He glanced at me. “Oh, did you think I actually remembered? That I cared?”
I ground my teeth. “No.”
The plane shook and I fell forward, but Grayson caught me, his grip on me tight.
His breath ghosted my lips. “You sure about that, Snitch?”
When he spoke, it wasn’t cruel, his question weighted with something else, something I wanted to answer, if only he would lift the barbs on his heart long enough for me to enter.
“Can we have one flight without—”
Tansy’s voice was an electric wire to my spine. In pajamas and a dark, silky green sleep mask around her neck, she was clearly on her way to the Abigail-Gemma fight, but she froze upon seeing us.
I tried to pull myself out of Gray’s grasp, and his grip tightened, almost possessively. Abigail yelled, and Tansy tore her eyes in the direction of the cockpit. She gave us one last look, then headed over there.
Gray gently dragged my face to him, rubbing my lip. It was so tender. So sweet.
I should’ve known the words that followed would be cutting.
“I don’t give a shit about your favorite food,” he said softly. “I only care about eating you. When we land, I’m going to eat your pussy until you tap out; then I’m going to keep going till you pass out.” He let me go, absently saying, “Let’s see where else you taste like lemons.”
My eyes shot up, meeting his.
Lemons?
Had he been thinking about me that night?
Another shout from the cockpit, and this time the captain yelled he would be making an emergency landing.
“Looks like we’ll be landing soon, Snitch.”
We weren’t more than a few feet past Grayson’s towering guards when he yanked my wrist, spinning me around until I faced the wall. I barely planted my hands on the wall in time to keep my cheek from slamming into it.
In the time it had taken us to land, the sun had risen high in the sky, and hazy midafternoon sun set his hallway aglow.
“What are you doing?” I asked, eyeing the guards.
His palms gripped my waist, spanning down to my ass. “I think I made that clear earlier.”
I looked over my shoulder, trying to see him. He couldn’t be serious. Not here.
“Don’t fucking look at me,” he said, and I stared at the backs of his guards. Forced to only feel. Feel as his soft, forceful touch drifted below my knees, to the hem of my skirt.
“What’s your safe word?” he demanded.
“W-What about your bedroom?” I asked.
He hiked my skirt up even higher. “Can’t wait.”
“But…”
“Hold this.” He handed me the bunched fabric of my white skirt, and I did, catching a glimpse over my shoulder of him on his knees, face to my ass.
“Spread your legs,” he said, voice rocky.
I swallowed a lump of nerves, spreading my legs. He palmed my ass over my panties, gripped it, and my head fell forward as waves of pleasure made me weak.
“I own this wing,” he said. “Someday I’ll own Crowne Hall and the town it’s in. The only people in this wing are my guards, but it wouldn’t matter if the entire town was here, because I own you, Story Hale. What’s your fucking safe word?”