Chapter 112: Chapter 112 Passion at Thirty Thousand Feet
The jet sliced through the clouds, a silver predator in an endless blue. The city was a forgotten smudge below, and for the first time in weeks, true silence descended.
Except it was a lie. Silence was impossible with the way Leo was watching me.
His gaze was a physical weight, golden and intense, tracking the nervous flutter of my fingers as I reached for the champagne flute. I could feel it like a brand on my skin, hot and possessive.
"Relaxation," I reminded him, my voice unnaturally high. "You promised. Two weeks of nothing but peace."
A dark, sinful smile curved his mouth. "And this," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and want, "is my definition of peace."
The click of his seatbelt echoed in the cabin. In one fluid, predatory motion, he was up, closing the distance between us in three strides. The air crackled, thickening with his intent. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Leo—"
His hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up to his. There was no escape. "My Luna. My wife. My entire world."
His kiss was a conquest—savage and reverent all at once, a storm veiled in silk. The taste of champagne exploded on my tongue, sharp and sweet, as he plundered my mouth until I saw stars. My feeble resistance evaporated. My hands, acting on their own volition, fisted in his dark hair and yanked him closer, a silent surrender.
Then I was in the air, cradled against his chest as if I weighed nothing. He carried me to the wide, supple leather seat, laying me down like a treasure. The material was cool against my back for only a second before his heat followed, his body a delicious prison over mine. His eyes glowed, molten with hunger.
"Do you have any idea how long I’ve ached for this?" His words were a hot brand against the sensitive skin of my throat, his lips tracing a blazing path downward. "Since the second you marked me. Since the moment I knew your soul was fused to mine."
"The windows—someone could—"
"Let them see," he commanded, his voice a low growl. One hand shot out, hitting a button. The privacy partition slid shut with a definitive hiss, sealing us in our own carnal world. His smirk was pure, unadulterated sin. "I don’t share, Victoria. But I want the whole damn world to know you are mine."
A bolt of pure, undiluted heat shot through me. My fingers scrambled for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel the hard planes of his chest. He groaned, a deep, visceral sound that vibrated through me and made my wolf, Ava, writhe with primal delight.
"You’re impossible," I gasped as his mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of my neck.
"You created this monster," he rasped, his voice scraped raw with need.
His hands slid under the silk of my blouse, calloused palms skimming up my ribs. I arched into his touch, a broken sound escaping me as his thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts. Every nerve ending was on fire, screaming for more.
"Say my name," he demanded, his breath hot against my collarbone.
"Leo."
"Again."
"Leo..."
My whisper was his undoing. With a ruthless efficiency that stole my breath, he stripped the silk from my body, baring me to the cool cabin air and his searing gaze.
"Flawless," he breathed, the word a prayer and a curse before his mouth claimed mine again.
The jet hit a pocket of turbulence, jolting us, but we were beyond caring. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only him—the scent of his skin, the weight of his body, the relentless, demanding pressure that blurred the lines between where I ended and he began.
He was both worshipper and conqueror. His kisses were bruising, his touch was incendiary. He mapped every curve and hollow with a reverence that felt like devotion and a possession that felt like madness. My moans were swallowed by his greedy mouth, each one fuel to the inferno he was stoking.
"Mine," he growled against my lips, the word a vibration that went straight to my core.
There was no more patience, only a frantic, shared need. He sheathed himself inside me in one deep, claiming thrust that stole the air from my lungs. I cried out, my nails scoring his back as he set a punishing, glorious rhythm. The leather seat creaked beneath us, a lewd counterpoint to our ragged breaths and the slick, wet sounds of our joining. The raw, guttural groan that tore from his chest was my undoing. I shattered around him, screaming his name as the world dissolved into white-hot pleasure.
He followed me over the edge, his own release a violent shudder, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of my shoulder as he poured himself into me, branding me from the inside out.
We collapsed, a slick, trembling heap of tangled limbs. He held me so tightly I could barely breathe, his arms a vise around me, as if even at thirty thousand feet, he feared I might vanish.
"I have you," he whispered into my sweat-damp hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."
I let out a weak, breathless laugh. "You talk too much."
A wicked grin touched his lips as he nuzzled my neck. "You scream beautifully."
I swatted at his chest half-heartedly. He caught my wrist, bringing it to his mouth to press a searing kiss to my palm, then to each fingertip. The shocking tenderness of the gesture unspooled me completely.
We cleaned up in the small lavatory, though he took his time, leaving a fresh constellation of purple marks along my throat and collarbone. I glared at our reflection.
"Everyone will see those!"
"Good," he said, his voice a smooth, satisfied rumble as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Let them see how thoroughly their Luna is adored. How completely she is loved."
Back in our seats, a fresh tray of champagne and pastries appeared. He fed me a plump raspberry, his fingers brushing my lips, his eyes dark with renewed promise. Every glance smoldered, every casual touch lingered with deliberate, erotic intent.
"This is utterly indecent," I muttered, accepting a bite of buttery croissant from his fingers.
"No," he corrected, leaning in to capture a stray crumb from the corner of my mouth with a kiss. "This is worship."
I choked on a laugh. "Worship doesn’t typically involve mile-high club activities on a private jet."
"With us," he said, his voice dropping to that low, intimate timbre that made my toes curl, "it’s the only kind of worship there is."
The remainder of the flight passed in a haze of stolen kisses, whispered filth, and hands wandering under cashmere blankets. Every time I tried to murmur about the bakery or Howlthorne, he silenced me—not with words, but with the devastating skill of his mouth.
"Two weeks, Victoria," he breathed against my lips, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Two weeks where your only thought is me."
And when his hand slid up my thigh beneath the blanket, I gladly, oh so gladly, obeyed.