Chapter 4: Flight to Dubai
1138 Words
Sophia’s POV
The G650ER was a silver needle piercing the clouds, a pressurized tube of white leather, polished walnut, and secrets. In the cabin, the air felt recycled and thin, humming with the steady drone of the Rolls-Royce engines.
"Checkmate," Mavin crowed, leaning over the low-slung table. He moved his wooden knight with a flourish, his face lighting up with that boyish, unfiltered triumph. "Admit it, Soph. You got distracted."
I leaned back into the buttery leather seat, a small, practiced smile playing on my lips. "Maybe I did. Or maybe I’m just letting you win because it’s your graduation trip."
"Liar," he laughed, reaching across the small gap to ruffle my hair. His touch was light, comfortable, and entirely devoid of the electricity that was currently short-circuiting my nerve endings.
Across the aisle, Sterling was a study in frozen concentration. He was buried in a thick stack of architectural site plans for the Dubai "Oasis" project, a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He hadn't looked at us once since takeoff. He hadn't looked at me.
"I’m going to go see if the pilot will let me look at the avionics," Mavin said, standing up and stretching his lanky frame. He looked down at me, his eyes softening. "You okay? You look a little pale."
"Just the altitude, Mav. Go. Be a nerd."
I watched him disappear toward the cockpit, his whistle fading behind the heavy soundproof curtain. The second the fabric settled, the atmosphere in the cabin shifted. The playful "gisting" died, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like the plane was losing altitude.
I stood up. My bare feet sank into the deep-pile silk carpet as I walked toward the galley at the back of the plane. I didn't need a drink, but I needed to move. I needed to see if he was still breathing.
As I passed his chair, my hand "accidentally" brushed the sleeve of his cashmere sweater.
Sterling didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. "Don't, Sophia."
I stopped. I turned slowly, leaning my hip against the edge of the mahogany divider, just inches from his shoulder. "Don't what, Professor? Walk? Exist? Breathe the same pressurized air as you?"
He finally looked up. The reading glasses came off, revealing eyes that were bloodshot and dark with a lack of sleep. "You’re playing a dangerous game with Mavin. He thinks you’re his. He’s planning a life around a ghost."
"And whose fault is that?" I whispered, leaning in closer. In the cramped quarters of the cabin, the scent of him—that intoxicating mix of Scotch and ironed linen—was inescapable. "You’re the one who kept me in the house. You’re the one who invited me on this flight. You could have sent me to London to be with my mother. Why didn't you, Sterling?"
He stood up abruptly. Because the ceiling was low and the space was narrow, his sudden movement forced me back against the galley wall. He was towering over me, his chest inches from mine, his shadow swallowing me whole.
"I kept you close to watch you," he hissed, his hand slamming against the bulkhead next to my head. The vibration hummed through my skull. "To make sure you didn't destroy my son."
"Is that the only reason?" I reached out, my fingers trembling as I traced the silver buttons on his cuff. "Because every time Mavin touches me, you look like you want to tear the wings off this plane. You don't want to protect him. You want to replace him."
"Enough!"
The word was a low roar, muffled by the cabin's insulation. Sterling’s other hand came up, gripping my chin, forcing me to look at the storm breaking in his eyes. For a heartbeat, the "Professor" was dead. There was only the man, trapped in a tin can at thirty thousand feet with the one thing he was forbidden to want.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence. A sudden, violent jolt sent us both reeling. I tripped, and Sterling caught me, his arms locking around my waist to keep us from hitting the floor.
The physical contact was like a fuse hitting a powder keg.
I was crushed against him. I could feel the hard lines of his thighs, the frantic pounding of his heart against my chest, and the undeniable, rigid proof of his arousal through his tailored trousers. He let out a ragged, tortured sound—half-groan, half-sob—and buried his face in the crook of my neck.
"You’re a demon," he choked out, his grip tightening until it was almost painful. "A beautiful, calculating little demon."
"And you’re the one who built the cage, Sterling," I breathed, my hands sliding up his back, feeling the muscles bunch under my touch. "Did you think I wouldn't learn how to pick the lock?"
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated agony. His thumb brushed over my lower lip, pulling it down, exposing the pink flesh.
"If I do this," he whispered, his voice trembling, "there is no going back. I lose everything. My son. My name. My soul."
"You lost those the moment we left Toronto," I said, leaning up until our lips were a hair’s breadth apart. "Stop fighting the structure, Sterling. Surrender to the design."
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set over the Atlantic, painting the clouds in shades of bruised purple and violent orange. Inside the cabin, the "Protector" finally collapsed.
His mouth crashed onto mine, a desperate, starving thing. It wasn't the polished, controlled kiss of a gentleman; it was the frantic, messy collision of a man who had been dying of thirst for three years.
Just as his tongue pushed past my teeth, the curtain to the cockpit rustled.
"Hey, guys! The pilot says we’re—"
Sterling shoved me away with a force that made my head snap back. By the time Mavin stepped into the cabin, Sterling was back in his seat, staring at his tablet with a hand over his mouth, as if contemplating a complex structural flaw.
I was leaning against the galley, my chest heaving, my lips swollen and burning.
"Soph? You okay?" Mavin asked, looking between us, his brow furrowed. "The turbulence was pretty bad there for a second."
"Yeah," I rasped, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Pretty bad, Mavin. I think I just need some water."
Sterling didn't look up. But as I walked past him back to my seat, I saw his hand. It was gripping the edge of the walnut table so hard the wood was beginning to groan.
The flight was only halfway over. And we were already in freefall.
- Writer
