We board the private jet first thing in the morning. I’m groggy and yet, at the same time, I’m a nervous wreck. Marcus holds my hand the entire time as we walk out onto the tarmac. He pulls me close to him as we board the plane.

The plane looks like a mix between Airforce One and Marcus’s fancy high-rise. Nothing about it looks like what I thought the inside of a plane would look like. That doesn’t help the nerves, though. I know once that door closes, there’s no opening it again until we land. We are up in the air and at the mercy of the elements and the crew who put the plane together. What if someone on the assembly line was being lazy and decided he could skip a bolt or two, or what if someone wasn’t paying attention and put a damaged part in? There are so many things that could go wrong. You could have perfect weather and a skilled pilot, but all it takes is one little thing to go wrong to send this bird straight into the ground.

I shudder at the thought and feel like I’m going to throw up. Tears stream down my cheeks. I want to be brave in front of Marcus, but as soon as those engines come on, I lose it.

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look in his eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says in a soothing voice. “I made sure to have my crew check every part of this plane three times before we took off. Everything is going to be okay. I’m here.”

I nod and bury my face into the crook of his arm as we lift into the air. Surprisingly, being close to him, I really do feel like everything is going to be okay.

“I have something for you,” he says. “I was going to wait to give it to you when we got to Paris, but I can’t wait any longer.”

He pulls out a velvet box. I sit back, staring at it. I know what comes in boxes like that. When he opens it, there’s a hulking diamond inside with a platinum band and a delicate braided design engraved in the metal.

I know I shouldn’t get this excited over a ring that doesn’t really mean anything, but I can’t help the pitter-pat of my heart when I see it. He pulls the ring out of the box and places it on my ring finger. It’s heavy and shiny and fits perfectly, just like the clothes had, just like he fit perfectly inside of me. Everything about us together just fits.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

I’m crying again, but luckily I had already been crying because of my fear of flying so he wouldn’t know the difference. He has another box, and in it is a thick platinum band with the same intricate design to match my own. He puts it on, then strokes my hand with the tips of his fingers.

“It looks good on you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

I look up into his eyes and there is so much affection there. That’s when I know that I’ve really and truly fallen in love with him. When we get back from Paris, all of this will be over. He won’t be mine any longer and the thought is so unbearable it feels as though my heart will shatter into a thousand pieces.

He wipes my tears away with his thumb. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”

I take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. He follows without question. I close the door once we’re both inside and push him up against the wall. “Distract me,” I say, putting my hands up under his shirt and caressing the hard chest beneath.

A hungry grin spreads across his face. “Gladly.”

We slough our clothes off in a flurry of movement. Once we’re both naked, he spins me around so that my back is up against the wall, then gets down on his knees in front of me as though he were about to worship me.

He props my foot up on the top of the toilet, spreading my legs. His fingers run a simmering trail from my knee, along my inner thigh, toward my dripping wet sex. A soft moan escapes my lips. The anticipation of what’s coming has my legs shaking and I’m barely able to keep my balance. His smile widens knowing the kind of effect he has on me.

He kisses my thigh, his lips like hot coals against my skin. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps. I’m so wet that my pussy drips onto floor beneath me, leaving a dark spot on the gray carpet. He sees it then looks up at me, his eyes full of pure lust.

He runs a finger along my slit. My back arches in response. When the pad of his thumb touches my clit, I whimper.

He leans in and kisses the rounded curve of my pussy. Gentle, sweet, teasing kisses. It’s torture, waiting, but I know whatever comes next will be worth the wait.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says, his words muffled against my skin. He breathes in deep, savoring my scent. He continues to kiss me. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

His words make no sense to me. He’s in the fashion industry. He sees models all the time. How could I possibly be the most beautiful woman he’s ever met? And yet when he says it, I believe it. There’s so much truth to his words that I can’t help but feel them.

His lips remain touching my skin, but he looks up with his eyes. “You’ve ruined me, Ruby Steere. No one else will ever be good enough.”

