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“Remember why you’re doing this,” she says sharply. “Don’t embarrass our family any more than you already have, Amalie. And for god’s sake, keep your secret until after the wedding.”
She whispers the last quietly enough that there’s no way David could have heard it, but my stomach twists all the same. I turn when she lets go of me to see he’s already in the car, and I slide inside to follow him as the driver holds open the door for me, sitting across from where he’s seated. The quiet persists as the car pulls out to the highway, and I twist my hands in my lap, trying to hold back the biting words until I can’t any longer.
“Is our entire marriage going to be this silent?” I snipe, and David looks up abruptly from his phone.
“Maybe not all of it.” He raises one eyebrow, his lips twisting in a knowing smirk, and my cheeks flush hot. I knowexactlywhat he’s referencing, and I hate that, at this moment, he’s decided to remind me of just how susceptible I am to his charms when he chooses to use them.
“It’s not my choice anymore.” I look away from him, out of the window to the scenery passing by. “So maybe I won’t enjoy it as much.”
“After how you kissed me in the living room? I can’t say that I think that’s true.” There’s a satisfied certainty to David’s voice that makes my palms itch all over again with the urge to slap him, a feeling that’s becoming more and more familiar to me with every passing day we spend together.
“I would have rather not found out, but here we are.” I move as far away from him as I can, towards the window on the opposite side, my jaw clenched. The fact that he’s still thinking about that kiss makes my blood heat and my pulse beat a little faster, but I refuse to let him know that he’s affecting me that way, even now. I don’twanthim to know that he can still arouse me, even when he’s being an utter asshole. It’s more power than he should be allowed to have—or allowed toknowthat he has, anyway.
David makes a small, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and the car falls into silence again. It stays that way until we reach the hangar where the private jet is, the car stopping on the tarmac. The driver opens the door, and David slips out, not bothering to wait for me as he strides towards the jet.
“Are you grabbing my bags?” I look at the driver, uncertain, and when he nods, I go after David, cursing my high heels. My mother has a particular vendetta against flats, especially for occasions like this, but I promise myself that if there’s one freedom I’m going to avail myself of when I’m away from home and living in New England, it’s the ability to choose my own footwear.
David is already on the jet when I board. He’s saying something to the pilot, and he glances over at me as I take the final step into the cabin, motioning down the aisle.
“Choose a seat,” he says flatly. “It’ll only be us on the flight.”
I nod, wondering if it’s too much to hope that he might be sitting somewhere else,notnext to me, for the duration of it. It’ll be a short flight—only about two hours—but even that is more than I want to spend in David’s chilly company right now.
Unsurprisingly, I’m not so lucky.
I settle into one of the soft, beige leather seats, fishing a black cashmere cardigan out of my tote bag—I’ve committed to the all-black bit for today, despite how much I know it angered my mother—and slip it on as I hear David’s footsteps. As if he’s fully aware of how much I’d prefer space, he settles down in the seat directly across from me, his cool, dark gaze meeting mine.
“Two hours,” he says thoughtfully, his gaze raking over me. I hate how handsome he is, how, even now, the way he looks at me makes me shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the faint chill in the cabin. “How should we spend it, Amalie? What do you think?”
“I brought a book,” I mumble, ignoring my body’s traitorous reaction to the clear insinuation in his voice. “I think there’s a new album out from a band I like, so I brought earbuds too—” Too late, I remember that I don’t actually have a phone any longer, but from the way David is looking at me, I don’t think it’s going to matter.
He gives me a cool, appraising look that’s somehow still full of lust, and it reminds me of the way he looked at me that last afternoon in Ibiza, when he bought that plane ticket for me. That was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life in a week that had had several of them—and yet my stomach clenches at the memory, my thighs squeezing together as I feel a familiar throb between them. My breath catches in my throat, heat flooding me, even as I prepare to argue with him if he really tries what I think he might.
“Take the cardigan off, Amalie,” he says casually. “It’s not very flattering. I like seeing more of you on display for me. In fact—undo the top two buttons of your blouse, while you’re at it.”
I stare at him, desire momentarily forgotten in the flare of anger I feel at his arrogant tone. “You can’t talk to me like that—”
“Oh, I can.” David leans back, looking at me with that same careless expression on his face. “Or would you rather I tell you to strip off completely, here where anyone could walk down the aisle and see? I do have two attendants on this flight, you know. Would you like to spend the next two hours sitting in that seat naked, spread out for my viewing pleasure? I can only imagine what they would think ofthat, if they saw.”
My face is burning hot, and I can see the pleasure in his face at having riled me up. Helikesthat he can get that reaction out of me, that he can take me from arousal to anger so quickly—and back again, if I’m being honest with myself.
I don’t want to obey him. But I also believe that he’ll doexactlywhat he’s threatening, if I refuse. And that, I think, would be one humiliation too many.
Slowly, I shrug off the cashmere cardigan, laying it over the tote in the seat next to mine. Quickly, before my fingers can start to tremble too much, I undo the top two buttons of my silk blouse—just enough for David to get a glimpse of my small cleavage.
“Very nice,” he breathes, shifting in his seat. A glance downwards is all I need to see that he’s aroused, the visible ridge of his cock pressing thick and hard against the fabric of his suit trousers. His gaze slides over me again, taking his time, and then he nods to the space between us. “On your knees, Amalie. You’ve gotten me hard, and I think I’d like my cock sucked for a little while, until I decide what else I’d like to do with you.”
I stare at him, momentarily torn between hatred and desire, the whiplash of feelings leaving me speechless. “We’re not married yet,” I protest, the words coming out choked. “We can’t—”
David snorts, already undoing his belt as he looks at me. “You sucked my cock a dozen times in Ibiza,” he says as he draws his zipper down. “The change in time zones doesn’t make you a virgin again, Amalie. On your knees, before I think of something more entertaining to tell you to do.”
My cheeks are burning hot. He nods again towards the floor, spreading his legs a little wider to make room for me. I feel that same awful sense of humiliation that I felt that last afternoon by the pool—and arousal, too. As I obey, sliding out of the leather seat and sinking to my knees in front of him, I can feel that I’m wet. The silky fabric of my panties is clinging between my thighs, damp with that aching need, and I have no doubt that he’ll find out before this flight is over. That thought is enough to bring embarrassed tears to the corners of my eyes, just as he slips his thick cock free, his fist wrapping around the base as he motions for me to come closer.
“I’m not in the mood to be teased,” he murmurs, reaching out to slide one hand to the back of my head as he guides me to his cock. “Open your mouth,bellisima.”
The Italian endearment is enough to remind me of what a fool I was in Ibiza. An idiot, to hear his voice, his accent, and not suspect that his wealth came from the same sort of source that my family’s did. To never, even for a moment, consider that he might be mafia.
I hadn’twantedto consider it, and so I’d pushed the possibility out of my head entirely. Now, I’m finding out the consequences.
