THE WIND SHIFTS through 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 a thing. 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 perfect LV in 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, I removed 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 of child-lock on 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 being seen.
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 little identity—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, the right woman 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.’
I gasp, twisting in my seat to see if anyone can hear. The women are nowhere to be seen. Neither is Henchman Jeeves.
‘They are all in the cockpit,’ he deadpans.
I glance back at him, my face on fire. Squirming, I almost moan at the memory paired with the imagery of his cool blue gaze watching me. ‘I came.’
His lips form a tick of smooth, confident approval as he praises, ‘I saw. Such a good girl, humping my pillow while you removed it. Moaning my name. You never forget who to thank for your orgasms, whose name belongs between your gasping lips when you come.’
Oh. My. God. I cover my face, groaning my humiliation through my fingers. ‘You have no filter with me, Sir.’
‘How would that benefit me?’
I talk to my palms. ‘I’m embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be. You must have known I could see. You’ll never be without my eyes on you. Find comfort in that, little deer. You put on such a pretty show for me. With your pussy grinding on the pillow and your fingers playing with your rim. Tell me, do you want more of that? Much more?’
I swallow. The thought of him mounting my back, his heavy body pressing into mine, his cock thrusting through those muscles until he is so deep the sensation dances on pain—I nod into my palms. ‘Yes, please, Sir.’
‘Good.’ He shifts his expression to one fitting casual conversation, his tone losing a hint of guttural arousal as he says, ‘Now, my father spoke to me this afternoon, sweet girl.’ I drop my hands to stare at him, the heat from my cheeks cooling instantly. ‘It appears you two had quite an interesting conversation a few days ago.’
Hopefully not about ‘fatherhood’ or being the ‘right’ woman or his marriage or—I shuffle in the now strangely spacious seat.
He goes on, ‘Do you believe we hold you accountable for Dustin’s betrayals? That has simply never been the case. Why didn’t you discuss this with me?’
Oh. That’s the part they discussed. I relax a little. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’
A man says something in another language over the speaker. Clay stands and moves to belt me in, testing the tightness across my chest before sitting back down and belting himself in. ‘I want all of you,’ he states simply. ‘I want you to come to me with every issue. Every pain. Every uncertainty. No one else. Ask me now. We have all night.’
All night? On this craft?
The plane begins to move. ‘But I didn’t even realise I felt that way until Luca and I were talking,’ I admit. ‘It just came out. I feel like the—your—enemy… by blood at least.’
‘You are mine. You’re not his.’
‘But I was the enemy at the beginning. Right? You had this big secret while I thought you were helping me, but you were using me… Even Xander was a part of it.’
‘Even Xander?’ He articulates the even with hints of contempt. ‘Is his involvement in this betrayal somehow more impactful than my own?’
I can’t hide the hitch of a smile at my lips. ‘This jealousy thing is really becoming of you, Sir.’
‘Territorial, sweet girl.’
The plane speeds up, rolling over small bumps, and my hands go to the balls of the armrests. I squeeze, pressing my spine into the seat and peering out the window. The night has swallowed the twilight, making the runway glow spectacularly.
I thought I’d be more nervous than I am. First time flying. First time in the sky. I have done everything alone in my life. I would have done this, too. But there is no fear now that I am with him. He will never let any harm come to me. Never put me in danger. Never let anyone hurt me. There is power to this man greater than his body. Greater than the plane. The sky. And even any storm.
It wasn’t always so, though. Weeks ago, I was simply the daughter of his enemy.
I look back at him. ‘What were you going to do with me at the beginning? That first day when we met?’
His brows tighten. ‘Once I found your father, I was going to pay you off and send you on your way.’
‘How did you know I wasn’t working for him?’
‘I obtained your records,’ he says, unwavering and unaffected by that admission. ‘In amongst the documentation was recordings of your interrogations with the police. I watched them. Watched you. Many times. More times than necessary, I admit. I liked watching you. I knew about your mother’s suicide. Your brothers. I knew about that fucker’s death.’ He studies my response to his words, adding, ‘Don’t be upset by this, little deer. I don’t take chances with my family, and you were living under my roof. After watching you, I was convinced you were innocent in all this.’
