Page 98 of Her Ex's Father
She notices me watching and arches a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, though my lips twitch. “Everything.”
She snorts. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
She shakes her head, fighting a smile. Then her gaze sharpens, studying me like she can see the restless energy thrumming under my skin. “You’re tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You’ve been prowling around this cabin like a caged tiger since we took off.”
She isn’t wrong. I hate being idle. I hate hours where there’s nothing to do but think, and the flights to other Bronson resorts are my worst nightmare. And with her so close, with the baby pressing against the fabric of her dress every time she shifts, my mind isn’t in any state to be quiet.
She leans forward, her voice dropping low, intimate. “I could help with that.”
My brows lift. “Maddie?—”
But before I can finish, she slides gracefully from her seat and kneels between my legs on the thick carpet. My pulse spikes, my control fraying instantly.
“You shouldn’t?—”
“Why not?” Her hands glide over my thighs, firm and sure. “Private jet. No one here but us. You’re restless, Ben. Let me take care of you.”
Every instinct tells me to stop her. To say she needs to rest, that she shouldn’t strain herself. But then her fingers work at my belt and her eyes lift—full of heat, daring, and a devotion that guts me. My resolve crumbles.
I grip the armrests, breath coming rough as she frees me. The first brush of her mouth makes me bite back a groan, cock throbbing with want.
“Christ, Maddie.”
She hums in satisfaction, lips wrapped around the head and slowly moving down, the vibration shooting straight through me. I fist her hair—not to push, but to ground myself. She works my shaft with slow, deliberate care, her tongue wicked, her pace merciless, slim fingers wrapped at the base.
I hold on as long as I can, but she knows me too well. Just as I’m about to break, I haul her up, kissing her hard, swallowing her laugh as I turn her and press her against the seat.
“Mine,” I growl against her mouth.
“Yours,” she gasps back, helping me pull down the comfortable, luxurious sweatpants she has on. Pregnancy has made her a woodstove, constantly putting off heat, and I’m like a missile seeking that heat out—my hand goes right to her core, making sure she’s wet and ready for me as I tug her ass to the edge of the chair.
I thrust into her in one hard stroke, and everything else disappears—the altitude, the hum of the engines, the years I lost believing I’d never feel this again. There’s only her, wrapping around me, pulling me deeper, her nails biting into my shoulders.
“Fuck, Ben,” she gasps, her tits jiggling under the wrap that’s coming undone with each thrust. I push it aside, palm her breasts and lean back, pumping into her relentlessly.
Her nails dig into my forearms as she comes, pussy tightening around my cock, and I’m not sure if it’s the altitude or the blissed-out look on her face, but I follow quickly after.
When it’s over, I adjust her clothes with shaky hands, fix myself up, and sit her in my lap. With a happy murmur, Maddie sinks back into a cat nap as the world below us shifts from autumn-gilded trees to the Atlantic.
Maybe the mile-high cliché exists for a reason.
With her in my arms, I start to drift off myself. Eyes heavy-lidded, memories of Derrick as a boy come back to me; and Georgiana, laughing as he ran down a trail on the lodge’s property. But now, with my little wife curled up against my chest and our future ahead of us, I feel only gratitude for Georgiana—for showing me what love was capable of, and giving me the strength to welcome it into my life again.
This trip to Sweden feels different. It’s because this time around, I made sure Maddie was by my side instead of leaving her behind.
This feelsright.
Hours later, the pilot announces our descent.
Maddie presses her face to the window, eyes wide as Sweden unfolds beneath us—green forests stitched with rivers, lakes like mirrors catching the afternoon sun. Her awe radiates through the cabin, warming me from the inside out.
