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“Champagne sounds perfect,” Brooklyn replied.
I had known we were going to have dessert at the sushi restaurant since I’d already taken a long look at the menu before I booked the reservation. That was why I didn’t think food on this flight was necessary, but I’d asked for champagne. One that was dry and crisp, that would pair well with a full stomach.
But now that I had the taste of Brooklyn in my mouth—a taste I needed much more of—I wanted something a bit stronger.
“Scotch,” I told her. “Several fingers’ worth.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Once she was gone, I glanced at Brooklyn. The seat was far too big for her, her tiny frame getting lost in the leather.
“Fifteen minutes,” she groaned.
“Or less.”
“Less?” As she arched her back, her chest became my focal point, those perfect fucking tits dying to be freed from her bra, nipples needing to be licked and bitten. “You’re teasing me again.”
If this were the private Spade jet, there would be more room in between our two seats and a set across from us. But this plane was much smaller, so our seats were directly beside each other with an unmovable armrest in between.
Even with the hard armrest, I would have no problem reaching her.
I grazed the outside of her thigh. “Yes. Less.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m onto you, Mr. Spade.”
“Then, you know I’m looking forward to finishing what I started.” As she slowly licked across her lips, I added, “You know, for someone who’s only looking to unplug, you’re certainly good at goading me into what you want.”
“Who says I’m goading you?” She tilted her head just a little. “Or that this is even about unplugging?”
The change that I’d seen on her face throughout dinner needed to be confirmed.
And it just was.
But I said, “That’s been your goal all along.”
Another shift happened, this time in the seriousness of her expression. “What makes you think that’s the case now?”
“If it isn’t, then why don’t you tell me?”
I wondered if she realized I was goading her to answer a question I hadn’t yet asked.
And if she did realize, I was curious if she cared.
She clasped her fingers around my wrist, holding it, staring at me. “I don’t want to be anywhere except right here.”
“You want to be present …”
“Yes, Macon.” She linked her fingers with mine. “Unlike the previous times, I’m not looking to forget. I want to remember every single detail.”
“Of tonight,” I clarified.
“Of all of it.” Her tone was just a little above a whisper. “If you’re looking for more words than that … I don’t have them. Yet.”
So, she did understand where I was going with this, and she knew what I wanted to hear.
And even though she had given me as much as she could, I liked what she’d said.
There was plenty of time for more.
