The soft hum of the private jet masked the storm of thoughts racing through my mind.
I was suspended in a cocoon of silk and warmth, the heavy weight of a duvet pressing me down into a lap that felt like a fortress.
I didn't need to open my eyes to know who held me.
The scent of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and something uniquely Kieran enveloped me. His arms were wrapped around my waist with a grip so tight it bordered on desperate, as if he expected me to evaporate into the thin air outside the cabin window if he dared to loosen his hold.
Every few minutes, I felt the soft, ghost-like brush of his lips against my temple. A "peg"—a silent, repetitive reassurance that I was real. That I was back
I stayed still, pretending to sleep, because the peace of this moment felt too fragile to break. For weeks, I had been a doll, a prisoner, a prize. But here, in the dim light of the cabin, I felt like a woman again.
