Chapter 2: Turbulent Desires
The leather of the first-class seat was cool against Ellie’s neck, but Jasper’s hand in hers was damp and tense. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they’d boarded—crossing and uncrossing his long legs, adjusting his watch, staring blankly out the window at the tarmac blurring past. The familiar, charming ease she loved was gone, replaced by a coiled, restless energy that vibrated through his fingertips into her palm.
“Hey,” she whispered, turning from her own window seat to face him. The cabin was quiet, the gentle hum of the engines a constant backdrop. She released his hand and instead cupped the side of his face, her thumb stroking the tight line of his jaw. “Look at me.”
His blue eyes, usually so clear and confident, were clouded with a storm she couldn’t quite name. Grief, yes. But something else, too. A dread.
“It’s going to be okay, Jace,” she said, her voice low and sure, a balm meant just for him. She leaned closer, her auburn hair a curtain between them and the rest of the cabin. “We’ll get through the service. We’ll be there for your dad. And your mom.” She paused, choosing her words like delicate brushes on a canvas. “And then we’ll start looking at those listings. For us. A fresh start, closer to home. Everything is going to be alright.”
He searched her face, his gaze tracing the familiar constellation of freckles across her nose, the calm certainty in her green eyes. For a moment, the storm cleared. He saw their future in her expression—a studio with north light, land for him to tend, a life built together, away from yet near the complications of his past. He believed her. A deep, shuddering breath escaped him, and he leaned into her touch, pressing a grateful kiss to her palm. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her skin.
“Tough,” she whispered back, a soft smile touching her lips.
The moment of peace was fragile. As the plane climbed to cruising altitude, the tension seeped back into his shoulders. The funeral details, his mother’s anticipated frostiness, the weight of familial expectation—it all crowded back in, a pressure building behind his ribs. He needed a distraction. Something real, something tactile, something that was purely them.
About forty-five minutes into the flight, he gave a slight shiver. “Chilly in here,” he remarked, his voice casual. He snagged the soft, grey airline blanket from his lap and shook it out, draping it generously over both of them, tucking it around Ellie’s legs and up to her waist.
She smiled, snuggling slightly under the shared cover. “A little,” she agreed, resting her head back against the seat.
Under the veil of the blanket, his hand moved. It was a slow, deliberate slide across his own lap, then a shift onto her thigh. The thick wool hid everything. His fingers found the hem of her lightweight sundress, bought for the Georgia heat. She felt his touch on her bare skin, warm and slightly rough from work, and she shifted, thinking he was just seeking closeness.
His hand pushed the fabric up her thigh, past the lace edge of her underwear. Her breath hitched, a soft inhalation of surprise.
Before the sound could fully form, his other hand came up, large and firm, covering her mouth. His palm tasted of salt and the faint scent of his soap. His face was turned toward the window, the picture of a man gazing at the clouds, but his head tilted just enough for his whisper to brush her ear. It was low, a vibration she felt more than heard.
“Shhh.”
His index finger traced a path through her folds, finding the sensitive, swollen nub of her clit. He didn’t plunge inside, just began a slow, torturous circle around it, his touch expertly calibrated. Pleasure, sharp and immediate, lanced through her. Her back arched slightly, a muffled moan escaping against his silencing hand.
“You don’t want the whole plane to hear you cum,” he breathed into her ear, his voice a dark, thrilling rumble. He applied a fraction more pressure, his finger slipping just inside her, gathering her wetness before returning to her clit. “Or do you?”
The contradiction was electric. The public confines of the cabin, the hidden intimacy under the blanket, the crude, possessive whisper against the sterile hum of the aircraft. It was a claiming, a frantic anchoring of himself in her, in their physical truth, to silence the chaos in his head. Ellie’s body answered before her mind could. Heat flooded her core, a pulse of pure need syncing with the rhythm of his circling finger. She nodded, a tiny, desperate movement, her eyes wide and locked on his profile.
He believed her earlier reassurance. For a moment, with his hand over her mouth and his touch burning between her legs, with the world suspended at thirty thousand feet, he could almost believe everything would be alright. Because in this, they were untouchable.
But as her hips began to lift subtly, chasing his touch, as her muted cries warmed his palm, the real world waited below. Savannah, and the funeral, and his mother’s cold, judging eyes were all rushing toward them on the swift southern current.
He withdrew his hand from under the blanket just as the seatbelt sign dinged off with a soft, mocking chime. The cabin stirred to life around them—toilets flushing, seats reclining, the murmurs of conversations beginning.
