Rae awoke, and her anxious dream—about a pop quiz in a class she had never been to before—dissipated.
The Gulfstream’s jet engines squalled outside the dark porthole windows, and black clouds swept over the wings. Her neck hurt from resting her head on the hard sofa arm. A sofa in an airplane still creeped her out a little.
Wulf’s bass voice carried from the back of the plane, even though he whispered. “Gentlemen, let us discuss security measures for Paris next week.”
She cracked open her eyelids some more and squinted down the plane at the men lounging around the larger of the tables.
“You’re going?” Friedhelm asked.
She was getting pretty good at telling their voices apart.
“Most likely. Ms. Stone may well accompany me, though these plans are not firm.”
Friedhelm swiveled and said something short in that odd German to Hans. Hans sighed, got out his wallet, and handed a bill to Friedhelm.
“You bet against me?” Wulf asked, his voice rising in dismay, a weird tone that Rae had never heard from him before. “How many of you bet against me?”
Several of the little knot of men raised their hands.
Wulf surveyed the hands, counting. He turned to Dieter. His tone returned its normal, wry, British monotone. “Seven. That’s over half of them.”
Hahf. He sounded like a Shakespearean actor playing King Henry the Fifth sometimes, and Rae smiled at his broad back in the white chair. He would sound awesome reciting the St. Crispin’s Day speech, when Henry, who had disguised himself as a common soldier and discovered his troops’ low morale, rallied his soldiers to attack at Agincourt.
Dieter grimaced and handed Wulf a bill. “That was a sucker bet. I don’t know why I took it.”
“Stubbornness.”
“It’ll come back around.”
“Indeed. We have made arrangements for a Gulfstream G650, so we can fly directly to one of the Paris airports. We will stay at the usual hotel. We’ll need proper attire for Ms. Stone. Frau and Herr Keller will fly tomorrow, and she can arrange a private show so we can order what she needs. Ms. Stone may want to see the Opera House or the Eiffel Tower, so we should make contingency plans.”
Dieter spoke up. “Why aren’t you speaking Alemannic?”
“I’ve found that I rather like English, of late. It’s a melodious language. Don’t you agree?”
Dieter said something else in that German-like language, something dry, and the men laughed a deep rumble like an earthquake. Dieter spoke again, and his voice lilted up at the end like a question.
“No,” Wulf said. “There is no particular chance that we will stay until the end of the week to attend Flicka’s wedding. We will pay our regards before the ceremony with a few suppers and such.”
Groans resonated around the plane. Every one of the security guys around the table plucked money out of his wallet and threw a bill in front of Dieter, who was grinning like a shark.
Rae sat up and blinked hard to moisten her eyeballs in the thin, airplane air. “Who’s Flicka?”
At Rae’s two words, Dieter’s expression morphed from exultant to crestfallen.
Wulf asked him, “What is the problem?” and Dieter admitted something in German.
Wulf said something back, something sarcastic, and Dieter grimaced. Wulf came over and sat beside her on the couch.
“What was all that?”
Wulf glared at the security guys, who all had found things to contemplate that were well away from where Rae and Wulf were sitting. Dieter stared downcast at his lap. Friedhelm appeared extravagantly innocent, and Rae was surprised he wasn’t idly whistling.
Wulf said, “Apparently, there is a betting pool concerning the day you will leave me.”
Her fingers found his strong hand, and she held on. “That’s cold.”
“Dieter’s wager is for the end of next week, and when he heard your question, he believed that he had lost.”
“Should I be concerned about this Flicka person?” Wulf had just said that he wouldn’t attend her wedding, whoever she was. Wulf’s first, true love? An unrequited passion? His disapproving grandmother?
Wulf shrugged. “We do tend to wager on everything else. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Wulf, who’s Flicka?”
He sighed. “Flicka is the nickname of Friederike von Hannover, my younger sister.”
A collective gasp and a lone “Eeep,” came from the group of security men.
“Oh, yeah. Someone mentioned that you have a sister.”
“Who mentioned that?”
Rae didn’t want to narc on Ms. Keller. “I don’t remember.”
“Rosamunde.” His tone was drier, still.
“I’m sure I don’t remember.”
“My sister Flicka will marry at the end of next week in Paris.”
“And you’re not going?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Several reasons.”
The security guys were as jumpy as frogs on a griddle. “How old is she?”
“Twenty-three.”
So that wasn’t it. Something else must be weird. “Who’s she marrying?”
“Pierre Alexandre Louis Rainier Grimaldi.”
“You Europeans sure do have a lot of names.”
“Indeed.”
The security guys were still watching her and Wulf like a flock of falcons jockeying for two small mice. “Is there something I’m not seeing here?”
“Let’s discuss this privately, at home,” Wulf said.
She stopped asking questions. One by one, the security guys’ shoulders lost their tension and slumped, and they wandered off to do other, security-related things.
Rae whispered to Wulf, “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”
“Let’s discuss it in private.”
Oh, heck, yeah, they would.
She slid her finger across her phone’s screen, turning the page of the book she was reading.
