He returns, that wicked glint in his eye now dialed all the way up, settling into the seat beside me with that maddening calm he wears too well. He leans in. “I told her to bring our meals sooner rather than later because we will require privacy after we move to the bedroom.”
I twist in my seat. “There’s a bedroom back there?”
He grins. “Oh yeah. We’re going to be in the air for a while. The private bedroom is why I picked this jet. I’ll give you a tour later.”
Right on cue, the pilot’s voice comes over the speaker. “We’ve reached cruising altitude, so you’re free to move about the cabin.”
I turn back to Alex. “How many hours are we on this plane?”
“Around twenty in the air plus refueling time.”
My brows lift. “Mr. Sebring, where in the world are you taking me?”
He shrugs, pleased with himself. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Hours slip by in a quiet haze—laughter low, fingers tangled, the soft hum of engines lulling us into that strange between-time that only happens in the air. We sip drinks, graze on small plates, drift between easy conversation and the kind of silence that feels like belonging.
Beyond the windows, night eventually arrives. No stars. Only a velvet sky cut by the faint glow of distant cities far below. The sun gone, he takes my hand and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “Come with me, love.”
He leads me toward the back where the dim cabin lights give way to a darker, quieter kind of luxury. The space opens into something intimate—a bed dressed in ivory linen pooling around the edges.
He glances at me with that expression—a quiet command written in the curve of his mouth, the heat in his eyes—and I follow his silent directions.
The bed is buttery soft beneath me as he eases me down, his movements unhurried but purposeful. Every touch is a promise, every breath a prelude.
There’s no rush. No urgency—only the steady drum of altitude, the hush of the surrounding cabin, and the sure weight of his body settling over mine.
He lifts my hoodie—which is his hoodie—and peels it off, letting it fall between us in a soft heap. My tank clings to my skin, thin and useless against the cool cabin air. But I don’t feel the chill––not with his warm hands on me and his mouth is even warmer.
He presses kisses to the place beneath my jaw, trailing heat down my neck, across my collarbone, to the place where my breath stalls. When his lips find the space over my heart, he lingers there for a moment, and I curl my fingers into his hair.
When I tug at the hem of his shirt, he pulls back long enough to slip it off. My hands roam over warm skin and familiar ink, tracing the curve of his ribs, the line of muscle that tightens when I graze my thumb across his side.
“We’re married, Alex.”
He meets my eyes, his expression soft. “Yes, favorite. We are very married.”
I told him once that if I ever got married, I wanted to be very married. No halfway, no hesitations. And now, looking at him, hearing those words in his voice… I know it’s come full circle.
He lowers his body to mine, slowly, until there’s no space left between us. When our bodies finally join, we slip into something that’s always belonged to us.
Every inch he moves is deliberate, dragging out the ache, the want. And when he presses into me, the rhythm we find is slow and deliberate.
I touch his cheek, and our eyes stay locked through it. There’s no veil between us. No holding back.
His hand slides along my side, settling low at my back, holding me to him. And I hold on to him just as tightly.
When we reach that quiet, breathless peak together, it doesn’t explode. It unfurls. Expands. Washes over us like something sacred.
We stay that way, unmoving, for a while. Breathing the same air. Letting our hearts settle against each other. My fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, the space between his ribs.
He shifts enough to press his forehead to mine. And in this moment—thousands of feet above the earth, with nothing but sky around us and a future ahead—his heartbeat is the only compass I need. And it’s pointing me home.
The hum of the engines and the warmth of his body lull me to sleep, and I curl against him somewhere over the ocean. I don’t know how long I’m out, but I wake to his voice. “Time to wake up. We’re landing soon. You need to bundle up, babe.”
Bundle up?
I stretch, rubbing my eyes. “I didn’t pack for cold weather.”
