The wind shiftsthrough my hair, the long blonde strands interrupting the view of the flat horizon only divided by a long black tarmac.
Ahead, dusk gathers, rushing lines of silver down the pearly metallic paint on the luxurious private jet.
I'm awed.
I'm also fucking nervous.
My stomach churns to the sound of the jet ahead, but I block it out. Slipping into an automotive state, I stride towards the private jet.
Henchman Jeeves rolls my new pastel pink Louis Vuitton luggage behind him. I know that's athing.Louis Vuitton. When I saw them in the flesh on my bed, I raced over and couldn't stop swiping my thumb across the small grooves creating a perfectLVin the cream handles.
Ahead of me, two young women in power suits wait by the stairs as I cross the runway. I take bigger steps towards the open craft, knowing within the rich interior is Clay Butcher.
Between my legs, I've been throbbing and wet all day. This is my third day wearing the plug. He puts it in me each morning and removes it when he gets home. It keeps my mind beneath a blanket of perpetual arousal.
Today,Iremoved it—only a few hours ago. Fumbling around, I didn't like taking it out myself, but I came on his sheets as I did.
I focus on the craft.
After the awkward encounter with Clay’s mum, I used his laptop. He’d set up a guest account for me. I know he has some kind ofchild-lockon it, although I haven't faced any restrictions yet. I don’t think I mind… he believes he's protecting me. Whether I need it or not, the premise is new, foreign, and makes my heart soar because someone cares enough to do so. I know that to many people this kind of behaviour raises flags—bright red flags—but to a girl who spent her entire life without her seat belt buckled, without a phone call to see what time she’d be home, without a meal for three days, without a second thought… it’s like finally beingseen.
The Beginners Guide to Flying, and although he told me that it was"far from necessary or relevant in this case, little deer,"given we are taking a private jet, I memorised the main points anyway.
Some still matter.
One: arrive early.
That one doesn’t matter.
Two: wear easily removable shoes.
What shoes aren’t easily removable?
Three: Wear comfortable clothes.
I gaze down at the white lace 'poplin dress'Aurora bought and hung in my dressing room, the seam lightly feathering my upper thighs. It's short, cute, and Aurora was right; I do love it.
Four: have identification handy. I realised when that one came up that I don't have any identification of any kind. None that would secure me a passport anyway. I struggled for a moment with that, along with the irony of having littleidentity—never to be a Butcher nor accepted as a Nerrock and only momentarily a Harlow—but drowned that thought. I'm going to be many things now—the most important, therightwoman for him.
The jet engines roar as I grow nearer, my pulse kicking up a notch with every step. This big column will be in the sky soon, hundreds of kilograms of weight, hurtling through the clouds with squishy, fleshy human beings on board, only protected by the metal walls, only held up by velocity—
It doesn't seem safe…
Swallowing thickly, I climb the stairs dutifully. Staring at my nude-coloured sandals—easily removable shoes—making sure I don't miscalculate, I take two steps then I hear his voice over the droning of the jet, "Take my hand, sweet girl."
My hair sweeps across my face as I peer up and into blue eyes that rival the silver lining of low hanging clouds above a descending sun. The eyes of the most formidable man in the city. The most beautiful. Deadly. I remember when I compared him to a villainous Batman, and the District to Gotham.
The Devil's Prototype.
He's not falling out of the sky.
I grin at him and take his outstretched hand, feeling my nerves settle immediately. His hand swallows mine with a protective dominance that warms everything inside me. Guiding me up until I am on the deck with him, he then steps backwards for me to precede him.
We enter the warm lightly humming cabin. Clay's presence behind me is hot and electric, as I pan my gaze over the luxurious, lavish interior. It looks just like I imagined it. White leather recliners set by the small windows. One facing the other. An aisle through the middle.
Taking a seat opposite the one already leaning back, guessing that's his spot, I place my hands on my lap and watch him sit opposite me. While the chair is spacious around my body, it is snug around his much larger form.
He stares at me, and I glance away under that penetrative gaze. "I have cameras in my room. I saw you take my gift out of your pretty arse."