Jasper stood in one fluid, urgent motion, the blanket pooling in his seat. He looked down at Ellie, her face flushed, her breath still coming in shallow draws. A current of pure, feral need passed between them, a wordless communication that bypassed all the grief and dread. He took her hand, his grip tightening. "Come with me," he said, his voice low and not for discussion. "Right now."
She didn't hesitate. He pulled her up and led her quickly down the narrow aisle, ignoring the curious glance of a flight attendant. The closest lavatory was vacant, its green sign a beacon. He slid the lock shut behind them with a definitive click, sealing them into the white, fluorescent-lit cubicle.
The space was painfully small. The roar of the engines was louder here, a constant physical vibration through the thin walls.
He turned her, her back meeting the cool metal of the folded-down changing table. His hands went to the thin straps of her sundress. He didn’t undress her. He simply yanked the neckline down, freeing her breasts, the air cool against her heated skin. His mouth found a nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak. A ragged gasp tore from her throat, lost in the engine’s growl.
"Jace…"
He didn't answer with words. His mouth left her breast. He captured her lips in a punishing kiss, all tongue and teeth and the shared, metallic taste of airplane air. His hands bunched the skirt of her dress around her waist. He fumbled with his own belt, the buckle clanging against the sink. She heard the rasp of his zipper, felt the thick, hard heat of him pressing against her stomach.
"No," he grunted, a command aimed at the crumpled lace of her underwear. He hooked a finger into the side seam and tore it. The sound of ripping fabric was obscenely loud in the tiny space. He didn't push them aside. He made a way.
"Need to be inside you when we land," he breathed into the crook of her neck, his voice strained. It was an incantation, a desperate spell against the world waiting below.
There was no more preamble. He aligned himself and drove into her in one deep, claiming stroke. She cried out, the sound swallowed by his shoulder as he buried his face against her. The friction was immense, a stunning, perfect burn. She was wet from his earlier touch, but he stretched her, filled her completely, a blunt and total possession. His cock was like the rest of him—large, undeniable, overwhelming her senses.
"Quiet," he growled, but it was a plea. He bit down on the muscle of her shoulder, not to hurt, but to anchor himself, to muffle his own groan. The pain was a bright, sharp counterpoint to the deep, rhythmic pleasure radiating from her core. He began to move, slow, punishing thrusts that rocked her whole body against the rattling metal table.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence. The floor shuddered. Jasper didn't miss a beat. He used the lurch to plunge deeper, his hips snapping forward with a force that stole her breath. The external instability merged with the chaos he was creating inside her. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, gripping the edge of the sink, his belt loops, anything solid.
"It's us," he chanted against her skin, each word a hot puff of air punctuated by a thrust."Just this. Just us. Remember this."She understood. This wasn't just sex. It was a brutal, physical reaffirmation of their alliance. His rhythm became frantic, a losing battle for control. Every slide of his thick length hit a spot that made her vision blur. The pressure coiled, tight and inevitable, low in her belly. She felt her own internal muscles begin to convulse around him, a fluttering, involuntary grip.
"That's it," he urged, his own control shattering. "Let go. I've got you. I'm right here."
His final words broke her. A silent, breathless scream shook her as the orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave of shocking, dissolving pleasure. Her body clamped down on him, milking him, pulling his own release from him.
He stifled his roar against her torn dress, his hips stuttering, pulsing deep inside her as he emptied himself. His large frame shuddered, all the coiled tension finally, violently, spent. He slumped against her, his weight pressing her into the cold metal, both of them slick with sweat and utterly spent.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the drone of the engines. The small space smelled of sex, sweat, and sterile lemon cleaner.
Slowly, he softened inside her. He carefully withdrew, his hands coming up to gently straighten her dress, his touch now impossibly tender. He tucked himself away, fastening his pants with clumsy fingers. He found her gaze in the small, fogged mirror.
Her green eyes were dazed, her lips swollen. A faint red mark bloomed on her shoulder.
He touched it, a whisper of a caress. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice raw. "I just…"
"I know," she interrupted, her own voice hoarse. She reached up and smoothed a strand of his dark hair back from his damp forehead. "I know what you needed."
He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. The moment of primal connection faded, and the real world—the one of duty and judgement—crowded back in, made all the more sharp by their temporary escape. He took a deep, steadying breath.
"We should get back to our seats," he said, not moving.
"Yeah," she agreed, not moving either.
The flight attendant’s polite knock on the door finally broke the spell. "Everything alright in there? We'll be beginning our descent into Savannah shortly."
Jasper’s eyes met Ellie’s in the mirror one last time. The storm in his was quieter now, banked, but not gone. They had landed in their own way. Now, they had to land for real.
"Fine," Jasper called out, his voice miraculously even, the Southern charm sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. "Just freshening up. Be right out."