He saysyourlike they’re exactly that. Mine.
My throat grows scratchy when I tug on the strap holding the headset in place, and it tumbles into my lap. The headband has a name etched on its side.
Emmy.
While fighting back a sob that he customized my headset, I free it from its cables before placing the speakers over my ears.
I can’t hear anything but the raging beat of my heart. I discover why when I peer down at my lap. The jack remains unplugged.
Mikhail and I reach for the port simultaneously. Despite my solemn vow to hate this man until the end of time, sparks jolt up my arm when our fingers brush.
It is so electrifying that I remain frozen while Mikhail mics me up.
Seconds later, his heavy breaths sound out of the speakers, dotting my skin with goose bumps, before his deep, commanding voice dampens my panties. “Can you hear me?”
I nod, untrusting of my voice not to betray the excitement of my body.
“If you want to speak, just hit this button.” He points to an unilluminated microphone button in a panel in front of me. “I won’t be able to hear you unless you push the button. Understood?”
Again, I nod.
I want to ask a million questions, like when was my name engraved on my headset, but I lose the chance to say anything when an air traffic controller gives takeoff instructions to Mikhail.
I listen with interest, suddenly fascinated.
Fear should be gripping me. I’ve never been on a plane, much less one this small, but fright is the last thing on my mind. I’ve barely lived the past ten years, so the thudding of my pulse in my ears is extremely cherished and missed.
After a handful of instructions and a brief weather update, Mikhail looks at me. He smiles as if he can feel the thrumming of my veins before asking, “Ready to take this bird in the air?”
His smile augments when I nod. It is embarrassingly eager but the most honest I’ve been for an extremely long time.
The faster the plane races down the runway, the more my pulse quickens. It is thrilling and scary at the same time, like a rollercoaster ride or an orgasm after prolonged foreplay.
As the plane lifts into the sky, my hands seek something to clutch. There are no door handles, no bracings. There’s nothing but Mikhail’s thigh that I sink my nails into the instant a weird stomach-dropping sensation hits my midsection.
“That’s normal,” Mikhail announces, bringing my breaths down a notch but doing little to save his thigh from beingshredded. “As is that,” he adds when a second weird screech fills my ears. “That’s the wheels tucking in.”
I stab the mic button, my hand shaky, before saying, “Don’t we need them?”
He winks at me, increasing both my giddiness and my clutch. “Not while we’re in the air. I’ll bring them back down before we land.”
“Which is how long away?”
I’m not scared. I am merely wondering how long the best foreplay of my life will last. This is exhilarating, but for all I know, it could be over as fast as our quickie marriage ceremony.
I only skimmed the contract terms. I have no clue where we’re going or how long it will take us to get there.
I stop drinking in endless miles of snow-battered countryside when Mikhail says, “Depends.”
Eagerness and another emotion I can’t quite describe highlight my tone when I jab the mic button again. “On what?”
There’s a radio crackle, and then, “On how long we want to stay up here.”
I’m lost. Completely and wholly lost.
Mikhail laughs as if my daftness is cute. I’d whack him for his misconception if I knew how to fly and land a plane. Mikhail once said my chin jabs could take down a world champ. He was most likely lying, but I’m unwilling to test the theory while thousands of feet in the air.
“I thought we were going to the estate you inherited?” I almost saidour marital home,but changed things up when the thought alone had me choking up.
