Page 37 of Start With A Slap

As he walked into the loft, she wiped her slippery-wet fingers on her dress and let out a shaky exhale.

“Babe?” he called.

“Come here,” she said.

When he found her, she yanked off his belt and sucked at him hungrily until he was hard enough to fuck her on the couch.

“I’m going to Paris,” she announced breathlessly as their eyes met. “Is that okay?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said sincerely, and pulled her toward him by her thighs.

CHAPTER 11

All’s Fair

This was not a good idea,Ivy thought as she entered Sever’s private jet. She’d been relieved to see his four-person entourage—personal chef, trainer, butler and bodyguard/chauffeur—but they’d instantly made themselves scarce. Ahead of her, Sever strutted past two pairs of white leather chairs to the curved end of a minimalist space-age lounge that reminded her ofA Clockwork Orange, which tracked.

“...find that I’m remarkably solid.”

He was saying something. It was probably evil. “What?”

Flashing her a smirk, Sever loosened his tie. “If you mean to stand there all nine hours, you might want to hold onto something.”

Nine hours.It had been hard enough to mentally prepare for a long weekend in Paris with The Spot Whisperer — she hadn’t even begun to consider all the time she’d be spending alone with him in this flying Kubrick movie of a bachelor pad.

Oh, god. Eighteen hours total.

“You can latch on to me and put an end to this daft charade here and now,” he whisked off his tie and got comfortable onthe white T-shaped couch, “or, you can have a seat and I’ll go on pretending I don’t want to strip you naked and carry you off to my bed, kicking and squealing. Your choice.”

She was shocked by only one part of that entire sentence: “There’s a bed on this plane?”

Corners of his mouth quirking slightly, his voice dipped to a dangerous, reedy low. “Oh, yes. Would you like to see it?”

She put her handbag down and sat, ramrod straight, at the base of the T. “I think I’ll take your word for it.”

He chuckled at the exaggerated distance she’d imposed. “I’m not going to bite you. You could come alittlecloser.”

“Wow.” She smoothed the hem of her skirt down over her knees. “You just can’tnotsound like a snake in the grass, can you?”

“Now, now,” he said. “You and I both know how much I’d love to sink my teeth into that... undeniably succulent flesh of yours, but I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

“And every time you ogle my legs, you kinda break it.”

He redirected his gaze to her face. “You could have worn trousers, Ivy.”

Ivy pursed her lips. Shehadplanned to wear pants. Loose and flowy pants. She’d even made a conscious decision:the less he sees, the less he’ll want.Which then compelled the feminist in her to defiantly prove a point... though in practice, that point felt less pointy than justify-y, and the skirt seemed to be yowling out the chorus ofI Want You To Want Me. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

And we’re cleared for takeoff,came a voice over the speakers.

“Well,” he let out a blithe sigh, spanned his arms over the back of the couch and crossed his legs, “no turning back now, is there?”

The plane began to move. “Shouldn’t we be in seats with seatbelts?”

“Fear of flying?”

“No.”Just a fear of you. And me...

“Oh, go without a net for once. Live a little.”

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