Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I feel odd without my phone, but Keenan’s had it cancelled and remotely wiped back in Ireland, so no more phantom texts or finding out personal information. I take a paperback book out of my bag and try to read it, but I finally realize I’m reading the same paragraph over and over again. I shove it into my bag.
“Hard to concentrate?” he asks in a smug whisper.
“Oh, shut it,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You can fuck all the way off.”
We’re soaring above the ocean now and my ears are popping, going higher and higher with every second that passes.
“Excuse me?” he asks in a deadly whisper. “Want to repeat that?”
“You heard me.” I shoot him an angry glare. “And don’t you think for a minute that gives you the right to punish me.”
“That right?” he says, with a snarl that makes me quake.
“Mhm.”
I don’t know how convincing I am, but I have to protect my heart. And if I let him have his way with me, he’ll knock down the fortress I’ve constructed. I can’t let him do that.
I look out the window, at the little clouds below, and a glimmer of hope shines in my heart. I’m going home, I think to myself.
But what does home mean?
Why am I disappointed he isn’t fighting back?
Why am I even like this? I hate that I am. I wish I could fully trust, that I didn’t let the doubts and insecurities I’ve battled for so long make me say and do things I don’t want.
But I’m afraid. So fucking afraid.
What does any of this even fucking mean? I feel Lachlan’s hands on my wrists, and I push him away, even as the heat of his touch brands me. I remember being skin to skin, irrevocably tied to him in intimate surrender. I try to push him away, but it’s no use. A moment later I’m fully unbuckled and he’s got me straddling his lap.
Even as I fight him, even as I know I’m going to regret pushing him away, my heart sings with the knowledge that he won’t let me.
“Let me go,” I say, shoving at his wrists, but he’s massive and powerful and he doesn’t even budge.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Are we going to keep this up all day?”
“Also no.”
I fume and I think I hear a glimmer of a chuckle in his voice.
“So what are you going to do, then? Punish me? That’s not always the answer, you know.”
“I know it isn’t,” he says evenly. “But sometimes it is, and to answer your question, I’m thinking on it.”
“Hardly room to climb over your lap,” I mutter.
“Oh, there’s plenty of room.”
“How do you know? You’ve done this before.” The thought of him taking another girl over his lap has me wanting to scream.
His eyes narrow. “I’ve studied every inch of you for fucking years,” he says. “I’ve imagined taking you over my knees so many times, I could orchestrate every move.” His fingers wrap around my wrist tighter. “How I’d tug you right over my knees.” His hand travels to my backside, and he gives me a firm squeeze. “How I’d punish you good and hard.”
He rests his large palm across my arse.
I shiver and try to pull away, but I find instead I’m pulling closer to him. Before I know what’s happening, I’m leaning in and kissing him, my lips brushing against his with unapologetic surrender. This man infuriates me, but this could be the last time we’re together.
“We have five hours and twenty-three minutes left to go,” I remind him. “I’m sure you can get a quickie in there.”
He kisses me so gently, I wonder at first if he heard me.
Don’t, my mind wars. Don’t stop.
I want to lose myself to him again, to surrender myself completely to everything and anything he does to me. But I have to be able to surface again. I have to be able to keep myself in check.
His warm hand on the back of my head, his body pressed to mine, I let myself go in our kiss. It’s our farewell, I tell myself.
Wordlessly, he unbuckles himself and rises with me in his arms. He walks to the bed, his face intent with a sense of purpose, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
He lays me down on the bed, then leaves me to go secure the locks so no flight attendant interrupts us. I watch him click the locks in place with a wistful sigh. I don’t want this to end. I don’t. When he returns to me, there’s purpose in his gaze and a sternness about him I’ve rarely seen.
“You can’t run from me, Fiona.”
“I’m not running. I’m right here.”
He sits on the side of the bed and points a finger to my temple. “Here, sweet girl,” he says so gently, he almost cracks my resolve. “Here.”