Page 46 of Born To Be Bad

“I feel like you’re speaking in code.”

“It’s a popular dark romance trope. Being kidnapped by a bad guy. He’s always super hot. So there are short videos about how readers fantasize about being kidnapped by these guys who tie them up, threaten them, and then give them magnificent sex.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Are you one of these readers? Would you like to role-play?”

“No thanks,” Ivy replies. “Too close to home to be a fantasy for me.”

“Shit,” I say, immediately sorry. I grab her foot. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Ivy shakes her head. “Don’t be. I’m not going to let Jeff fucking Bates dictate my erotic life. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for that particular roleplay. I’m up for other kinds, if you’re keen.”

“Ivy Mickelson, you should know by now that if you are in the room there is never a time that I’m not keen.”

“Ooh,” she says, squirming in her seat. “Looks like we’ll be having an interesting honeymoon then.”

I down what’s left in my glass. “We were always going to have an interesting honeymoon.”

Ivy pilfers the ice-clattering wine cooler with the champagne in it and tells me to meet her in the small conference room in five minutes—perhaps the longest five minutes of my life. It’s a shiny white streamlined room with six pale leather chairs and a drinks fridge. I look around the cabin, wondering casually if anyone would know what we’re up to. Everyone seems absorbed in their devices, apart from Brumilde, who is sleeping soundly on a recliner with baby Alex on her chest. At the appointed time I stand and make my way over. The sliding door to the room is closed, so I knock.

Ivy rolls it open with a flourish. She’s holding the champagne and grinning, but that’s not what makes me laugh. She’s dressed head to toe in the sleek uniform of the jet’s cabin crew: a pretty white blouse with cuffed short sleeves and a smart silver neck scarf, a tailored charcoal pencil skirt, and a matching blazer with an asymmetrical silver clasp. Her incredible legs are in sheer black stockings which I very much hope are held up by suspenders.

“Hello Mr. Ravenscroft,” she purrs. “I do hope you find everything in order.”

Even her red lipstick is the approved shade—I’m not sure how she got that right.

I shouldn’t laugh. I straighten my face and play along. “Better than expected, thank you.”

Ivy quirks an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear that, sir.”

“In fact,” I say, stepping into the room. “The trip so far has exceeded every expectation.”

“I’m delighted to hear that, Mr. Ravenscroft. Your feedback is important to us.”

“Is that so?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

“Oh, yes,” Ivy says. “I’d go as far as to say it’s essential.”

I take a deep breath and prowl toward her. “What I’d like to know is if your underwear is correct.”

She’s surprised. “Correct?”

“You know, cabin crew issue. We can’t have staff wearing whatever they like under the uniform.”

“That wouldn’t do,” Ivy agrees. “The staff should respect the strict uniform policy at all costs.”

“So you’re ready for inspection?” I ask.

“I am,” she replies. “Would you care to take a seat?”

Barely able to hide my amusement, I cross the small room and sit in the elegant leather swivel chair. Ivy passes me a glass of champagne.

“Where’s yours?” I ask.

“Cabin crew don’t drink on the job,” she replies.

“Not even this excellent vintage?” I ask. “That’s outrageous.”

What is also outrageous is the hardness of my cock. It’s difficult to sit back and relax with the throbbing in my trousers.

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