His thumbs are working delicious, firm circles into the insteps of my feet. “Close your eyes and make yourself comfy, baby,” he orders tenderly, and I do. My eyes slowly shut, and the last image I see is of my god lovingly massaging my feet, trying to ease me out of my unwarranted fit of nervousness.
I let my mind shut down and drift into a semiconscious state of bliss. It’s not a difficult task to achieve when he’s touching me, even if it is just my feet. It’s the usual scenario of Jesse drawing all of my troubles out of me, whether it’s justified troubles or completely trivial, unnecessary troubles, like a sudden fear of flying. My subliminal state only barely notes that regardless of trivial or justified troubles, Jesse is the maker.
And then my mind moseys through all things Jesse-ish—the lace, the calla lilies, the peanut butter, the scorns for swearing—and I mentally smile. All of the various degrees of Jesse-style fuckings, the temper, the playfulness, the gentleness. I might really be smiling now. The handcuffs, the lace gag, the crucifix, the rowing machine, the Ava éclair. My heart has sped up. The dirty blond, the addictive, sludgy but bright eyes, the sculptured perfection, the one and two days’ worth of stubble. The way he flicks the collar up on his polo shirts, his various smiles—for women, for me, and now for my tummy, too. His fierceness, his protectiveness, his dominant ways. The way he walks and the way he tramples, and all of the ways in which he loves me, with unapologetic, raw adoration. The way I return that love.
I shift in my seat and in my subconscious, I hear his laugh. The soft, low one. Then I feel the wet warmth of his tongue on my toe. I smile, being snapped from all of my mental assessments of my beautiful husband. Then I open one eye, and I’m greeted by his smile, reserved only for me.
“Dreaming?” he asks, biting down on my little toe.
“Of you.” I sigh. “Tell me when we take off so I can put my head between my legs.”
“I’ll put my head between your legs.” He sucks my toe, and I shudder.
“Just tell me.”
“Look out the window, baby.”
I frown and gaze out, expecting to find runways and planes, but instead, I find clouds. My relaxed state falters, just for a split second, before I register no movement. There is hardly any sound, either. It’s really peaceful. I look to the side and see our waters placed on a highly polished table, and then I peek down the aisle and see the perfect woman pottering around at the other end of the jet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He kisses my toe. “And miss the sounds and looks you were making?” He drops my foot. “Come here.” I don’t stall for a second. I unclip my belt and virtually dive onto his lap, nestling my head under his chin and wrapping my arms around his neck. “Go back to sleep and dream of me, lady.”
He doesn’t need to ask twice.
I come to, still tucked into Jesse’s body. I can hear him quietly speaking, but it’s all muffled. A little groggy, I pull myself up and find the perfect woman hovering over us. “Welcome to Malaga, Mrs. Ward.” She blasts me with a part-of-the-job smile.
“Thank you.” I return her smile, although mine is weaker. Malaga? Like Spain Malaga? Like near to Marbella Malaga?
“My beautiful girl’s back.” He kisses my cheek. “Enjoy your flight?”
I look at him through my fog of sleepiness and note a stubbled, hazy, smiling face, and a disheveled mop of dark blond. “Do I yank your hair in my sleep?” I croak, reaching up to pat it down.
“You do a lot in your sleep. I could watch you forever.”
I make to move, but get absolutely nowhere. “I need to stretch,” I complain, wriggling.
I hear a click, and I’m instantly free. “I needed to belt you in.” He helps me to my feet and watches as my arms raise, nearly touching the ceiling of the plane. “Aren’t I supposed to be belted into my own seat for landing?” I ask. “With my seat in the upright position, my table stowed away, and all of my belongings tucked neatly under the seat in front?”
He raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Yes. I very nearly had to trample the lovely lady.” He stands himself and pulls my blouse down, which is riding up my navel from my stretched position. He holds it in place until I’ve finished. “Done?”
“Yes.” I yawn, as he releases the hem of my top. I know this is probably a sign of things to come over the next couple of days, but he’d better lighten up and fast because I’ve packed my bikinis, and I’ll be wearing them.
As we emerge into the bright sunlight I smile, the heat hitting my face and warming me to the core. Or warming me further. I already have a lovely, peaceful warmth coursing through me, and that’s only going to increase over the next few days. Taking the steps down to the tarmac, we’re immediately greeted by a smart Spanish man, who hands Jesse a set of keys. Then I spot the DBS.