Chapter 10: Altitude Adjustment
The deep thrum of the engines vibrated through the plush leather seat as Ayla fumbled with the buckle. Liam’s large hand closed over hers, warm and firm, guiding the metal tongue into the clasp with a decisive click. Before she could even settle, his palm slid possessively up her inner thigh, fingers digging in slightly just above her knee, his touch burning through the soft denim of her jeans. The private jet’s cabin, all polished walnut and buttery cream leather, felt suddenly smaller, more intimate.
"Comfortable, Doctor?" His voice, low and intimate despite the engine noise, brushed against her ear as he leaned close. His breath was warm, carrying the faint scent of expensive coffee.
Ayla swallowed, the memory of the fading marks on her wrists, the deep ache between her legs from the night before, flooding back. "For now," she managed, trying to sound nonchalant but hearing the slight tremor.
Liam’s chuckle was a dark rumble. His hand slid higher, stopping just below the juncture of her thighs, a blatant claim. "Good. Enjoy the view. It won't last." His thumb pressed a slow, deliberate circle through the fabric, making her breath catch. The city shrank rapidly below them, glittering under the morning sun. "You remember our agreement?" he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.
She did. Vividly. ‘You’ll beg me to stop before we reach cruising altitude.’ The challenge, the promise, the sheer impossibility of it. "I remember," she whispered, her pulse kicking up.
"Excellent." His hand remained, a heavy, inescapable weight, radiating heat and intent. He settled back slightly in his own seat, his gaze fixed not on the window, but on her profile, watching the flush creep up her neck. The jet leveled out, the engines smoothing into a powerful drone. The seatbelt sign above them pinged off with a soft chime.
Liam’s fingers tightened instantly against her inner thigh. His other hand reached across, deftly unsnapping her seatbelt buckle. It retracted with a sharp zing. "Time’s up, Ayla," he stated, his voice dropping into the familiar, commanding register that sent shivers down her spine. "On your knees. Between my legs. Now." HE COMMANDS HER.
The command vibrated through her, low and absolute, cutting through the jet's steady drone. Ayla’s breath hitched, the fading throb between her legs a stark reminder of last night’s surrender. On your knees. Between my legs. Now. His large hand, still gripping her inner thigh, felt like a brand through her jeans. "Liam..." she started, a protest forming instinctively.
His gaze, sharp blue and utterly unyielding, locked onto hers. "Now, Ayla," he repeated, the quiet intensity leaving no room for negotiation. His fingers tightened, a silent, undeniable pressure urging her forward. The plush leather seat sighed as she shifted, the plane's gentle sway suddenly more pronounced. Her knees hit the cool cabin floor carpet, the position instantly submissive, vulnerable. She knelt between his spread legs, the scent of his expensive cologne and clean wool filling her senses, mixing with the leather and distant ozone. Her hands instinctively sought purchase on his knees, her knuckles whitening.
His fingers slid from her thigh to cradle her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his predatory gaze. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending an unexpected jolt through her core, warring with the lingering ache. His thumb brushed the sensitive hinge of her jaw. His free hand moved to the buckle of his dark trousers. The metallic snick of the belt release was loud in the intimate cabin space. He worked the zipper down slowly, deliberately, the sound like an opening curtain on a private stage. "Show me you remember your place," he commanded, his voice a low rasp as he freed himself.
Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him, already thick and straining against his briefs, the memory of its impact visceral. His thumb pressed against her lower lip, a silent, demanding instruction. "Open," he ordered, his gaze unwavering, a challenge and a promise burning in the blue depths. His hand slid possessively into her hair, tightening near the roots, anchoring her in place as she tentatively parted her lips. HE MAKES HER OPEN HER MOUTH.
The warm, musky scent of him filled her nostrils as she opened her mouth, her lips parting tentatively under the pressure of his thumb. His cock, thick and already slick at the tip, nudged against her lower lip, an undeniable, intimidating presence. Her mind flashed to the deep ache still present between her own thighs, the fading marks on her wrists, the way he'd stretched her impossibly wide only hours ago. A low whimper escaped her throat, swallowed instantly by the jet's drone. "That's it," Liam murmured, his voice rough velvet, fingers tightening possessively in her dark curls at the nape, holding her head steady. "Wider. Take it." HE MAKES HER OPEN HER MOUTH.
