Page 98 of Cruel Russian Monster
“We may not be home, but I do plan on having my wicked way with you on the queen-sized bed in the jet.”
She began unbuckling her seat belt. “Then let's go.”
“Wait, you don't want to know where we're going?”
She looked at me. “As long as you're there, I don't care where we are.” She finished unbuckling her seatbelt and yawned. “Now, come on, hurry up.”
I chuckled. “Stay there.”
I hopped out of the car and jogged around to help Vera out. Once we were both out of the car, the security detail hopped in and drove the car away. Cautiously, I helped Vera to her seat.
Once she was buckled in, she fell asleep again, but once we were in the air, I unbuckled her and carried her to the jet bedroom, which was now soundproof thanks to Pyotr and one of his sexcapades a few years ago.
Once I had removed her shoes, I removed mine as well and got into bed with her.
By the time we landed in Los Angeles, she was still asleep. I didn’t wake her. While the jet refueled, I stepped off for a brief stretch.
An hour later, we were back in the air. The cabin lights dimmed. Vera stirred only when I slid into bed beside her. She curled into me, and I held her close as the hum of the engines lulled me to sleep.
We landed in Hawaii around late morning the next day. Vera was still fast asleep.
I kissed her gently until she sighed, fingers curling into my shirt.
“Good morning,” I murmured.
A slow smile formed on her lips before her eyes even opened. “Good morning. Where are we?”
“Hawaii.”
Her eyes popped open. “You're kidding.”
I grinned. “Nope.”
“I’ve never been to Hawaii.”
“Then I suggest you get up, get dressed, and we’ll explore. We’re spending the day here. After that, our final destination.”
“And where’s that?” she asked, eyes sparkling. God, I loved that I could do that for her.
“New Zealand.”
“Eeeekkkk!” she squealed, launching into my arms. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” I chuckled, hugging her tight. “Now get ready. I can’t wait to spoil my wife today.”
***
Thirty minutes later, we were out exploring.
We strolled through the local markets, hands entwined, stopping every so often to taste something new—tropical fruits, sweet malasadas, shaved ice drizzled in syrup. Vera had a pineapple smoothie in one hand and her phone in the other, snapping pictures of everything.
We walked along Waikiki Beach, her bare feet leaving prints in the sand as she leaned against me for balance. We asked a vendor to take a picture of us with the ocean behind us. Vera was glowing, her bump showing beneath the soft cotton dress she'd picked up from a boutique along the way.
We bought souvenirs, a few baby items, and matching bracelets made of black lava rock and blue sea glass. She made me promise never to take mine off.
By the time the sun dipped low and painted the sky in streaks of fire and rose, we’d eaten dinner at a quiet cliffside restaurant with a view of the ocean. Vera couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could I.
By seven that night, she’d showered and lain on the bed after the jet was airborne, her hair damp and skin sun-kissed.
