Ivana stirred awake slowly, her lashes fluttering open like a secret she wasn't ready to reveal. Her body felt heavy, deliciously languid, still humming with the remnants of deep, satisfied sleep.
She stretched with a soft sigh, arching her back against what she expected to be the cool silk sheets of their king-sized bed.
Instead, her fingers sank into firm, buttery leather.
A low, constant hum vibrated through her bones—not the quiet hush of their bedroom, but the powerful, steady thrum of jet engines.
The air was thick with Him: warm melted chocolate, sweet strawberries, and that darker, masculine undertone with a playful edge that always made her thighs clench.
His cologne wrapped around her like a possessive claim.
Confusion sliced through the haze like cold water.
She sat up abruptly, heart pounding, blinking against the dim amber lighting of the cabin. Her eyes flicked upward to the sleek, polished ceiling with its thin strips of recessed golden lights. This wasn't their bed. This wasn't their room.
She was reclined in a wide, plush pink seat—buttery-soft upholstery that hugged every curve of her body like a lover's hands, complete with built-in massagers. The kind of seat that cost more than most people's homes.
Through the large oval windows, endless clouds stretched out, painted in strokes of molten gold and blushing pink as the sun hovered low on the horizon. Realization hit her like a slow, possessive hand sliding up her thigh.
She was on Kacy's private jet.
Memories flooded back in a heated rush.
She remembered stepping onto the jet and immediately noticing the single pink seat, obviously custom-made for her, because pink was her color and Kacy noticed everything.
He had leaned down, lips brushing her ear with that filthy, teasing whisper:
"Little moonlight, I would love to sit right next to you… but you're far too tempting. I won't be able to focus on work if I'm busy imagining how wet that pretty cunt is under your dress."
Then he had walked away to sit with his men, leaving her aching and frustrated.
Fuck, come to think of it, she knew he was a powerful businessman with empires and enterprises most people only whispered about. But the rumors said he was worse than any mafia don.
What really made him worse? Mafias killed to protect their casinos, territories, or power.
But him? Did he kill people as though their lives meant nothing, the same way her father did?
Her father might not have been part of the mafia, but he was still a psychopath, a manipulator, and a murderer. The sins of that man were too much for her fragile, traumatized mind to handle sometimes.
She had even gone to a Catholic priest to petition prayers over their lives. That was the one thing she clearly remembered, because the man kept a book, and inside that book was a list of the people he had killed.
The thought made her stomach twist.
Please, God… don't let him be like that sick bastard.
Her annoying, sinful husband had conveniently forgotten she suffered from severe jet sickness. During their two-month honeymoon, the moment the jet took off she had threw up everywhere, on the floor, on him.
At first, it had been horrifying. Later, though, it became almost funny, especially remembering the disgusted scowl on his face that somehow turned into one of her favorite memories.
This time was worse.
The pilot had announced takeoff. She'd struggled with the seatbelt, heart hammering, and the phobia slammed into her full force.
She remembered screaming his name. Maybe that was the moment he realized she was terrified of flying.
After that, everything became blurry. She thought he was beside her, maybe behind her, but she couldn't see clearly enough to know. Her vision swam, unfocused, yet through the haze, all she could make out were those calm, ocean-blue eyes anchoring her. She couldn't hear what he was saying.
Then came the humiliating warmth of puke spilling across his crisp white shirt, the floor, and her own body.
Oops.
Before blacking out completely, she glanced down and saw large strong warm hands covered in ten rings intertwined with hers, the rings pressing against her skin, and instantly knew it was her husband.
Oh my Godddd!!! I threw up on Kacy again
The only sound she heard before darkness swallowed her was his low, soothing voice:
"Little moonlight, I'm here. I've got you… I'm sorry."
Back in the present, Ivana gasped, her face flushing a deep, mortified pink.
Shit!!! I literally passed out from jet phobia and puked all over my husband like some helpless mess.
Her embarrassed gaze swept the luxurious cabin. The seats around her were empty. Her eyes darted to a small door at the far end. No one in sight. She looked down at herself, expecting to see her red floral gown ruined by puke and completely messy.
Instead, she was wearing a soft, flowing pink gown that clung to her body like liquid silk. Delicate ribbons adorned the sides with small, teasing openings, and the back was daringly bare held together only by a single ribbon tied in a pretty bow at her waist, exposing the elegant curve of her spine.
Damn it!!!
She really had thrown up on her gown too. Life was being exceptionally cruel.
Ivana screamed inwardly as she glanced down at her feet. Her nude stilettos were gone, replaced by soft, fluffy pink slippers. The realization sank in like slow, humiliating heat between her thighs.
