Page 53 of The Pucking Date
It doesn’t.
Jessica’s one row ahead, aisle seat, posture perfect. She’s reading—hardcover, black dust jacket, white lettering. I shift just enough to catch the title:The Power.
Of course. Right up there withThe Three-Body Problem. A little chaos. A little vengeance. Classic Novak.
I wait a beat. Then slide into the empty seat beside her. She doesn’t look up. Turns the page, but her knuckles go white against the spine.
“No brother tagging along this time?”
“Nope.” Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight rasp.
“Daddy staying home too?”
“Mmhmm.”
I lean in, brushing my shoulder against hers and catching that intoxicating vanilla of her perfume. “So it’s just the two of us. Unsupervised.”
That gets her. Her eyes snap up to mine, pupils blown wide—pupils that tell me she’s been thinking about me. Aflush creeps up her throat like spilled wine, and I want to follow it with my tongue.
“Do you always make yourself at home mid-flight?”
“Only when the company makes it impossible to stay away.”
She doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t shut me down either. And she doesn’t move away from the heat radiating between us.
“The Power,” I say, letting my fingers drift across the armrest until they’re a whisper away from hers.
A nod. Page turn. But her breathing’s changed.
“Planning on electrocuting someone this week?”
“Depends. You volunteering?” She glances over, and there it is, that spark of interest she can’t quite hide. “You read it?”
“I did.” My gaze drops to her mouth, lingers on her bottom lip before dragging back up. “But I think the author missed something.”
She shifts toward me, the movement pressing her knee against mine. “Are we doing a book club now?”
I ignore the jab. “I don’t get why the author stops where she does.”
“How so?”
“If you had that kind of power…” I let my knuckles brush hers, electricity crackling at the contact, “why waste it on pain?”
She tilts her head, and I catch the flutter of her pulse at her throat. “What would you do with it instead?”
I lean in until my lips are nearly touching her ear, my voice dropping to gravel and sin. Her breath hitches—sharp, audible. The flush spreads down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her dress, and I want to follow it with my tongue.
“I wouldn’t just take the power,” I purr, my voice rough with want. “I’d make them ache to give it. Every inch. Every sound. Every part they swore they’d hold back.”
Her fingers tremble on the book.
“See, real power isn’t about taking. It’s about making someone want to give,” I rasp, letting my breath ghost across her skin, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. “About creating such perfect trust that surrender becomes a gift instead of a defeat.”
She’s breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes my blood burn.
“You know what I think, Red?” I let my thumb trace across her wrist, feeling her pulse hammering wild and desperate. “You don’t want safe. You want someone who knows exactly when to hold you down—and exactly when to let you fly.”
Her eyes flutter closed at the contact, a soft sound escaping her lips.
