forcing me to meet his eyes. “I can’t kiss you if you’re not breathing right.”
My brain short-circuits.
The thought collides so violently with the panic that for half a second I forget how to think, forget everything except the fact that Damian Kade—my captain, my goddamn obsession—just said he’d kiss me.
And for that half second, I actually suck in a breath.
It’s sharp, messy, desperate—but it’s air.
The plane drops.
Not a little jiggle, not a bump. Adrop. My stomach slams into my throat, my ears pop, the cabin rattles like the wings are about to tear off. Tyler yelps two rows up. Someone screams in the back, and it rips through me like a blade.
I lose it.
The breath I managed to grab is gone. I claw at the armrests, nails scraping plastic, shaking so hard I’m rattling in my seat as much as the damn plane.
“Mercer.”
Not a question. Not a plea. A command.
Damian’s hand fists in my hair, jerks my head forward so hard my teeth clack. His other hand clamps under my jaw, thumb forcing my chin up. And then—sudden, heavy—his forehead presses to mine.
The world tilts. The screaming fades. All I see are mismatched eyes burning holes through me.
“You hear me?” His voice is low, even, steady like a gun to the head. The plane rattles again, I try to suck in air and fail, a wheeze tearing out instead.
So he does the one thing guaranteed to nuke my panic out of existence.
He starts talking filth.
“You breathe right,” he growls, forehead grinding harder against mine, “and I’ll take that smart mouth of yours and put it to better use. You want that, pup? You want my cock down your throat while you’re on your knees, choking like you’re made for it?”
My brain whites out.
The panic collides with it—panic and filth slamming together so hard I can’t hold both. My breath stutters, air jerks in.
“That’s it,” he rasps. His thumb digs under my chin, forcing my head higher, his hand tugging tight in my curls. His lips brush mine, not kissing, just close enough that I can taste his breath. “In. You want me to fuck you open in my hotel room when we land? Then you breathe for me now.”
I choke out a gasp. Jagged. Broken. But it’s air.
