Chapter 29
The jet was already at 41,000 feet over the Pacific when Brett finally stopped pacing.
Lance's Gulfstream G700 wasn't a plane, it was a penthouse with wings. Cream leather, burled wood, a full bedroom suite in the back with a California king bed made up in white Frette sheets, and a shower big enough for two. The cabin lights were low and golden, the engines a soft hum underneath everything.
Brett was standing in the middle of it all in the outfit Nico had packed for him with a note that just said FOR THE PLANE, GODDESS — a fitted navy blue stewardess-style dress with a sweetheart neckline that pushed his D cup breasts up high and perfect, a tiny zipper up the back, a hem that barely covered the lace tops of his sheer black stockings. His long honey blonde hair was pulled up in a high sleek ponytail, his makeup was fresh and perfect, soft pink lips, winged liner, big blue eyes. His six-inch black patent stilettos clicked on the wood floor with every nervous step.
And on his left hand, catching the cabin light every time he moved, was the three-carat diamond.
Lance was sprawled on the cream leather sofa in dark jeans and a soft black cashmere sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, watching Brett pace like he was watching the most beautiful movie he'd ever seen.
"You know," Lance said finally, his voice low and amused, taking a sip of his whiskey, "for someone who wore a bodycon dress and six-inch platforms to seduce me in my own doorway, you're awfully nervous about a little airplane ride."
Brett stopped and turned, his hands on his tiny twenty-three inch waist, his ponytail swinging. "I'm not nervous," he lied in his soft alto, his perfect white veneers flashing as his sharp canines caught his pink lower lip. "I'm... contemplating."
Lance's blue eyes darkened, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Contemplating what, baby?"
Brett walked toward him, hips swaying deliberately in the tight dress, the way Matteo taught him, each step making his breasts bounce softly. He stopped right in front of Lance's knees, towering over him in the stilettos, and leaned down, bracing his hands on the sofa arms on either side of Lance's shoulders, caging him in.
"Contemplating," Brett whispered, his face inches from Lance's, his perfume — vanilla and jasmine — wrapping around them both, "whether my fiancé is actually going to be a gentleman for fourteen hours, or if he's going to try to make me join the mile high club."
Lance choked on his whiskey, laughing, his big hands coming up instantly to grip Brett's hips through the tight navy dress, holding him steady. "Jesus, Brielle."
Brett smiled, slow and dangerous and completely confident now, the goddess fully in control. "What? You said private suite. Big bed. You said 'just you and me.'"
"I did say that," Lance admitted, his thumbs stroking over Brett's hip bones, his eyes dropping to Brett's mouth, then lower, to the deep sweetheart neckline showing the swell of his breasts. "I also said champagne."
"Which you haven't poured," Brett teased, leaning in even closer, his pink lips brushing Lance's ear. "Are you trying to get me drunk before you corrupt me at forty-one thousand feet, Mr. Sullivan?"
Lance groaned, his hands tightening on Brett's waist, pulling him down into his lap in one smooth motion. Brett landed with a soft gasp, sideways across Lance's thighs, his stilettos dangling, his dress riding up high over his stockings.
"I'm trying," Lance murmured against Brett's throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right over his pulse, making Brett shiver, "to be on my best behavior. Because the flight attendant is right there, and my fiancée is wearing a dress that should be illegal, and I'm trying very hard not to think about that bedroom in the back."
Brett arched into the kiss, his head falling back, his ponytail brushing Lance's arm, his hands fisting in Lance's cashmere sweater. The maximum hormones made every touch feel electric, made his skin feel too tight, made his heart hammer against his ribs.
"Tell me," Brett whispered, his voice shaking with want and nerves and excitement, his big blue eyes finding Lance's. "Have you ever...?"
Lance smiled against his skin, kissing his way up to Brett's jaw. "Joined the mile high club? No."
Brett's breath caught. "Me neither."
They stared at each other in the golden light of the cabin, the Pacific Ocean endless and dark outside the windows, the world reduced to just this sofa, just this moment.
"Fourteen hours is a long time," Lance said softly, his hand sliding up Brett's stockinged thigh, stopping just under the hem of his dress, his fingers warm through the sheer black nylon. "Long time to flirt."
"Long time to tease," Brett breathed back, his hand coming up to cup Lance's jaw, his diamond flashing between them. He leaned in and kissed Lance, soft and slow at first, just a brush of pink lips, then deeper when Lance made a low sound in his throat and pulled him closer.
When they broke apart, both panting, Brett rested his forehead against Lance's, his ponytail mussed, his lipstick smudged.
"Ask me again when we're over Japan," Brett whispered, his soft girl voice full of promise and mischief, his sharp canines flashing as he smiled. "When I've had two glasses of champagne. When you can't keep your hands off me in this dress."
Lance laughed, deep and wrecked and completely in love, and pulled Brett tight against his chest, tucking Brett's head under his chin, his arms wrapped around Brett's tiny waist like he never intended to let go.
"Deal," Lance murmured into Brett's hair. "Join me in Singapore, baby. And maybe, just maybe, we'll make a little detour to the mile high club on the way."
Brett curled into him, his diamond hand resting over Lance's heart, his long legs tucked up on the sofa, his stilettos finally kicked off onto the floor, and felt safer and more wanted than he'd ever felt in his entire twenty-one years.
"I'm already yours," Brett whispered into Lance's sweater. "At any altitude."
And somewhere over the Pacific, with fourteen hours to go and a king-size bed waiting in the back, Lance held his one-hundred-and-twenty-nine-pound goddess in a stewardess dress and knew the mile high club was the least of the things he was going to give her...