Why is he calling me Ruby Steere? I wish he knew how much that hurts me. How badly I want his name to be my own. I want to tell him, but I’m afraid if I do, it will ruin everything. Right now I just want to be with him.

His mouth engulfs my pussy, tongue darting in between my folds.

“Oh, God, yes,” I cry out, taking handfuls of his hair.

His tongue does all kinds of magic tricks, plunging inside of me, disappearing. I roll my hips, humping his face. He’s making wonderful, deep sounds of approval as I force myself onto his eager mouth. Every nerve in my body screams for more.

I beg him, pleading for him not to stop. He doesn’t. My desperation just eggs him on further. Each time he comes up for air, his face is even wetter with my arousal. His skin is raw from it, chapped, and yet he continues to dive in for more.

I roll my head back, looking up at the tiled ceiling of the bathroom, then my eyes flutter closed as he tongue-fucks me.

“Please, Marcus, don’t stop,” I beg.

Then he stops.

I look down at him in surprise. “Call me your husband,” he says. There’s no smile, no teasing this time.

My brow furrows in confusion. “What?” I say.

His hands wrap around, massaging my ass cheeks. A finger runs down my crack until it reaches the opening of my pussy from behind. There it lingers, toying with my opening. I pull in a sharp breath, willing his finger to delve deep into me. But it doesn’t. Just lingers there, taunting me with what could be if only I comply with his wishes.

“Call me husband,” he says again. One of his eyebrows raises high on his forehead and he tilts his head. He starts to back away as if he’s ready to leave any moment if I don’t say what he wants to hear.

He leans further away and I grab his shoulders to stop him from going. “Please don’t stop, husband,” I say.

A smile forms on his perfect lips and he presses his finger into me. I gasp as it sinks into me. He takes it out, leaving me with a feeling of emptiness that I desperately want filled.

“Again,” I beg.

“Again, what?” he says.

Is this really turning him on, me calling him my husband? It must be because his cock is raging hard and jerks in response to my voice when I say, “Again, husband.”

I’m gifted with two fingers this time.

“Husband,” I say under my breath.

Three fingers fill me. Can I handle more? It’ll be a tight fit, but I think I can.

I lean over so I’m close to his ear and whisper, “Husband.”

A fourth finger enters me and my entire body starts to spasm. When he pulls his hand away, its dripping with my juices. He uses my natural lube to lather his cock before lifting me up and impaling me onto his stiff rod. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he holds me up against the wall, fucking me hard, drilling, pounding. He’s a beast, sweating and grunting, fucking me so hard I start to see stars.

His lips latch onto mine in a heated, passionate kiss. When he pulls his mouth away, he says, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I tell him desperately. I fought so hard against it, but I’m his. I’m truly, helplessly in love with Marcus Steere. “I’m all yours, every part of me.”

“No one else can have you,” he demands.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

Our bodies continue to slam together, making wet, sweaty, sounds. As his pubic bone continues to rub hard against my clit, I feel myself starting to lose control.

“I’m about to come, baby, please keep going,” I say.

At first I think he’s going to stop again because I didn’t call him husband, but he is beyond stopping. The muscles in his back flex and turn to steel beneath my clawing fingers, and he lets out a violent roar at the same time I lose my mind to a blinding orgasm.

When his breathing finally settles into a steady rhythm, he kisses my neck, leaving a warm trail to my lips. He brushes the sweaty hair away from my forehead, then lands a peck on my nose.

I smile at him, blissed out and feeling amazing.

“Still nervous?” he asks.

That’s when I realize that, no, I’m not. While he was between my legs, I’d forgotten we were even in the air.

“Not at all.”

“Good. After that work out I’m starving. You hungry?”

“I can eat.” I could eat a freaking horse, actually. My body is worn out. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. The energy has been zapped out of me and I could probably sleep the rest of the trip.

And that’s just what I do. After we eat, I pass out and don’t wake up again until we’ve landed.