by Angel Payne
“No.” He issued the retaliation from tight teeth. He released her hands to clutch the back of her head. “Stop it. Not now. Reality is still thirty-thousand feet below us. You won’t think about that. You’ll focus on this, on us, on remembering every second of this. Do you understand?” He gripped her harder when all he received was a frantic nod. “I don’t think I heard that, pet.”
“Yes.” With the admission came the heavy-lidded gaze and parted lips that told him she meant it, that she was slowly dipping into the misty, magical mental state to which he loved taking her the most. “Yes, Sir.”
He returned a rough hum of approval, and she melted even more in his arms. He felt his mind careen with hers, spiraling higher into that incredible place where he was full, uninhibited Dom. Her Dom. God, how he loved her for this. The power filled him, pumping into his veins and muscles, making him grip her harder, causing her to writhe and tremble in delicious little waves.
Her movement made her underwear slip farther down, loosening at her knees and then plummeting to her ankles. “Take them off the rest of the way,” Mark ordered. “Then give them to me.”
He watched her bend in compliance, hissing as her cheek slid along his crotch, especially when she stopped and nipped at the pounding ridge there. With a rush of impatience, he pulled her up. He yanked the panties from her grip, loving the heat in her stare as he lifted them to his nose.
“Ambrosia.” He breathed deeply, the scent of her sex hitting him like an exotic drug. She let out a jagged sigh. “You smell like passion and fire, pet. Like sweet, exquisite surrender. And completely like mine.”
She gasped into his mouth as he tossed the panties into the sink and then captured her lips again. This time he kissed her with brutal force, stabbing his tongue into the depths of her throat, letting her know exactly what he planned to do next. She was a mini earthquake in his arms when he set her free, her lips parted, her eyes closed, her nostrils flared. “Yes,” he hissed. “Yes, pet. Give it all to me!”
The plane’s intercom dinged, and one of the attendants announced they’d be descending for Chicago soon.
“Shit!” Rose sobbed.
“You’re not going anywhere.” As if concurring, his dick all but tore its way free from the jeans he’d worn for “comfort.” He ripped at the button and then the fly, clenching the moan back into his throat as his hard, heavy length sprang free. Without wasting time, he jammed her skirt back up with both hands. He grunted with pleasure as his touch met the generous curves of her thighs, the pulsing heat of her pussy. Swiping fingers through the folds beneath her pubic hair, he found her soaked and swollen. She let out an awkward snort of her own, obviously muting her own lusty cry, and it had to be the sexiest damn thing he’d ever heard.
“Touch me too,” he said into her ear. “Put your hand around me. Guide my cock into your cunt, pet.”
Her fingers were heaven. They dragged at his base first, exploring him, one of her fingers tracing the thick vein at the underside. When he encouraged her with a hard gasp, she wrapped and stroked until she got to his hood, where his throbbing head was already covered in generous pre-come.
“You’re wet too.”
“It means I can’t wait to be inside you.” He clenched his jaw to keep himself from exploding in her hand. “Honey, I didn’t bring a condom. Has there been anyone for you since Owen?”
She gave a wry smile and shook her head. “You don’t even have to worry about him, Sir.”
He popped a wide stare. “So you were a virgin when we…”
“No, no.” Her cheeks bloomed. “But let’s say it’d been a while before that.”
“Oh, Rosalind.” He kissed her fast to ensure her his chastising tone wasn’t meant for her. She got the point, gripping his cock harder, giving him so much of herself even down to the magic of her fingertips. “There’s been no one for me since Heather,” he told her, letting her press his head past her curls, between her folds. “There’ll be no one after you.”
Her face crumpled. Soft tears fell from her passion-filled gaze. “I love you, Sir. That won’t change. That’ll never change!”
“And I love you, pet.”
And then he was gone. Devoured by her body. Consumed by her heat. Drowned in her love.
