Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
From the hardness of Mikhail’s cock when he flattened our bodies together, I believe his tight schedule was on purpose.
If he’s hopeful a lack of luggage will have me prancing butt-naked around his fancy-schmancy new mansion he inherited when we tied the knot, he’s shit out of luck.
I’ll wear a potato sack if that’s all on offer. Mikhail knows this better than anyone.
My eyes snap to him when he says, “There are only two seats because there are only two travelers.”
I glare at him like he’s grown a second head when he accepts a flight manifest from a man in a pilot’s uniform before he slips into the cockpit of the baby plane.
“He can’t be serious,” I murmur to anyone listening when he fiddles with buttons and instruments like he’s about to take this bird into the air. “He doesn’t know how to fly a plane, does he?” My curiosity is too high to discount, so I tilt to the side and shout, “Do you know what you’re doing? I swear there are laws where you must disclose that you’re a trainer pilot to intended passengers before luring them into a deathtrap.”
Mikhail laughs, and it does crazy things to my insides. “Come on, Emmy. Don’t act like this will be the first time I’ve made you float between the clouds.”
I snarl at him, but that is the beginning and end of my reply.
I’m too busy struggling not to squeeze my thighs together from how sexy he looks in his broke man’s plane. The headset has pulled his messy locks away from his face, showcasing his panty-wetting bone structure; the microphone sits intimately close to his plump, meaty lips, and he’s rolled the sleeves of his business shirt to his elbows, exposing his cut arms.
He also didn’t lie.
Some days, it took hours for me to float back to earth.
Mikhail’s orgasms don’t float stars in front of your eyes.
They send you into space.
Since I’m struggling to keep a rational head with several feet between us, I make an excuse to leave. “I’m scared of—”
My phone pings, interrupting me.
Tears form in my eyes when I read the message.
Mom:
You’re probably still in the air, so you won’t get this until you land, but I needed you to know first.
The document attached to her message announces her inclusion into the program that could save her life has been approved.
My fingers move over my phone screen at a million miles an hour.
Me:
This is amazing.
I try to hold back, but it isn’t in my nature.
Me:
But why is this the first I’ve heard about this program?
Her message pops up instantly, which makes me suspicious she had it pre-typed.
Mom:
Because acceptance wasn’t guaranteed, I kept my application quiet until I was sure they would accept me. I have some trial medication to take now before an in-house consultation in four weeks. You should be back in time, but if not, no bother. Aunt Marcelle has offered to hold down the fort.
I wipe at a rogue tear clinging to my cheek. It smears across my phone screen when I reply.
Me:
I’ll be back in time. But…
I stare at the last word I typed for eternity before I delete it and then stab the send button.
It takes my mother a lot longer to reply this time.
Mom:
Okay. I will call you later to tell you more.
I assume she’s rushing off because she still believes aircrafts crash if anyone dares to switch on their phones midflight, but my assumption changes when I receive another message.
Mom:
Wynne is being called in by Doctor Clestonv.
My fingers fly even faster than before, yet my good luck message sits unread while I watch my phone, hoping for a notification.
Defeated and somewhat nauseous, I stow my phone away before focusing back on the task at hand. My face still shows my wish to flee. I just can’t bring myself to do it now. The very man I’m endeavoring to run from paid for the trial program that could save my mother’s life.
The reminder has me shouting, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Are we talking about flying a plane or making you come?” I roll my eyes, and Mikhail laughs. “I’ve got you for both if you’ll get your damn ass in the plane.”
When he nudges his head, soundlessly demanding me into his toy plane, I accept the hand being held out by a tarmac crew member before endeavoring to slot into the seat next to Mikhail.
I enter tits first, and then legs.
My ass is the last body part stripped from view.
Yes, it is as awkward as you’re imagining, but I felt the heat of the crew member’s watch, and the only time I refuse to not make Mikhail realize what he threw away is when I’m six feet under.
“I’ll get it,” Mikhail snaps out when the crewman attempts to fasten my harness, beginning the task at my chest.