Wulf craned his neck to glance at her phone.
“In Search of Lost Time,” she said.
“Proust, in the French.”
“I read Swann’s Way,” the first volume, “in English for a class, but I’m on the third book, now. Just in case I do go to Paris with you, I thought I had better improve my French.”
“How do you like À la recherche du temps perdu?”
“It’s good. The literary tenses were a little confusing at first, but I’m okay now.”
“Good. If you come to Paris with me, we will eat madeleines.”
Now he was bribing her with Proustian butter cookies. It might work.
Rae snuggled up to him, and he draped his arm around her. The warmth of his body penetrated the silk dress she was wearing, and it almost felt like his naked flesh was pressed against her. Her body responded, and the whole plane seemed to grow brighter. She turned her head and pressed her lips to his neck, just above his black tee shirt.
“Ah, Rae, I thought you had classes tomorrow.”
“I do.”
He shifted and tugged at his jeans. “If we go back to my place, you might not arrive home in time for class.”
“Why wait?”
“I beg your pardon.”
Rae could not believe that she was doing this, but if the security guys were going to bet on Wulf and her breaking up, then they all deserved to scandalized. She would never see them again after Wulf left America, anyway.
What the heck. “Ever joined the Mile-High Club?”
Wulf didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, “No.”
“You’re gonna.” She took his hand and felt no resistance as she led him back to the tiny lavatory. Her hips swished as she strode through the plane, determined.
They passed by the table of security men, all of whom were busy checking their phones or reading on tablets. Dieter and Friedhelm appeared to be absorbed in another game of chess, so much so that their eyes did not move from the pieces as Rae and Wulf walked past.
Rae was positive that, if she turned around, she’d see every single one of them staring at her back, so she didn’t turn around.
At the back of the plane, the stewardess had her back to them, examining the galley shelves.
The lavatory was more cramped than Rae had imagined. She stepped inside and shuffled out of the way.
Wulf squeezed in behind her and shoved the door shut beside them. “Reagan, I have always admired your creativity, my natural-born dominatrix.”
They stood belly-to-belly in the closet-sized restroom. The steel counter with the mini-sink poked Rae in the butt. She took stock of the commode and the counter, trying to figure out the spatial geometry of fucking him.
Wulf grabbed her arms, whirled her around, and pressed his body against her back. In the mirror, Rae’s own face stared back at her, and she was surprised at the blush in her cheeks and how red her lips were. She grabbed the metal sink to brace herself.
Behind her, Wulf’s blue eyes darkened with desire. She usually had her eyes closed or been caught up in the sensation, and his intensity astonished her. His cool demeanor had a chink in the armor. A hank of her coppery hair had caught on his nose, and he wrapped it around one finger and kissed her hair before he closed his eyes and dropped his head.
She could see what he was doing, but his breath on her shoulder sent a thrill through her, and he kissed the nape of her neck. He held her hair away, but his other hand wandered over her belly. He drew her body back against him, and she could feel his long hardness against her ass.
Rae reached up and stroked the back of his neck, pressing him closer. His rough cheek scraped her hand, and his blond stubble glimmered in the single overhead light. His face turned, and Wulf’s soft lips touched her hand. Her whole body blushed with wanting him. His mouth returned to her neck, kissing, then nipping her skin.
His hand wandered lower, toward her hemline.
He slipped his hand under her skirt, rubbed his palms up her hips, and hooked her panties with his thumbs. The silk dropped to the floor. She kicked them away.
He held her hips, rolling them between his hands and grabbing her ass while he bit the nape of her neck.
This was not part of the plan.
Rae spun to face him, jostling them both, and Wulf kissed her hard, grabbing her and crushing her to him. She moaned against his lips, unable to think about anything but his hard body pushing her back against the sink. He mouthed her neck again, and her head fell back to stretch her throat against his lips. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin over her jugular vein, and she wanted to wrap her whole body around him.
He dragged her dress off her shoulder and kissed her there. She buried her face in his neck, wanting to taste him. The natural musk of him mixed with his cinnamon tea and clean lemon cologne, and she breathed him in as she pressed her lips to his neck. That rich scent curling in her nose swirled to her brain, and her pussy tingled.
A small part of her brain floated her the term Pavlovian Response, and she told that stupid part of her brain to shut up because she was busy.
His hands drifted lower again, reaching for her skirt to pull it up.
She grabbed his shoulders and inhaled hard, trying to steel herself but only gasping as his hands rubbed her bare ass under her skirt.
She clutched his shoulders and turned them so that her own back was to the flimsy door.
She tipped him backward, and he sat on the toilet lid and grabbed for the sink counter to steady himself. His blue eyes were laughing, and he inhaled hard.
She straddled him, her bare clit pushing against his pants.
He licked his lips and reached for his fly.
“No,” she said. Her voice was much more breathy than she wanted it to be.
“No?” Desperation strangled his voice. His hands on her hips clenched like he was holding on for dear life. His body stilled like he was trying very hard to not move.