As soon as he was buried in her core, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck. He hiked both her thighs around his waist, using the angle to get even deeper, to take them both even higher. He heard the flight crew bustling around on the other side of the door, oblivious to the No-Fires code he and Rose were blatantly violating in this little compartment. He had to grind their pace instead of pound it, increasing the friction to her clit more than he ever had before. Within minutes she started to gasp and shudder, her fingernails digging into his scalp and nape, wordlessly begging him for release. No, Mark vowed. Not yet. Not without one last precious gift of submission from her.
He turned his mouth against her ear and released a deep growl. “Beg me for it. Tell me what you need.”
She burrowed her face into his neck and whispered her reply. “Please let me come, Master. I need to come for you.”
Master.
A joyous smile ignited him with the sound of it. So much better than Senator.
“Yes, pet. Master says you can come.”
Her orgasm hit two seconds later. It turned her pussy into a vise around him, milking his raging fireball of a release. He dug his hands into her ass as he pumped his seed into her, as an equally amazing thought crossed his mind. If they got lucky, he’d just planted a baby inside her too. And if they had to move to goddamn Timbuktu to raise the child, he’d throw on a loincloth and be the happiest bastard on the globe for it.
But right now they were headed for Chicago. The attendant shattered their reverie with her pestering ding again, directing everyone on board to get back into their seats and prepare for the landing at O’Hare. With a quiet curse, he set Rose down and helped her get cleaned up. When she reached for her underwear, however, he shook his head.
“I’m keeping these. Last-time souvenir.” He jammed them into his pocket.
She giggled and shook her head as he unlocked the door, acting as recon for their escape from the bathroom. He nodded to her and then grabbed her hand and led her out. But when they got back into the cabin, he tugged her into the seat next to his. If only for a few minutes more, she still belonged at his side. And right now, he didn’t give a flying fuck who saw that or who knew.
And that included his own daughter.
Who looked up and flashed a huge grin at them both.
He scooped Rose’s hand into his as she caught Dasha’s look too. His little submissive blinked like she’d just been shown a crazy magic trick, but the moment was over as fast as it occurred. Dasha was now busy giggling at some joke between Pennington and Moridian as the three of them buckled in. Mark shook his head and chuckled. The way those two men fawned over her was, from his point of view, sharpened at times on a stone of solid strange, but he couldn’t deny that Dasha had never glowed more in her life. If the pair wanted to keep dueling for her love like a couple of dandies in heat, then so be it. After all, especially now, he was the last one to throw stones at anyone’s unconventional courting methods.
He turned his attention back to the woman who proved those words more true than anyone. He didn’t look out the window, even as they landed and taxied to the gate. The minutes screamed by, and he wished that maybe, just maybe, if he kept staring at her and gripping her, something would change. Fate would really throw him the big brass fucking ring. She’d look at him and tell him Timbuktu didn’t sound like a bad idea. Better yet, she’d grin and say, “Shane who?” Best of all, she’d get up out of that seat, keeping her fingers curled in his, and say with a smile, “Please take me home, Master.”
The fantasy—and the hope—faded from his heart as she slipped her hand from his.
He craved one last glance, one final gaze, but her face was already ducked away. Her shoulders were hunched,
even as she stood and jerked through the motions of reorganizing things in her bag.
It was unavoidable. He reached out again, clamping her elbow. “Rose.”
She pressed her fingers atop his. “Be happy, okay?” she whispered. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Goddamn it!” He cleared his throat and sucked in a breath. “You make me happy!”
He forced himself into silence as she fell back into her seat, curling in on herself. If he forced this issue, if he continued beating her with all of it, then he was just as much a selfish dickwad as her brother. He had to respect what she’d decided, no matter how much this felt like a limb amputation, Civil War-style. No morphine. No clean tools. No mercy.
No sanity left at the end.
“All right,” he finally muttered. “All right.”
He refused to say goodbye. Because despite everything, even now, he was still a tenacious, optimistic, fuck-the-odds fool.