I nod slowly, sorting the information behind blinking eyes. I knew he would do some kind of due diligence after I arrived at his house. And I remember he took a swab of cells from my cheek the day I arrived, so I suspected he’d have information on me, but footage from—
The plane suddenly tilts.
My body flattens to the seat, and I hold my breath along with my thoughts.
My lungs expand as we take flight. Then we are soaring upward through the sky, steady and smooth, to get closer to the stars. To the moon. My mum’s magical moon.
Staring out the window into the black void only lit by the red light on the wing, I smile. ‘Woah.’
‘When we arrive in Dubai, the sun will be just rising,’ he advises, and I turn to him in shock. Dubai? ‘And you can watch the world light up from above it…’ He pauses. ‘Like my queen. Will that please you?’
‘Dubai? Woah.’ I try to recall everything I know about the place but come up short. It’s in the Middle East. I think? That’s the extent of my knowledge. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Accept that part of your life is over. Accept who you are and who you belong to.’ The plane levels out, and he unbuckles his seat belt, saying, ‘Do you have any more questions for me? Don’t be shy.’
Who am I going to be to you? Will we have children? Will I be part of your family, with your brothers?
Am I the right woman?
I glance down at his thighs, wondering whether he’ll let me sit at his feet and rest my head on his knee. Am I allowed? I don’t know private jet protocol.
‘Would you like a beverage?’ One of the suited ladies appears at our side, her eyes politely on Clay’s face. I tilt my head, wondering how she stays so respectful and calm when he is so striking, such a force of masculine prowess. Then I notice her chest rises and falls fast, and the roll of her throat follows. She is susceptible to his magnetic pull.
‘Whiskey,’ he states, offering her a smooth smile.
‘Oh.’ Beaming at the thought, I quickly say, ‘Same for me, please.’
‘No,’ he states, his eyes dropping the length of my torso and up again. ‘No alcohol. Juice?’
My shoulders deflate. ‘But I had whiskey the other day with your dad. I like it.’
The muscles along his jaw pulse. ‘No. Alcohol.’
I frown, thinking about Aurora nursing a glass tumbler, and sipping her whiskey without his refusal. A little grumble leaves me. ‘Fine.’
‘Grape juice?’
I raise a brow at him. ‘Funny.’
As the lady leaves his side, he leans back a little further, eyeing me with intent and amusement. ‘You like whiskey?’
‘Yes. I really do. It’s fucking amazing. Like drinking liquid fire, somehow. I won’t have much. Just one glass. Ya know? Experience the whole plane thing properly,’ I press, appealing to the side of him that wants me to experience things and use my voice. I grin. ‘Please, Sir.’
A smooth, charismatic smile works in the corner of his lips, and my stomach bursts with butterflies just like the first time I saw him. ‘Another time, sweet girl. I promise. For now, juice and focus.” He nods at the spot between his feet.
My sigh of contentment cascades like a wave. I do as I am ‘nodded’ to do, unbuckling my belt and jumping to my feet.
I sit between his legs on the floor.
I settle in, and he combs his fingers through my hair. “You have been very brave tonight, little deer. I’m proud of my sweet girl for her first time flying. I admit I was trying to distract you. But using your voice is important to me. So, do you have any further questions for me about your father?”
It did work, Sir.
Resting my head on his lap and staring at the red light on the plane’s wing as it flashes, I think about this life of rivals and enemies and, as Luca put it, ‘bad blood.’ I don’t mind what the answer is… I just want to ask it. ‘Who is the villain in this story? Is it my dad?’
‘I’m the villain,’ he states, and my chest tightens. My first assessment of him being the Devil’s prototype comes tumbling back into my mind. ‘Your father is the villain,’ he adds. ‘We are all evil in someone else’s narrative.’
I don’t mind that he’s the evil in someone else’s narrative. I like his power. Control. His morally grey existence. I’ve lived with ‘good’ people—my foster mother, for one. I’ve asked just people for help—the police. People who wear a façade of pristine correctness to hide the pollution inside them.
I gaze up at him. ‘You’re not evil in mine.’ I look into endless blue eyes that send shivers of warning and excitement through me. ‘You’re everything to me, everything I ever wanted, Sir.’
His lips take on a warning curve. ‘So sweet,’ he purrs. ‘And what do you think evil really looks like, little deer?’
I breathe out hard. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Everything you ever wanted.’