Her brain whirled with passion. She wanted him inside her so much that she kissed him, sucking on his tongue because she wanted him in her mouth and inside her body.
She backed off and braced herself with a deep breath. Trying for a more Domme voice, she said, “Tell me what I’m missing about your sister.”
She sounded a little less like she was starving for him.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything—”
“Later,” she finished his sentence with him. She reached between them, brushing her own clit in the process and moaning, but she found his zipper and held it. “Tell me now.”
“It’s Grimaldi.” His eyes, still dark blue and fuzzy with desire, closed as if he didn’t want to see her reaction.
“What about him?”
“He’s a Prince of Monaco.” Wulf leaned his head against the wall behind him. “His Serene Highness, the Prince Pierre.”
“Wow. So she’s going to be a princess.” She rubbed his cock through his pants, and he held his breath. His Adam’s Apple, stubbled with blond fuzz, bobbed.
Wulf said through gritted teeth, “He’s second in line for the principality. His uncle is the Sovereign Prince but has no legitimate heirs. His mother will abdicate because she has no wish to take the throne. Pierre will likely inherit, though probably not soon.”
Rae was flabbergasted, but she still trailed her fingernails up and down his cock through his pants. His whole body shuddered under her thighs. “Is she nuts?”
“She must be. She’s in love with that rat bastard.”
Rae clicked open a few more teeth on his zipper. “Those royal bloodlines have few loose chromosomes. Isn’t she afraid her kids will have hemophilia or three heads or something?”
“Genetic testing has come a long way, and I think the royal hemophilia gene is essentially extinct.” His voice sounded strangled, and his fingers dug into her hips.
“I would never want to live like that. All those cameras. All that craziness.”
“Please, Rae.” He grabbed her and pulled himself forward, seeking her mouth to kiss her.
“They never left Princess Diana alone.” She pushed him backward. “Has your sister considered that?”
Wulf sighed. His gaze flickered, and Rae thought she saw his eyebrows dip in pain, but he regained his composure so fast that she wasn’t sure if she had seen anything.
Rae said, “Every time Diana got out of a car, it was like a nuclear blast of flash bulbs. That’s a terrible life. I’m still not sure the British government didn’t have her killed because she wanted to marry that other guy.”
“It’s difficult to put your life in the hands of others. All you can do is hope that they don’t drive while drunk or betray you.” His face was serious, like he was imploring her to not believe the conspiracy theories.
“Is your sister okay with living like that?” Incredible. Completely not credible that someone would volunteer for such chaos.
“I believe she has become accustomed to it.” Wulf’s hands sought her face, and he kissed her. His tongue forced itself past her lips, and passion swirled in her again.
“Well, bless her heart. I hope everything works out for her,” she said against his lips. She tugged his zipper the rest of the way down and reached in to free his cock from his underwear.
“Me, too,” Wulf mumbled and leaned backward, angling himself.
The velvety head of his cock nudged her clit, and Rae gasped. He swirled his cock, running it through her folds, getting slicker every time he probed her opening. She was wet, soaking wet, and he pushed a little farther into her every time but she wanted him so much.
She seized him around his neck and used his shoulders to lower herself onto him, sliding down his hard chest and impaling herself. Her pussy stretched around him, and she felt her orgasm begin to bloom right way.
Wulf wrapped his arms around her waist like his kinbaku-bi ropes and shoved her down. Pleasure zipped up her spine, and she arched her back, pulling away, but he dragged her back and pushed into her.
The floor rattled under her feet as the plane hit turbulence.
“Wulf,” she whispered into his neck. She pushed off the floor with her toes, helping him thrust into her.
He groaned and slammed her down, pounding her clit. Her knees knocked against the walls on both sides.
The plane popped up like they went over a speed bump, and she fell down on his cock, so deep.
She arched backward hard as the orgasm took her and whirled her around, and she blasted apart. “Wulf!” she squeaked, trying not to cry out but she couldn’t even hear herself.
His hoarse voice rasped on her throat, and she folded her arms around his neck and head, feeling him pulse inside her. His forehead rested on her shoulder, warm. His breath rushed unevenly, feathering her breasts with moist warmth.
“Reagan.” His hoarse voice sounded like begging. “Say you’ll go to Paris with me.”
She couldn’t think, but she knew what she needed. “If you tell me everything. I know you haven’t yet.”
He held onto her waist and spoke into the soft skin of her neck. “We won’t go to the wedding. My extended family will be there, my father, my sister, my cousins. If I go, I will draw the fire to them.”
“Bad things happen that aren’t your fault,” she whispered in his ear. “Jim Bob and his chingasos weren’t your fault. You saved me from them.”
“It’s too risky,” he said. “I would never forgive myself if someone else dies.”
“She’s your sister, and it’s her wedding day. You have to go.”
He nodded, pressing his face against her shoulder and tightening his arms around her.
Maybe it was the glasses of wine all night long or the exhaustion, but Rae said, “You have to go to your sister’s wedding. Tell me the rest of it, and no matter what, I’ll go to Paris and her wedding with you. Nothing will happen.”