Chapter Eighteen
Rose’s hands, clutched in her lap, were drenched with tears by the time she raised her head again. Her motive for the move was purely selfish. She needed one last look. Even if she could only gaze at his proud, broad back, she’d have one last drop of his presence to last her until the heartache set in and—
Fear gashed into her. He’d already gotten off the plane. Just about everyone else had too. How long had she been sitting here?
Worst of all, how far had he gotten during those wasted minutes?
“Shit.”
She surged to her feet, grabbing her purse and racing up the plane’s center aisle. The flight attendant yelled after her, protesting about the laptop and carry-on she’d left behind, but she barely heard through the ringing in her ears. She needed to see him again. She needed to—
“Oh, God.” She stopped short, feet feeling like concrete blocks. Her words were more sobs than syllables, springing from an understanding that had come so damn late.
Too damn late.
She’d slept through the alarm, hadn’t she? She now had the answer, but destiny had rescinded its offer.
“I don’t need to see him. I need to be with him. I need him.”
“And he needs you, Rose.”
She gasped. The words had come from a face resembling his. Strong lips, set with conviction. Eyes glowing with tawny warmth—and deep understanding.
“D-Dasha,” she stammered. “I’m so confused!”
The young woman laughed. “Yeah. Love will do that to you.”
She winced. “Shit. So you know?”
Dasha took her hands. “Rose, he’s my dad. I’ve known since about thirty seconds after you walked into the classroom last week.” Her grip tightened. “And I think it’s wonderful. And there are a lot of other people who will agree with me.”
Joy and love dueled against disbelief and doubt in her heart. “Oh, hell. We’re not a magazine-cover couple. I’ve got quirks. A lot of them.”
She’d hardly gotten that out when Dasha let out a long, loud giggle. She finished it by pulling her into a fierce hug. “Girlfriend, you don’t know the half of my quirks.”
Rose still shook her head. “What do I do?”
Dasha stepped closer. When her stare locked with Rose’s this time, it was full of undeniable intent. “You go make my dad happy, Rose. Please make him happy. It’s been so long for him, and it’s all I want for him.”
She looked at Dasha, at the conviction and confidence in her eyes, and this time, she knew what fate had done for her. Perhaps just this once, the clock was getting turned back. Here it was. The second chance. The extension on the alarm. Did she have the courage to bound out of bed this time? Did she have the guts to wake up, to open up, to love as her body, soul, and heart yearned to?
Dasha didn’t give her any grace period to change her mind. The young woman was already on her cell and punching in a speed dial number.
“Dad? Where are you? Well, stop right there. You…ummm…forgot something.” She punched the line shut. “VIP holding area for the limos, end of the tarmac. Go get him, Rose. Now!”
She saw him even through her tears.
The experience was better and worse than she expected.
All the fears came rushing back and more. What the hell was she doing? How on earth did her feet keep carrying her forward when they felt made of terror and ice? But then he pivoted just a little, and she beheld his beautiful, noble profile again. He took her breath away even from forty yards away. The longing came then, pulling her toward him like a lifeline. And then the desire, so magnificent, blowing her from behind like a sweet sea wind.
And the love, consuming her everywhere. A miracle. A gift.
She kept going. He kept her going. She was almost there—
She was brought up short by a very large arm. It was encased in a very black suit, which happened to be the same color as the guy’s sunglasses, crew cut, and grimace.
“Uh, hi.” She tried a friendly smile. Mr. Personality didn’t flinch. “I’d like to speak with Senator Moore, please.”
The guy’s head tilted, scanning her fast. Her first inclination was to dive straight for insecurity again. But damn it, she’d overcome way too much—namely, her own shitty psyche—to let this goon stop her from getting to her Master.
“Special security holding area, ma’am.” The guy’s monotone was so cliché he must’ve rehearsed it. “We’re sorry, but nobody in or out except the assigned VIPs and immediate family or staff.”
