Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
And the Quiet Fuck was born.
I can’t wait to get her to Paradise so she can scream to her heart’s content. Not that’ll I’ll fuck her hard. Nope. Gently does it.
We left the in-laws early and got on the road, just Ava and me, and that’s how it’ll be for the next few days. Blissful.
“Shit,” Ava says out of the blue, jarring me, as I head for the private hangar.
Blissful? Maybe if I wash her mouth out with soap and water. “Ava, mouth,” I grumble, looking across at her as she dives into her handbag. “What’s up?”
She reaches for the door as I take a left, throwing me a scowl. “Will you take it easy?”
“There’s no place you’re safer than in a car with me.” I scan the road ahead for the turning, slowing. “What’s the matter?”
“My passport. I’ve left my passport in my box of junk.” She continues to scratch through her bag. Don’t know why. She just said herself it’s in her box of junk. So it’s a damn good thing I’m the organized one in this marriage.
“No, you haven’t,” I say, retrieving it from the safety of the glovebox. “But you have forgotten to get your name changed, Miss O’Shea.”
She smiles and takes it. “So I’m traveling a single?”
“Shut up, Ava.” Why does she choose words she knows will rub me up the wrong way? Because she wouldn’t be Ava otherwise. I ignore her brief chuckle and pull to a stop, slipping out and looking at the jet over my shades as I round the car, smiling.
“Mr. Ward, welcome,” Vincent says, appearing from the hangar with the captain, paperwork in his hands.
“Morning, Vincent. Good to see you.” I nod to the captain, who politely nods back as I open the car door. “Come on.” I take Ava’s passport and hand it over with mine, giving Vincent a signature before popping the boot so our luggage can be carried on.
When I return to Ava, she’s still in the car appearing bewildered. “Are you going to sit there all day, lady?” I ask, helping her out.
“What’s that?” She frowns past me, and I look back on an unsure smile.
“That’s a plane,” I say, leading on and taking the steps up, smiling at the flight attendant—her name escapes me. But I’ve seen her around the rooms of The Manor, along with the captain. Seen her in my bed. Best not mention that to Ava.
I can already feel resistance between our joined hands. Is she afraid of flying? “Ava?” I ask when she stops outside the jet.
“I’m not getting on that thing.”
I notice her chest is pumping. She is. She’s afraid. I don’t recall her ever saying she has a fear of flying. In fact, I distinctly remember her demanding I take her somewhere hot and on a plane.
“Of course you are.” I try to encourage her onward, but she’s firm in her stance, her eyes full of fear. Not a fan. I’m forced to step back out of the plane when she retreats. “Ava, you’ve never said you’re scared of flying.”
“I’m not,” she says, only confusing me more. “I like big planes. Why are we not going on a big plane? Why can’t we go on one of those?” she asks, pointing to a commercial aircraft.
“Because they’re probably not going where we need them to.” I go to her, crowding her body, which is smaller than it usually is, her uncertainty seeming to shrink her. “It’s perfectly safe.” I turn her face back to me so she can see my reassurance.
“It doesn’t look safe.” She eyes the jet. “It looks too small.”
“Ava.” I soften my voice. My eyes. My face. “This is me, your possessive, unreasonable, over-protective control freak.” I’m humoring her, obviously. “Do you really think I’d willingly put you in danger?” I drop a pacifying kiss on her face.
“I feel a little nervous.”
No shit. “Answer my question.”
“No,” she sighs. “I don’t.”
“Good,” I say, taking her shoulders and guiding her on. “You’ll love it, trust me.”
“Good morning,” the attendant says, her eyes interested. She’ll have heard. Everyone will have heard. Married. Pregnant. Hopefully those two significant things will deter any inappropriate behavior that may have my hormonal wife throwing the attendant out of the jet without a parachute.
I walk Ava to one of the chairs and help her down, fixing her seatbelt. Lowering to the chair opposite, I sit and rest Ava’s feet to my lap. Swollen ankles are a real thing. I’ll have to rub her feet the entire flight.
“Champagne, sir?”
Kimberly. Her name is Kimberly. And by the look on her face, marriage and babies isn’t an issue. But of course. She’s a member of my fine manor. And, really, I wouldn’t have the first idea of her relationship status, although I suspect the captain features somewhere in her life, and not in a professional capacity.