Page 97 of Filthy Dirty Dom

"Are you ready?" Alex asked. When she nodded, he led her away from the boat, into the undergrowth.

The journey through the jungle was once again a sensory overload. The musky smell of damp earth mingled with the sweet fragrance of tropical flowers. Exotic sounds punctuated the silence—rustling leaves, snapping twigs, the distant hoot of an owl. Every now and then, a sudden noise would make her jump, her heart pounding against her ribcage. But Alex was there, his presence a calming force in the chaos around them.

"It's just a nightjar," he'd say, or "That was just a tree frog," his voice filled with a soothing certainty that eased her fears.

They trekked further into the jungle, the dense canopy overhead blocking out the sun, turning their surroundings into an intricate play of shadows. But Alex moved with the ease of someone familiar with the terrain, his steps sure and steady, his hold on her hand firm.

Before long, they emerged from the dense foliage, the sudden expanse of open space startling in comparison to the close confines of the jungle. In the middle of the clearing, the dark silhouette of the helicopter waited like a mechanical beast of burden, ready to lift them to the safety of the skies.

"Here we are," Alex said.

The sunlight reflected off the helicopter's polished surface, casting a harsh glare that Alex shielded his eyes from. His gaze on the machine was hard, almost cold. His fingers brushed the cool, weathered metal of its side, tracing the faint lines and rivets with a touch that was both firm and gentle.

Leslie watched as his expression morphed, his usual mask of controlled indifference giving way to something rawer. His strong jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his brow furrowed in deep thought. His gaze seemed to pierce through the helicopter, focused on something distant, a time far removed from their present. A subtle shiver ran through him, the only physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.

Leslie laid her hand on his arm. "Alex?" she said, her voice soft but laden with concern. "Are you okay?"

Alex shook himself, like a man emerging from a deep sleep, and turned his attention to Leslie. The haunted look in his eyes receded, replaced by the familiar veil of calm composure.

"I'm fine, Leslie," he assured her, though the tension in his voice suggested otherwise. His hand left the helicopter's side, and he stepped back, his gaze lingering on the machine for a moment longer before returning to her.

"This... it brings back a lot of memories of my time in the military. Not all good ones," he confessed, his voice heavy with unspoken tales of his past.

Before she could respond, he turned towards the helicopter again, his gaze now steady, determined. "But that's in the past. We have a flight to catch," he said, adopting a lighter tone.

The moment Alex turned his attention back to the helicopter, it was as though he'd stepped into a different skin. His demeanor shifted, an invisible switch being flipped, as he transformed from the introspective, haunted man to a composed, confident professional. The ghostly whispers of his past were shoved back into the recesses of his mind, leaving room for the skilled pilot and soldier he'd once been.

Protector Alex was once again fully in control.

Alex moved around the helicopter, running his hands over its exterior, his fingers tracing the seams and rivets with a trained eye. Each movement was filled with a sense of familiarity, of a well-practiced routine etched into his muscle memory.

Eventually, Alex announced the helicopter was good to go, and helped Leslie to her seat. He strapped her in. “Are you scared?”

She hesitated.

“Nervous but not scared because I’m here,” he guessed, repeating her earlier words back to him.

“That’s right,” she said.

“Good.”

Leslie found herself holding her breath as he slid into the pilot's seat. It fit him like it was made just for him - his broad shoulders filling the space, his fingers running over the controls with an intimate knowledge that she found both intriguing and intimidating.

The interior of the cockpit was overwhelming—a bewildering array of buttons, switches, and dials, each playing a crucial role in the grand production of flight. The tension was palpable as Alex's hand moved deftly across the controls, his touch light but decisive, setting the mechanical beast humming to life.

She watched as his fingers wrapped around the joystick, the veins in his forearm bulging as he moved it, testing its responsiveness. She couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle at the thought that crept into her mind. "No wonder he's so good at handling his...joystick." The thought, juvenile and ill-timed, nonetheless made her feel a little better.

This was Alex in his element, a force to be reckoned with. His command over the machine, his knowledge and skill, it all radiated off him in waves of potent masculinity. He was an alpha in every sense of the word, and Leslie couldn't deny the rush of attraction that surged through her.

The engine roared and the powerful throb of the rotor blades overhead created a rhythm that Leslie felt resonating deep within her. It was a gut-churning lurch of reality—their liftoff was imminent.

Alex's eyes swept the horizon, the fierce intensity of his gaze reminding Leslie of a bird of prey, scanning for danger. It was a look she had seen before, one of focus and determination—a predator ready to claim the sky. The gut-churning lurch escalated as the helicopter began to lift, the scenery outside their window morphing into a beautiful panorama of the island.

After a while, when they were flying steady, Alex reached out, his hand finding hers in the semi-darkness of the cockpit. His grip was firm, the calluses on his fingers a stark contrast to her smooth skin. His touch was a solid anchor in the swirling torrent of chaos around them, grounding her, offering her a lifeline. She held on tightly to his hand, her grip communicating a silent vow—no matter the height they soared or the turmoil they faced, she was with him, for better or for worse.

Hours later, as the sun set in a blaze of red and gold, the day's events were a blur in Leslie's mind. One minute she was on an island, the next she was being whisked away by a helicopter piloted by Alex, a man full of surprises.

When they finally landed at a small, dilapidated airport, Leslie felt a jarring disconnect. From there—and Leslie had no idea where they were—they went inside. Alex spoke English to one man then the other, and the next thing she knew, she and Alex were on a small plane that looked like it had been shot down more than once. As she’d boarded, she’d glanced at Alex, ready to question whether the piece of junk would get them where they were headed in one piece, but he’d winked at her, silently reassuring her.

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