She took a deep breath. Then looked him in the glasses, which she hoped led to his eyes, and set her chin. “I’m his fiancée.”
The agent cocked his head. He was either part Collie or he didn’t believe her.
“Fine, then. I might be carrying his baby. Immediate enough for you?”
With a grunt, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Asshole finally let her through.
As she stumbled into the exclusive area, Mark turned. He strode forward, his eyes wide.
“Rose.” It was a harsh grate. “Ah hell. Are you what Dasha was—”
“Yes, Sir.”
Without another word, he opened his arms. She didn’t remember the steps she took to get to him. Perhaps she flew. It would’ve made sense, with how high her heart soared. His chest was solid and warm as he crushed her close, desperately kissing her neck, her cheeks, her lips.
“My love.” She dampened his shirt with her tears. “My Sir. I needed—”
“I know. It’s okay. And I’m here, pet. You know I’ll always be here for you.”
“As I’ll always be here for you.”
That’s when he started to get it. His breath caught. He shifted his hold, tilting her face back so he could probe her with his dark-gold gaze. “What are you saying, Rose?”
“I’m saying…I’ve been stupid. And you’re right. This is a gift. Our gift. And I want to fight for it. For you.” She ran a thumb over his cheek and beard. “I don’t want to listen to the past anymore. I don’t want to run anymore.” Her chest clutched in fear again, but she got the next words out too. “I…I’m going to reapply for a Stateside position. I can be of good use to the project right here, and I figure we can make some trips to the site together as well. You can teach me more. About all of it.” When he reacted with thick silence, self-doubt immediately nicked in. “Oh shit. I mean, that’s only if you still want me here?”
A harsh sound rumbled from his chest. “You’d better shut up and kiss me again, pet.”
After she pressed her lips to his, a smile bloomed across them—which suddenly dipped into a confused frown. “How did you get back here? They always lock me up like a damn zoo tiger.”
“Oh yeah. That.” She cocked her head and grimaced sheepishly. “I sort of told them…we’re engaged.”
Her anxiety about his reaction got drowned by his jubilant laugh. He cut it short long enough to wrap his hand around the back of her head, crashing her lips hard to his again.
“Well,” he finally said, letting her up for air. “That’s one good wa
y to get the job done.”
Epilogue
A late-afternoon breeze stirred from the surface of Lake Michigan, cooling the September day as Rose adjusted her wedding veil. She looked around the sumptuous bedroom of Mimi Marston’s Evanston mansion, which was now in chaos, and couldn’t help laughing.
“What is it, sweetikins?” The gentle query came from Mimi herself, a stunning blonde dressed in a mint-green St. John sheath. Mimi was a borderline eccentric but had become one of Rose’s favorite people after she and Mark made their relationship public. “Is everything all right?” the woman added.
Rose nodded. “Everything’s fine. I just can’t believe that last week Mark and I were in Baghdad, doing a check on the project and playing soccer in the street with a bunch of kids. Now we’re, here and…I’m just…”
“It’s all right, Rosalind,” Mimi filled in when she broke off. “Go ahead, say it. You’re deliriously, fucking happy.” The woman giggled and shook her head. “Listen, sugar cake. We’ve all made our plays for Mark through the years—and we all knew he was being damn picky. It was just our fondest hope for him to find someone who didn’t grab him by the balls, throw the wool over his eyes, and take him for a ride on the gold-digger train. We’re all so glad he’s found you. Make him delirious in return, and you don’t have a problem here.”
Her heart filled with warmth, and she gave Mimi as much a hug as her Vera Wang gown would allow. She’d had the designer give the dress several Victorian touches, such as a classic corset bodice and a subtle little bustle, knowing they’d bring a smile to Mark’s face. He’d only been specific about one aspect of her look for today, and in direct obedience, she’d had her hair styled loose and wavy over her bare shoulders.
“Thank you, Mimi. I’m going to try. And thank you for the use of the house and the lawn…and for everything. I couldn’t have planned even half of this on my own.”