He had bathed her.
He had changed her gown.
He had even changed her heels.
Oh my God, this is so fucking embarrassing.
The thought sent a dark, shameful heat blooming between her thighs.
Her face burned a deep, traitorous pink just imagining Kacy's hands on her unconscious body, stripping her soiled clothes, wiping her clean with careful fingers, sliding the new dress over her naked skin. The thought made her core clench shamefully.
She examined the cabin again. The pilot's area was clearly sealed far forward completely separate, as she remembered from their honeymoon. This jet wasn't just luxury.
It was pure Kacy Lillard: a floating villa in the sky. Cream leather seats, dark wood accents, recessed golden lighting, a fully stocked bar, a private bedroom suite at the rear, and three separate VIP rooms branching off like hidden dens of sin. Everything screamed power, wealth, and obsessive control.
She stood from the plush pink seat and walked slowly toward the end of the cabin. Pushing open the door to the main lounge, she stepped inside.
Conversation died instantly.
Her eyes widened as ten or maybe fifteen pairs of sharp eyes turned toward her at once. Some carried playful amusement, while others were cold and intimidating. She couldn't keep count, only that there were too many of them staring at her in awkward silence.
Kacy's men.
After a moment, they all stood and bowed respectfully, murmuring greetings as she shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming under their scrutiny.
She had barely interacted with them before, and Kacy wasn't here. There were no familiar ocean-blue eyes in sight, so maybe this was her chance to finally get to know them.
Before she could speak, a finger hooked the pink bow in her hair and tugged it slowly.
She froze, her lips parting. She remained rooted to the spot, not turning to see who had tugged at her bow, though it felt embarrassing, because she and the person pulling at it were not alone on the jet; His men were watching.
A powerful, hard body pressed against her back. Hot breath ghosted her left ear, followed by the slow, deliberate drag of a warm tongue along the sensitive shell.
Fuck it's my annoying stupid husband
"Sleep well, little moonlight?"
He whispered, his voice velvet, steady, and dripping with erotic promise.
Ivana gasped softly. Her face flared crimson and pink. His men were still watching. Their soft laughter and knowing cringes only made it worse.
God, can the earth just open up and swallow me whole.
She licked her lips, face burning hotter. The embarrassment was crushing, especially with his men right there. But the worst part was how wet she was becoming.
Jeez I'll kill my husband soon
She breathed rapidly and turned to face him. Kacy hadn't moved an inch, still pressed flush against her, giving her no space to breathe.
"I… um…"
Her voice faltered at the continued soft laughter from his men.
Kacy glared at them over her shoulder. The noise stopped immediately. They sat back down and focused on their laptops like their lives depended on it.
Fuckers. They even have laptops. Bloody Fuckers.
Ivana stepped two meters away from him and forced a sweet, fake smile, avoiding his gaze.
"I… um… yes… um… Kace."
"Mmmm."
He only murmured, low and dangerous, and closed the distance again until not even a breath of air could pass between them.
Her heart betrayed her instantly, her breathing turning faster and shallower. He lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her emerald eyes to meet his intense blue ones.
Memories flooded her—filthy, vivid. Kacy on his knees in the dining room, licking her slick from her ankle all the way up her thigh, sucking greedily on her dripping cunt.
Then kissing her so she could taste herself on his tongue and then the urge to throw up came back to her mind, along with the memory of when she had actually thrown up on him, making her face redden even more.
Jeez!!! so mortifying.
Her thighs clenched hard. She pressed them together desperately while still holding his gaze.
Kacy noticed immediately. His eyes dropped to where her thighs were squeezed tight. A sly, knowing smirk curved his lips, one brow arching as if he could read every explicit memory playing in her head.
He turned and started walking away.
Ivana glared daggers at his back. He stopped, turned to face her, and she quickly replaced the glare with a sweet smile.
But his next words wiped it clean off her face.
"The next time we use my jet for vacation,"
He taunted loudly enough for all his men to hear.
"Remind me to bring you a special bowl when we take off. Can't have you throwing up on my floor, my expensive suit, or that pretty gown before fainting in my arms, can we, little moonlight?"
His men burst into loud laughter.
Kacy winked at her before turning away again, still walking toward his men.
Ivana stood there gasping, cheeks flaming, fists clenched as she fought the urge to punch or slap the back of his head.
She raised her hand once, twice, then quickly dropped it when he stopped again. He chuckled darkly, as if he knew exactly what she was doing, before continuing forward.
She followed him, furious, mortified, and helplessly, dangerously turned on by her possessive, teasing husband.
