Chapter 7: Mile High Punishment
The text from her mother lingered in the air of Dom’s bedroom like a fine, toxic dust. Amy stared at the darkened screen, feeling the shape of Dom beside her, a solid, warm bastion against the sudden chill. His stillness was a question.
“You’re not actually considering it,” he said finally, his voice flat. It wasn’t a question.
Amy rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. “Considering what? A video call with my mother?”
“Going to Bali.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Where did you get that? She just asked to FaceTime.”
“I know her. That ‘missing you terribly’ is phase one. Phase two is ‘why don’t you just hop on a plane, darling?’” His imitation was perfect, cutting, and it stung because it was true.
“So what if she does?” Amy challenged, turning her head to look at him. His profile was a sharp cut against the city-lit gloom. “Maybe I should go. A little sun. A little distance.”
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist with a firm, possessive pressure. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop her breath. “No.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“The fuck I don’t.” He released her wrist as suddenly as he’d grabbed it, pushing himself up on one elbow. “You walk into my life, into my bed, and you think you get to just fly off to paradise for a moral vacation? To sit by a pool with the woman who is my wife and pretend none of this is happening?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You think you can look her in the eye after what we just did? After what you let me do to you over that sink?”
His words were a physical slap. They ignited a fury in her, hot and bright. “I’m not letting you do anything. I’m here because I want to be. And maybe I don’t want to be here right now.” She shoved the sheets back, the cool air hitting her naked skin. “Maybe I need to remember what normal is.”
“This is normal,” he growled, sitting up fully. “This right here. This ugly, messy, fucking incredible thing. That is normal. The rest is just performance.”
They fought in hissed whispers for another twenty minutes, a cyclical, brutal argument that went nowhere. It ended not with reconciliation, but with a tense, exhausted stalemate. He rolled away from her, his back a rigid wall. She lay seething, staring at the digital clock until the numbers blurred.
The next morning was brittle with silence. He made coffee. She drank it standing by the window. When he finally spoke, it was in his CEO voice, cool and decisive.
“Pack a bag. We’re leaving tonight.”
“For where?”
“Somewhere with no internet. No phones. No mothers.” He didn’t look at her. “Somewhere you can’t run from this.”
And that was how, twelve hours later, Amy found herself buckled into a first-class seat next to Dom, the private jet’s engines a deep-throated hum around them. He’d told her nothing, just a destination code on a ticket. The power play was infuriating, but so was the treacherous flicker of excitement in her gut. He was claiming her, in his way. Erasing the world outside the windows at thirty thousand feet.
He worked, tapping on his laptop, the glow illuminating the hard line of his jaw. She pretended to watch a movie, seeing none of it. The tension from the night before was still there, a live wire between their seats. It needed to snap.
She waited until the cabin lights were dimmed and the single flight attendant had retreated behind her curtain. Then she unbuckled her belt.
Dom didn’t look up as she stood. “Sit down, Amy.”
“I need to use the lavatory,” she said, her voice sweet, false.
His eyes flicked to her, then back to his screen. He knew.
The lavatory was a cocoon of polished steel and soft light. She locked the door, her heart pounding against her ribs. She looked at her reflection—the defiant glint in her eye, the flush on her cheeks. She counted to sixty, then unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
He was there, waiting in the narrow aisle. He didn’t speak, just pushed the door open and stepped inside, his bulk making the spacious compartment feel suddenly tiny. He locked the door behind him. The click was final.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmured, but his hands were already on her hips, backing her against the cool wall.
“You love bad ideas,” she breathed, and reached for the buckle of his belt.
He let her undo it, his gaze burning into her. She freed him, his cock already thick and hard in her hand. The sight of it, the feel of its heavy weight, sent a jolt of pure, wet need straight to her core. She dropped to her knees on the textured floor, the rumble of the engines vibrating up through her bones.
The first touch of her lips made him suck in a sharp breath. She took him slowly, deliberately, her tongue tracing the rigid vein underneath before she enveloped the head. His hand came to rest on top of her head, not forcing, just present. She relaxed her jaw, taking him deeper, the familiar, salty taste of him flooding her senses. She loved this power, the control she had even in submission, feeling him thicken and pulse on her tongue.
Then the plane hit a patch of turbulence.
It was sudden, a violent jolt that shook the entire fuselage. Amy gasped, and the involuntary convulsion of her throat made Dom groan. The ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ sign dinged overhead, a sharp, insistent chime that echoed in the small space. The shaking worsened, the lavatory rattling around them.
“Fuck,” Dom hissed, his fingers tangling in her hair, gripping tight.
He didn’t pull her away. Instead, he held her head steady as the plane bucked and dropped. Amy’s world narrowed to the violent motion, the muffled roar of the air outside, and the hard, insistent pressure in her mouth. Tears sprung to her eyes as she fought her gag reflex, her moans vibrating around him with every shudder of the cabin. It was chaotic, dangerous, absurdly thrilling.
His thrusts became harder, less controlled, driven by the lurching chaos around them. He fucked her mouth in short, rough strokes, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. She coughed, sputtered, but took it, her fingers digging into his thighs. The turbulence seemed to sync with him, a wild, bucking rhythm.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his voice strained. “Take it. Take all of it.”
She could feel him swelling, the tension coiling at the base of his spine. The plane dropped sharply again, her stomach lurching, and Dom lost it. With a guttural curse, he held her head firmly and drove deep, erupting in hot, pulsing bursts down her throat.
“Swallow every drop,” he commanded, his voice ragged. “Every fucking drop, like a good girl.”
She obeyed, swallowing convulsively as he emptied himself, the act itself a submission more profound than any other. The plane steadied, the turbulence passing as suddenly as it had come. The ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ light remained on, a silent, judgmental eye.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the steady engine hum. Dom softened in her mouth, and she released him, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She looked up at him from her knees. His face was flushed, his hair disheveled, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked utterly debauched, and utterly in charge.
He tucked himself away, zipped his trousers, and ran a hand through his hair. Then he reached down, his touch surprisingly gentle, and cupped her chin.
“Get up,” he said softly.
She stood, her legs trembling. He wet a paper towel with cool water and carefully cleaned her smudged lipstick, his eyes studying her face. The tenderness was more disorienting than the violence had been.
A sharp knock on the door made them both freeze. “Everything alright in there?” the flight attendant’s voice called, polite but firm.
“Fine,” Dom called back, his voice perfectly steady. “A bit of turbulence. We’ll be out in a moment.”
He looked at Amy, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. He smoothed her hair, straightened the collar of her blouse. When they emerged, they were the picture of composed elegance, the only evidence a faint redness around her lips and a wild, knowing look in her eyes.
They returned to their seats in silence. Dom fastened his seatbelt. Amy did the same. He reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, his grip unbreakable.
Below them, through a break in the clouds, she saw the dark, endless expanse of an ocean, and ahead, the first faint glow of an unknown coastline on the horizon.