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I turn to her, noticing how she’s wringing her hands and how her knees are bouncing. “You didn’t like what Ezra picked out for you?”
“Huh? Oh.” She stares down at the ring and shakes her head. “It was pretty, but if you think this ring is ostentatious, you should have seen that one. It’s single-handedly what sank the Titanic but had a ring of large yellow diamonds around it.”
“You don’t like yellow diamonds?” I couldn’t care less. I just want her to keep talking as the plane fills up and the flight attendants start going through their safety checks.
“Not really. I mean, on their own, they’re beautiful, but didn’t look good surrounding a large diamond. Or more like getting engaged to him never felt right, and the ring was a constant reminder of that. I honestly don’t know anymore.”
“Good thing you’re marrying me then,” I quip mockingly.
She blinks at me, but right at that moment, the door to the airplane shuts and locks into place, and she immediately starts trembling. I reach across her body and buckle her seat belt for her.
“Can I get you anything to drink before takeoff?” the same flight attendant asks politely.
Georgia shakes her head, her breathing ragged, and the woman goes on to the people behind us, giving me a sympathetic look.
“Where are we getting married? Walk me through this.”
She’s still shaking her head as the plane starts to pull away from the gate. “I didn’t take my Ativan.”
“Why?”
“It made me too groggy on the flight here because I have to take so much of it to calm down, and I… I can’t do this. I need to get off the plane.”
She starts to move to get up, fumbling with her seat belt, and I cup her face in my hand and force her terrified eyes to mine. “Where are we getting married, Georgia?”
Her hand grips my forearm, and her nails dig into my skin as her eyes scrunch closed, making a tear leak out. “No Elvis,” she utters, and I can’t stop my bemused chuckle.
“Elvis isn’t a location?” I deadpan.
“My dad won’t be there. I don’t want anyone to walk me down the aisle.”
Oh.
Her grip tightens, and I wouldn’t be shocked if she was drawing blood as the plane picks up speed.
“Lenox…” A gasp. “Please. I can’t…”
“Breathe, Georgia. I’ve got you.” Only she’s not breathing. She’s rocking in her seat and practically hyperventilating.
“This isn’t who I am.”
“I know, but there is no shame in this.”
She shakes her head again, her red hair flying about. Sweat coats her brow, her face is growing pale, and she’s trembling like a leaf. “I can’t… I don’t know how to make it stop. I can’t… I can’t breathe. I need to go. Please, I need to go. I need to get out of here.”
Fuck. She’s losing it and all of my distraction attempts aren’t doing anything to stop her panic attack. I don’t know how to make it stop either. How do you make a panic attack stop? I can’t smack her or shake her, and they no longer have vomit bags for her to breathe into. Feeling helpless, I stare at her face in my hand, at her teeth sawing at her bottom lip, and I already know I’m going to regret this, but I genuinely can’t think of anything else.
I don’t want to kiss her—I mean, I fucking do, but I’m not going to—so instead I lean forward and bite her bottom lip, making our teeth tap painfully and jolting her back an inch. Her eyes flash open, wide and startled, but I hold her face close and bite down harder before sucking her lip into my mouth and forcing myself not to groan at the taste of her.
I chew on it before dragging it out, scraping the soft, plump tissue with my teeth, and then doing the same with her top lip. She tastes like the vanilla ChapStick she loves and peppermint mouthwash, and my hand on her cheek slides back until it’s cupping the side of her head. She whimpers into me, her eyes staring directly into mine from centimeters away, giving me full access to their beautiful shades of green, but she’s not thinking about anything other than the fact that I’m biting her.
Her breathing slows into choppy bursts but then gradually becomes more even as color returns to her cheeks. I keep my tongue in my mouth, and I don’t dare close my eyes or press against her. I nibble and chew, and occasionally sink my teeth deeper until I see a flash of pain through her eyes.
But that’s all this is.
Pain. Distraction. Anger at her for forcing me into this. Frustration with myself because just being this close to her and biting her lip has my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans.
I never knew how to deny myself when it came to her, but I’m going to have to learn, and learn fast. With that, I bite a little harder, making her whimper and her hand slide down my forearm.