Her jaw stretched further, accommodating the broad head, the taste of him, salty and primal, blooming on her tongue. He guided himself forward, the heavy length pressing insistently against her palate, filling her mouth completely. She gagged reflexively, eyes watering, her throat clenching. "Breathe through your nose, Ayla," he instructed, his tone calm, commanding, utterly in control, his gaze locked on hers. "Relax that throat. You can take it. You were made for it." His grip in her hair adjusted, angling her head back slightly. "Now suck. Show me how much you need it." SHE OBEYS. Her lips sealed around him, her tongue flattening against the sensitive underside as she applied tentative pressure, drawing on him. The vibrations from the aircraft seemed to travel up through her knees, buzzing in time with the rapid flutter of her pulse. She focused on breathing, on the feel of his hand anchoring her, on the overwhelming reality of his cock stretching her mouth as thoroughly as it had stretched her cunt against his penthouse wall. A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her, as she worked her tongue more deliberately, finding a rhythm. "Good girl," he rasped, the praise sending an illicit thrill through her core. "Just like that. Use that greedy little mouth." His hips shifted minutely, pressing deeper, bumping the back of her throat. She fought the renewed gag reflex, tears welling, her hands instinctively clenching on his thighs. "Deeper," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. "Take it all." SHE OBEYS. She forced herself to relax her throat muscles, yielding, letting him push further until the thick head nudged past the constriction, the sensation utterly invasive, utterly claimed. He held himself there for a long, suspended moment, her breath whistling through her nose, her world reduced to the stretch, the scent, the sheer possession. "Perfect," he growled. "Now swallow."
The command hung heavy in the cabin, vibrating with the jet’s drone. Ayla’s throat convulsed instinctively around the thick intrusion, the salty musk filling her senses. Tears blurred the sharp lines of Liam’s trousers, her breath a desperate whistle through flared nostrils as she fought the reflexive gag. His fingers tightened possessively in her damp curls, a silent anchor, a demand for absolute surrender. "Swallow," he repeated, the single word rough velvet against the engine’s hum, a final edict brooking no disobedience. SHE SWALLOWS.
Her throat muscles clenched, then yielded, working around the heavy presence, drawing him impossibly deeper for a breathless moment. The sensation was overwhelming, a raw claiming that echoed the deep ache still lingering within her from hours before. A shudder rocked through her as her throat opened, accepting the full, demanding length. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated through her entire skull as her mouth and throat worked instinctively, desperately. "Good fucking girl," he rasped, his thumb brushing a tear track from her flushed cheekbone, the tenderness a shocking counterpoint to the invasion. "Just like that. Take it all." Her eyes, wide and watery, met his intense blue gaze, seeing only possessive hunger reflected back. Her jaw ached, her throat burned, yet a traitorous warmth spread through her core, igniting that dangerous spark he always seemed to coax into flame. She sucked, drawing hard, her tongue pressing flat, proving she could endure, even crave, this intimate domination. He didn't move, letting her control the rhythm for a few precious, agonizing seconds, forcing her to actively take what he offered. The plane hit a patch of turbulence, a sudden lurch making her gasp around him. "Steady," he commanded, his grip shifting to cradle her jaw firmly, holding her steady amidst the shaking world. "Almost there." His hips thrust minutely, a subtle pulse pushing the final fraction deeper before a low, guttural sound escaped him. His release flooded hot and thick over her tongue, a surge that made her choke briefly before swallowing convulsively, taking it all down. SHE SWALLOWS.
His release pulsed hot and thick over her tongue, a surge that made her gag reflex kick violently before she forced it down, swallowing convulsively until only the bitter-salt taste remained. His grip in her hair eased, but didn't release, holding her head steady as she drew ragged, shuddering breaths through her nose, spit slicking her chin. He finally pulled back, his cock glistening wet as it rested heavily against his abdomen, the sight both obscene and mesmerizing against the backdrop of polished walnut and soft leather.
"You did perfectly, Ayla," Liam murmured, his voice rough but carrying a distinct warmth she rarely heard, his thumb brushing another tear track away with surprising gentleness. His sharp blue eyes held hers, the intensity softened fractionally by unmistakable approval. "Took every drop like you were born for it." HE PRAISES HER.