Kacy dropped into the seat opposite his men, legs spread with lazy, predatory dominance. A spare seat waited beside him like a throne reserved for his queen.
His sharp gaze swept over his boys, and their lingering laughter died instantly. But when he arched a brow, he realized they weren't looking at him.
They were staring in quiet horror at the seat next to him.
His wife had already claimed it.
She sat there like a beautiful, fiesty vengeful little goddess, one delicate index finger pressed to her lips in a deadly:
"Shhhhh…"
While glaring daggers at every single one of them. That single gesture was enough. His annoying, teasing men fell completely silent.
Not because of him, but because of her, his little moonlight.
Poor guys, now they followed her orders instead of his.
"Can't you stop glaring at them like you want to kill them, Ivy?"
Kacy asked, his voice calm, sensual and laced with that special teasing edge he only ever used on her.
She swung her glare to him instead. A tiny, dangerous twitch curved her lips when she heard his men exhale in relief.
But the moment Kacy fixed her with that intense, unreadable blue stare, the one that promised slow, mind-wrecking pleasure and delicious punishment, her glare melted into something softer, hungrier, and loving.
She rested her chin on her hands, staring at him with open adoration. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal those strong, veined forearms that always made her cunt throb. His calm blue eyes held hers without mercy.
"About throwing up on your expensive shirt, your floor, and my gown…"
She muttered, cheeks still flushed.
"it was the baby's fault. Don't blame me. You're the one who put your little snowdrop inside me."
Kacy's gaze dropped slowly to her lips, then dragged back up to her eyes. A dark, filthy smirk curved his mouth.
"Don't blame my little snowdrop for your jet sickness, pretty. And yes, I'm dead serious about bringing you a bowl next time."
His eyes narrowed playfully.
"And what's this about my boys listening to YOU instead of their boss, little moonlight?"
He shot his men a scathing look. They only smirked and chuckled at the couple's banter. Their boss became an entirely different creature whenever his wife was near.
Ivana's face bloomed into shades of red and pink. She kept her hands on her cheeks, staring at him with shy, loving eyes.
"Fuck you and the bowl. And yes, I'm the boss here, right, fellas?"
His men hesitated.
She glared.
"Yes, ma'am,"
They answered in perfect, immediate unison.
Kacy stared at them, genuinely stunned by the betrayal, mouth slightly open.
Before he could speak, Ivana leaned forward, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him—soft, quick, teasing. Then she pulled away fast, blushing furiously and turning her face to the side.
Kacy blinked. Then his hand shot out, gripping her chin and turning her back to him.
"Kiss me again, Ivy,"
He demanded, voice dark and rough with need.
"Not that short, flimsy little peck. I want a real erotic kiss. Deep. Wet. The kind that makes my cock hard."
"Waattt…"
She gasped at his last words, her words faltering before she recovered herself and said,
"Nahhh….".
She taunted him, playfully dodging his mouth as she turned her face left and right while he tried to kiss her, his men watching in open amusement.
The teasing continued until Kacy's phone rang. He answered it without breaking eye contact with her, keeping her trapped in his gaze the entire time. Ivana looked away, feeling fresh heat pour between her thighs. She was wet again.
She turned to his men, trying to ease the awkward silence while Kacy spoke on the phone.
"So… how many of you are here?"
"Twelve,"
One answered. He wore black pants and a white sweatshirt rolled up at the sleeves, exposing ink on his arms and neck. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes that reminded her of warm nuts. He looked surprisingly young.
She smiled. "I want to know your names. I should get to know all of you pers—"
"Why do you want to know their names?"
Kacy cut in smoothly, still on the call.
"You can just ask me. I'm their boss."
Ivana's eyes narrowed.
"And let me ask you something, are their mouths sewn shut? No? Then stop being their fucking mouthpiece and let them speak for themselves. I wasn't talking to you, nuthead. Focus on your call and mind your god-damned business. Hmph."
The entire cabin went deathly silent.
His men stared, shocked.
But what stunned them more was their boss's reaction. Bloody damn, was this really their boss? Nah, it must be a look-alike, because the Kacy they knew wouldn't let something like that slide. If anyone else had spoken to him that way, regardless of gender, it wouldn't have ended with just a smirk.
But then again, his wife was different from the rest, he simply stared at his wife with a slow, dark, utterly obsessed smirk on his lips, as if her sharp tongue was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. As if her disrespect was foreplay.
In that moment, every single man in the room understood the undeniable truth:
This was love.
Dark, dangerous, all-consuming love.
The kind that turned the most calm and calculated man they had ever known completely, helplessly weak for one woman.
And he didn't even try to hide it.