The urge to reach for her hand, or pull her into my side, is overwhelming but I force myself to just sit and let her have this. This is for her, not for me. Our fathers, the merger, the relentless countdown to whenever they announce our impending engagement. It all feels a million miles away, the kind of thing that can’t touch us if we just keep flying.
If she’s happy, even just for a few hours, then nothing else matters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTImani
Flying has always been my favourite kind of escape. There’s something about being suspended between earth and sky that makes everything else feel smaller. Up here, the noise of the world fades, the pressure in my chest loosens, and I can breathe again.
I sink a little deeper into the plush seat, champagne glass balanced between my fingers, and glance out the window. The clouds are soft and endless, painted gold at the edges by the afternoon light. For the first time since France, I feel like myself again. Like the version of me that existed before overhearing my parents, finding out that the future I thought I had was quietly dissolving beneath me.
None of that matters now. Asher has managed to pull me out of my head, out of the ache that’s been burrowing deep in my chest. He’s done that for me without even realising it.
He’s sitting across from me, jacket discarded, sleeves rolledup showing off toned, veiny arms. Every now and then, our eyes meet and I feel butterflies in my stomach. He catches the look on my face and his mouth tips up at the corner. He leans in, bracing his forearms on his knees, and gives me a once-over that’s way too soft to be fair. ‘You don’t need to get into the specifics, but are you feeling better now?’
‘Yes,’ I say immediately, and there’s no point trying to downplay it because it’s the truth. ‘I always feel better when I’m around you, actually.’
Asher blinks, clearly caught off guard, and then his smile splits his face in two. It’s wide and warm and so stupidly pretty I want to press pause on life and live in this moment forever.
‘Really?’ he asks, and the softness in his voice does something funny to my breathing. ‘Because I was just thinking the exact same thing.’
For a split second, neither of us says anything. There’s just the hum of the engines and golden light spilling through the windows.
I shake my head. This is stupid. We’ve literally got the whole jet to ourselves, and here I am, two metres of distance away from the one person who actually makes me feel like I’m a real person and not just a means to an end. Completely ridiculous.
I can’t stand it.
Before I really process what I’m doing, I unbuckle myself and cross the aisle to where he’s sitting. His eyes widen briefly but then I swing a leg over his lap and settle myself there,arms draped around his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It feels like it is.
The effect is instant. He lets out an exhale so deep it feels like he’s been holding it in for an eternity, and his hands find my waist. He holds me in place like maybe he’s worried I’ll disappear if he lets go.
And then we’re kissing, desperate but soft, making up for every second we’ve wasted being apart from each other these last two weeks.
His mouth is hot against mine and suddenly I’m aware of nothing except the fact that I am straddling Asher Vouvalis in a private jet at thirty thousand feet in the air. I angle my hips forward and he lets out a deep groan that vibrates against my lips. Maybe it’s the altitude or maybe it’s just Asher, but I feel lightheaded in the best kind of way.
‘Imani,’ he groans. He says my name like it’s the only word he knows. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and my composure goes out the window.
I roll my hips again, slower this time, and he snaps his head back, eyes squeezed shut. ‘You’re killing me,’ he manages, voice strangled.
‘Good,’ I whisper, and do it again.
If the cabin crew walked in right now, I wouldn’t even care.
His tongue slides against mine and my whole body arches into him. I let out a low moan and he tilts his hips up until I feel the hard outline of his dick brushing against me. I tug athis hair and that seems to do something devastating to him. I feel it in the way he shudders, the way his grip tightens, the way his mouth trails from my lips down to my jaw and then back again, like he’s starved and desperate to taste every single part of me.
I suddenly hate myself for wearing my tried and tested travelling outfit, consisting of a comfy pair of sweats and matching hoodie. If I’d worn a dress or a skirt, he’d definitely have pulled it up by now.
I whimper softly as his hands settle on my hips, thumbs dragging along the waistband of my sweats like he’s physically restraining himself from just tearing them off. I shiver, and it has less to do with the air conditioning blowing and more to do with the way his mouth finds the spot just below my ear. He dips one of his hands under my hoodie and splays his palm, warm and soft, over my stomach. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he touches me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so worshipped in my entire life.
I tip my head back, eyes rolling shut, and lose myself in the sensation of Asher.
He presses kisses along my cheekbone, then drags his mouth lower until he finds the spot just beneath my jaw. He sets his teeth there and bites down. It’s the tiniest of scrapes, but I swear I see stars behind my eyes.
His hands slide up, big palms cupping my breasts through my hoodie and bra, and it’s so much but somehow not even close to enough. I moan, all dignity utterly gone, and he groans in return like he’s the one about to unravel. Hesqueezes me gently, then a little rougher. His thumbs trace lazy circles over my nipples through the fabric of my bra and I want to sob at how good it feels.
I don’t even realise I’m grinding down on him until he’s pinching both my nipples through my bra, rolling and tugging until I can’t actually think, let alone remember how to breathe. My entire body lights up like a power grid. He’s still working his mouth over the spot on my neck where my pulse is hammering and then he sucks, hard, and I nearly scream. His fingers run over my nipples, not gentle, not rough, somehow just excruciatingly perfect. His thumbs coax tight little spirals of pleasure out of me until I’m grinding down on him helplessly, the cabin blurring at the edges of my vision. I feel like I’m short-circuiting. I want to say something witty or devastatingly filthy, but all that comes out is another whimper.
I can feel the heat blooming down my neck, my chest, everywhere, and it hits me that I’m half a second away from coming in my sweatpants, in the lap of Asher Vouvalis, on a private jet.