The unexpected praise, raw and genuine after the brutal claiming, hit her harder than the turbulence. A flush bloomed hotter across her chest and throat, a confusing mix of shame and fierce pride warring within her exhausted body. Her jaw ached fiercely, her throat felt raw and stretched, yet those words – perfectly – echoed, warming a deep, secret place. She swayed slightly on her knees, the jet's vibrations thrumming up through her bones.
"Up," he commanded softly, his hand leaving her hair to gesture towards the seat beside him. "Buckle in. Now." Ayla blinked, the transition jarring, her legs trembling as she pushed herself up from the plush carpet, using his knee for shaky support. She collapsed into the cool leather seat, fingers fumbling clumsily with the buckle, the click sounding unnaturally loud. Liam watched her, his own breathing still slightly elevated, a satisfied stillness settling over him. He reached out, not touching her, just resting his hand palm-up on the armrest between them. "Hand," he ordered quietly. SHE OBEYS. She placed her trembling hand in his, the simple contact grounding and charged. His fingers closed firmly around hers, warm and possessive. "Rest," he said, his gaze returning to the cloud-speckled sky beyond the window. "We've only just begun." His thumb began a slow, rhythmic stroke across her knuckles, a silent punctuation mark to his unsettling promise.
His thumb continued its slow stroke across her knuckles, a surprisingly tender counterpoint to the raw memory of her throat working around him just minutes ago. The jet hummed steadily, miles of cloud below them like frosted glass. "Still sore?" Liam asked, his voice a low rumble that cut through the white noise, his gaze fixed on her slightly parted lips.
"A bit," Ayla admitted, her voice scratchy, a tangible reminder of the stretch. She flexed her jaw cautiously, feeling the deep ache. "Worth it for the praise, though." She offered him a small, tentative smile, the warmth from his hand seeping into her bones.
Liam’s blue eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Modest, aren't we?" he observed, a flicker of genuine amusement softening the usual command in his features. "You exceeded expectations. Took it deeper than I anticipated." His thumb pressed more firmly against her knuckle for a heartbeat. "Handled the turbulence like a seasoned pro."
A flush crept up Ayla’s neck again, different this time, warmer, less about shame and more about that dangerous spark of pride he ignited. Silence settled, comfortable now, filled only by the jet’s drone and the lingering phantom sensation between her legs. "So," she ventured after a few moments, shifting slightly in the plush seat, "any more clues about this mysterious destination? Or do I just wait to be surprised by the polar bears?"
Liam chuckled, the sound rich and low. "Patience remains a virtue, Doctor." He squeezed her hand once more before releasing it, leaning back against the buttery leather. "Focus on the view. Or better yet," he added, a knowing glint in his eye as he watched the colour still high on her cheeks, "focus on how perfectly you obeyed." HE PRAISES HER OBEDIENCE.
The praise settled over her like warm honey, thick and sweet, momentarily eclipsing the raw ache in her jaw and throat. Outside the window, endless clouds stretched like a frosted sea. Inside, Liam’s presence remained a low hum of command, his satisfied stillness radiating against her skin. He shifted, the leather sighing, his hand lifting towards the polished console above him without taking his eyes off her. "Water," he stated, pressing a button. "Swallowed well, but you’ll need it." His gaze traced the faint tear tracks drying on her flushed cheeks.
Ayla blinked, her thoughts sluggish, tangled in the lingering salt taste and the surprising warmth of his earlier approval. A steward appeared silently with a chilled glass of water, condensation already beading. "Thank you," she rasped, her voice scraped thin. The cold water was a shock, soothing the rawness as she swallowed cautiously. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat, the jet's vibration a steady counter-rhythm to her pounding heart. The leather cuffs were gone, but the phantom pressure remained on her wrists, a ghostly echo of that deep, yielding surrender.
I thought this would be…too much… too intense for me, Ayla realized, the thought surfacing with startling clarity amidst the exhaustion. The demanding stretches, the raw commands, the sheer physics-defying invasion she’d just endured. A slow, internal shake of her head. But it’s not. The ache was real, a deep, satisfying throb that anchored her firmly in the present, in her own skin. I’ve grown to like our arrangement. The realization bloomed, undeniable, accompanied by a fresh wave of heat creeping up her neck. She glanced sideways at Liam’s profile, sharp against the bright window, remembering the hushed whispers she’d overheard at the club weeks ago, women sighing over his unavailability. Many woman say you’re a good Dom… The flush deepened, spreading across her freckled cheeks. So I suppose that helps. With a blush. SHE BLUSHES.