I stare up at the Windsor private jet with trepidation, and Zane offers me his hand silently, like he understands my hesitation. He entwines our fingers as he leads me onto the plane, and I glance around uneasily, remembering the last time we were on here. Hatred radiated off him then, and despite our recent ceasefire, it feels like it’s still bubbling just below the surface half the time. We have more good moments than bad these days, but it still feels like I’m walking on the edge of a knife with him.
“Mr. and Mrs. Windsor,” Mike says, startling me. “Champagne?”
Zane and I take in his red suit with blue squares on it, and we exchange a look before simultaneously schooling our features and accepting the glasses he hands us. Mike guides us to the seats he seems to have chosen, not caring about our preferences, and we follow along, having learned it’s best to choose our battles with Mike. He seats us opposite each other in luxurious armchairs, a bright smile on his face as he tells us the duration of our flight and everything we need to know about the conference we’re attending.
I stare after him when he walks away and shudder a little, earning myself a laugh from Zane. “Seriously, what’s the deal with his suits?” I whisper before taking a sip of my champagne.
Zane leans in, his knees brushing against mine. “Fuck if I know. I once asked him about it, and he looked me dead in the eye and said: It’s fashion. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”
I burst out laughing, and Zane watches me with a sweet smile on his face, something surprisingly tender in his expression. “To be fair,” I murmur. “You don’t know anything about fashion. You just wear what Raven tells you to.”
He grins and moves closer. “Your entire wardrobe consists of Raven Windsor Couture too,” he teases, only for his gaze to soften. “It did even before you married me. You’ve been following her career and supporting her business from the start, haven’t you?”
I blink in surprise and look away, somehow unable to admit to it. It makes me feel a little pathetic, because I know she never needed my support — not considering her own background and her marriage to Ares. I suppose if I’m honest, it’s something I did more for myself than for her. It made me feel close to her.
Zane studies me as the plane takes off, and I take another sip of champagne in an attempt to keep my hands busy. His gaze unnerves me these days, and my instinct is to snap at him to break the tension. It’s the only way I know how to communicate with him anymore, and unlearning it is proving to be difficult. We’re in this odd in-between space where we can no longer disguise our lust as hatred, but neither of us is willing to take the first step either. Maybe we’ve both been hurt too much, and maybe he’s as scared as I am.
“Careful,” Zane warns, just as turbulence hits, sending the liquor flying all over my white blouse. I grimace, and he leans back in his seat as he watches me, something dark and heavy in his gaze as he watches the drops of champagne roll down into my cleavage. “There’s a shower in the bedroom,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “I’ll show you when the plane steadies.”
He stares at me hard, desire dancing in his eyes, and it emboldens me, makes me want to keep his gaze on me. Things have changed so much between us lately, but it’s not enough. He makes me selfish and irrational, and I can’t stop wanting more. I’m desperate for more moments when he looks at me like nothing else matters.
I run my hands over my blouse and nod. “That would be great,” I murmur, undoing the top button with trembling hands. “I should get out of this.”
Zane clenches his jaw, his breathing erratic as his eyes roam over the red bra that’s visible through the wet fabric. He bites his fist when I continue to unbutton my blouse. It falls open, and I smile when he squirms in his seat.
A soft whimper escapes my throat when he grabs his cock over his pants to reposition it, and I glance around us to ensure we’re truly all alone. “Even my bra is wet,” I whisper, my fingers tugging at the front closure. It comes undone, and a feral look flashes through Zane’s eyes.
“Stop it,” he growls, breathing hard.
I cup my breasts, hiding them from his view. “Stop what?” I ask, throwing him an innocent look.
“Celeste,” he threatens, just before I pull my hands away. “If you don’t stop right now, I’m going to assume you want me to drop to my knees and lick every last drop of champagne off your body. I won’t stop until I’ve got my face buried between your pretty legs and you’re coming on my tongue.”
My lips part in surprise, and I hesitate for a moment, my decision made before it even registers. I look into his eyes as I tease my nipples with my thumbs, drawing circles around them the way he likes doing, and he groans.
Zane undoes his seatbelt and kneels in front of me, his gaze flashing with possessiveness as he parts my legs, making my skirt ride up. “Fucking crazy girl,” he murmurs, before wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and kissing me roughly.
I wrap my ankles around his torso and pull him closer as he swallows down my moans. “Zane,” I whimper when he pulls his lips off mine and lowers them to my chest, kissing and lapping up the champagne on my skin, just like he told me he would. I wrap my hand in his hair as he undoes my seatbelt and pulls me to the edge of my seat, his touch rough as he lifts my legs over his shoulder.
“You still don’t know how to listen,” he says, before ripping my lace underwear apart with his teeth. I moan when I feel his hot breath on me, and he chuckles against my skin, his eyes on mine as his tongue darts out to taste me.
“Oh God,” I whisper, every rational thought fading away as I watch my husband tease me, my hands in his hair and his tongue on my clit. I forgot how good he is at this, how well he knows my body.
Zane pushes two fingers into me and curls them, and it brings me right to the edge. “Please,” I whisper, repeating the word over and over again.
He groans at the sound of my pleas, and I tighten my grip on his hair. “Come for me, Goddess,” he orders, and I do. There’s no resisting him when he knows my body better than anyone else. I moan his name, and he continues to stroke me with his tongue as I ride wave after wave of pure bliss.
The way he still wants me is so reassuring, and it just undoes me. When he touches me, it’s like everything disappears, leaving nothing but the very essence of us. I wish I could exist solely in these moments, when neither the past nor the future matters.
When he pulls away to look at me, his eyes are filled with something that makes my heart race. He smiles tenderly as he reaches for me. “Next time you want something, just tell me, Celestial,” he whispers as he brushes my hair out of my face. “I’m not the kind of man that’d deny his wife anything.”
I stare at him, my chest aching as an unbidden thought drifts through my mind, one that steals my breath. If I asked for his heart, would he give me that too?
