Page 60 of King of Fury
Heat floods my face, but beneath the embarrassment is something else—defiance. After everything we survived, I refuse to live timidly.
He’s waiting for me, leaning against the bathroom door like he knows I’ll come. I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m allowing you to talk me into this.”
He reaches for me and picks me up. I gasp, wrap my legs about his waist, and thank the heavens I’ve worn a long, flowing skirt. He strides into the bathroom and slams the door with his foot. This bathroom isn’t like the ones on regular airliners. This one is opulent, large, and has a shower.
Marble countertops gleam beneath soft lighting. A full mirror spans one wall. There’s enough space to move without bumping elbows—luxury designed for indulgence, not necessity. Even the air smells faintly of expensive cologne and leather.
“I can,” he says, sitting me on the countertop. “You’re a naughty girl.”
The way he looks at me—like I’m his salvation and ruin all at once—makes my throat tighten. I never thought I’d find a love that feels this consuming and safe at the same time. I chuckle and devour the sight of him. His eyes darken with determination, and I reach for his t-shirt, ripping it from his body. I want to see him. All of him.
“Impatient.” He kisses my nose, his fingers sliding my skirt out of the way before reaching for my panties. He slips them off and steps between my legs, his jeans coarse against my sensitive flesh. The contrast of rough denim and the cold mirror at my back makes every nerve ending spark. I get even wetter.
“Now that you’ve started this game, yes, I suppose I am,” I say.
He licks his lips and then dips his head between my legs. With one long glide of his tongue, he licks me long and good.I buck against him, clasp his hair, and hold him where I ache most.
“Oh yes, Stephen.” I bite my lip. “Just there. Right there.” He works my clit with his tongue, slow, circular movements that send coils of desire to thrum through me. I want him so much. I’m so wet and needy that I undulate against his face with little inhibition.
The engine’s vibration beneath us blends with the pulse between my thighs, and for a dizzy moment I feel suspended in more ways than one—between sky and sea, between need and ecstasy.
“You are so fucking sweet.” He suckles my clit hard. “I love licking your sweet pussy.”
I moan. I can feel my orgasm building fast. “Stephen, fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me until I come.”
He stands and rips his jeans open. I gasp as he thrusts hard and good. So damn good. I wrap my legs about his waist, pull him down for a kiss as he gives me what I want. Always satisfying me in all ways. “You feel so good.” He fills me, and the intimacy—this claiming, this closeness—undoes me more than the pleasure alone ever could.
“So do you, baby.”
I hold on to him, his large, rigid cock pressing all the right buttons as he thrusts into me. I call his name, oblivious of where we are or who we’re with. I no longer care. I want him to fuck me until we both come. Lose ourselves in each other. “Fuck me. Hard.”
He clasps my ass and pulls me close, the action making him deeper. I can’t stop the tremors that steal my breath, my wits. He kisses me, his tongue tangling with mine, our mouths fused as my orgasm rips through me. It crashes with a force that feels emotional—release not just of pleasure but of strength, hard truths, the quiet rebuilding of a life we almost lost.
“Stephen,” I gasp against his lips.
He swallows my cries with another kiss, and I moan as he fucks me, joining me in my release.
“God, I love you.” His words are sweet, even when we’re locked together as we now are, 30,000 feet in the air and having just fucked each other’s brains out. There is a rawness in his voice that steals my breath more than the orgasm does. As if loving me is both his greatest strength and his deepest vulnerability.
“I love you too.”
He meets my eyes, still inside me, refusing to let me go. “Marry me, Dallen. I love you so much, I don’t ever want to lose you. Marry me, be my wife, my partner, the mother of our children. Be mine forever.”
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us. My chest aches with the enormity of what he’s asking—not because I doubt him, but because I know exactly what it means to choose him.
I clasp his jaw and meet his eyes. His solemn, vulnerable gaze. “What?” Possibly not the best answer, but this can’t be real. This has to be a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream.
He grins. “Marry me,” he repeats.
I stare, unable to form words for a moment, but it is only for a figment of time. I’m not stupid. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” The word feels like stepping into sunlight after a year in the dark. Like choosing hope over fear. Like choosing him—every flawed, fierce, beautiful part of him—for the rest of my life.
He kisses me again, and just like that, I want him. He pulls back, smiling. “We should tell the others. Celebrate immediately.”
And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t terrify me. It thrills me.
“Lead the way…”Fiancé…
