36. Thirty-Six

Thirty-Six

T he glistening jet stands majestic in the shimmering afternoon light. The black car grinds to a halt on the runway, and I stare out of the window, slightly in awe. The closest I've been to a jet is what I've seen on TV, usually when members of the royal family arrive in some far-flung corner of the land. The impressive, sleek design and the fact that it must cost a small fortune to hire do nothing to soften the blow that our magical, loved-up bubble is about to burst. It's time to go home.

I climb out of the car and step onto the tarmac. Art walks round the back of the car and places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me across the runway amid the deafening sound of the jet engines.

We climb up the metal steps and enter the cabin. Two rows of cream leather seats face the front, and the aisle stretches on and on down the right side of the aircraft. The colour scheme's all neutrals and shiny dark wood, and it looks very swish.

Lucy and Big Steve are sitting in the front two seats, holding hands, laughing, absorbed with one another. She looks up as we arrive.

"I'm extremely impressed with the jet, Mr Black. You'll have to get used to travelling in style, Soph."

Lucy hasn't stopped reminding me how loaded Art is since I broke the news of our engagement to her. I'm relieved I haven't confided in her about the forgotten-pills debacle because that would blow her mind, and I'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm not Mrs Black quite yet, Luce," I remind her.

Art takes my hand. "Someday soon."

I go to take a seat behind Lucy, but he tugs me back.

"Not here. We're at the back."

Big Steve grins. "You're in the VIP suite. We're in cattle class."

I stare around at the plush surroundings. If this is cattle class, then I'm not sure what to expect in the VIP suite.

Art ignores Big Steve's quip. "This way, Sophie. We need to take off soon."

I follow him farther down the plane and through a high-glossed oak veneer door. Two cream leather sofas sit facing one another with a coffee table in between. Behind them, a couple of two-seater leather chairs are by the window. The same swish feel carries on throughout, and it screams money.

Art leads us to the two-seater chairs and settles down, and I sit beside him.

He clicks his seat belt and then fastens mine for me. "It's just until after we take off."

"I could have done it." I laugh.

"I know. I'm just making sure." He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. "You're the most precious thing in the world to me, and I want to make sure you're safe."

His words warm my heart, and I take his hand, entwining my fingers through his.

"If you're here, then I'm safe."

He smiles. "Are you ready to go home?"

I pull a face and stare out of the window at the runway as the plane moves forwards. Taking us back to reality. And wedding planning. Except this time, I'll be doing it for myself. "No. I want to stay here forever, with you."

His phone begins to ring, and he pulls it from his pocket, immediately cancelling the call with a frown.

My curiosity gets the better of me. "Who was that?"

"Work," he replies quickly. "Like you, I'm not quite ready to return to reality yet."

The noise from the engines grows louder, and the runway falls away, disappearing from view as we begin our ascent into the sky. Within a couple of minutes, we're flying above the clouds, and the seat-belt sign turns off.

Art scoops me up into his arms and pulls me onto his lap. I squeal in surprise but submit immediately as he cradles me against his chest. Why would I want to fight being here?

"I can't wait to make you Mrs Black."

"I can't believe I'm leaving Ibiza, engaged." And potentially pregnant, but I decide not to verbalise that.

"I suppose you hated me when you arrived?" There's a coolness to his tone, which suggests he's dreading my answer.

I tilt my face upwards to find pained eyes staring down at me. "I didn't hate you. I don't think it's possible for me to ever hate you. I was angry."

He closes a hand around my cheek and looks into my eyes. "I swear, you know all there is to know about my past, Sophie. There are no more skeletons in my closet."

I feel a pang of guilt. I need to tell him about Theo. I'm acutely aware that I'm a big bloody hypocrite now, and it doesn't sit well with me at all.

I take a deep breath. "Art, there are things from my past too …"

He presses a finger to my lips to silence me. "Shush. No more talk about the past. Only the future." He smiles. "Where do you want to go on our honeymoon?"

Now is clearly not the right time to tell him about Theo.

I press my lips together to suppress a sigh. "I haven't thought about it."

"Well, wherever we go will be a waste of money anyhow."

"Why?"

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I close my eyes.

"Because we won't leave the room."

"Is that a promise?" I breathe.

He tilts his head back against the headrest and looks at me from beneath his dark lashes. "What do you think? Spending two whole weeks inside you sounds like paradise."

I feel a tug of desire because I know he's not joking and brush my fingers across the dark scruff of his cheek. He can't get enough of me, and I can't get enough of him. Even when I'm pissed off and angry and we fight. He's a weakness. Dominating, controlling, and insecure Art frustrates me, but I know it's a result of his past. And when he's like this and he touches me, I don't stand a chance.

He kisses me languidly, running a hand up my back and his fingers through my hair as his tongue dances with mine. My hand sweeps across his ribs, pressing my palm against his abs, feeling the contours of his taut muscles beneath the black cotton of his polo shirt. I feel triumphant at the sharp intake of breath he takes, caused by my hand travelling lower and my fingers curling around the tight bulge of denim at his groin. I love the fact that I turn him on with just a touch, just like he does me, and right at this moment, the control lies in my hands.

He pulls his lips a millimetre from mine, and our eyes lock. I unfasten his jeans and slip my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. He groans, and his shoulders tense as I close my hand around his rock-hard erection and watch his pupils dilate with desire. I slide off the seat and stand in between his legs. Then, I reach forward and tug down his jeans and underwear, freeing his erection. Art's gaze is glued on me, and I'm sure he hasn't blinked as he watches me kneel in front of him. I run my tongue across my bottom lip and note the swift rise and fall of his chest as his breathing becomes erratic with anticipation. I'm definitely in control this time.

I close my lips around the head of his cock and lick the pearl of pre-cum at the tip, tasting him on my tongue. He tenses beneath me, and I hear a thud as the back of his head hits the headrest. The long exhales of breath that follows tells me I'm having the desired effect. I slide my lips down his shaft, remembering from last time to loosen my jaw and take him all the way into my mouth.

"Oh fuck, Sophie … your mouth," he groans, tilting his hips up, forcing himself deeper into my mouth.

I withdraw slightly to gather myself, and then I slide my tongue up his velvety smooth shaft and caress his balls with my hands. I alternate between licking and sucking, determined to prolong his climax, like he has done to me so many times.

I'm in charge now, Mr Black.

I feel his hands in my hair, and it's pulled taut as he wraps it round his hand like a leash. His other hand rests on the top of my head, applying slight pressure as he tries to guide the pace. My defiant streak springs to the fore, and I slide him all the way into my mouth and pause to punish him for his attempt to regain control, feeling him swell and throb in protest.

"Don't stop … fucking hell, Sophie. Don't ever stop doing this."

He's pleading with me. Desperation hangs in the air, and I oblige, deciding it would be cruel to make him wait any longer. I slide him in and out of my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip, tasting salty drops of his release as his grip tightens on my hair, and I take him deeper than before. He growls, his entire body stiffening as he bucks against my tongue, and I swallow him down. He releases his grip on my hair. Beads of sweat cling to the caramel skin of his forehead as he sits, panting. He looks completely worn out, like he's just run a marathon.

I slide back onto the seat beside him as he fastens his trousers. Then, he scoops me up into his arms and pulls me onto his lap again. I lean my head against his chest and hear the thud of his heart.

"It sounds like you're having a heart attack."

"I feel like it." He presses his lips to my head. "I think you're going to need to ration how many times you do that because I'm not sure my heart can take it."

I smile. "It's that good?"

"It's that good. There aren't enough words to express what you do to me, Sophie."

A smile creeps across my face as I nuzzle against him. As compliments go, that takes some beating.