~Reynold’s POV~
The white-hot wave finally broke over me, shattering every thought in my head. I cried out, spilling hard across his hand and chest as my body shuddered violently against his frame.
He didn’t slow his pace. Instead, he drove into me faster, harder, and deeper, a fierce, possessive intensity fueling his own race toward the edge. His eyes slipped shut, a rough groan tearing from his throat.
"So fucking tight..." he growled against my skin, before shouting out a raw, desperate "Fuck, yes—!" as he shattered, coming completely undone and emptying himself into the heat of the condom while his heavy frame locked hard against mine.
After the heavy silence settled over us, the steady hum of the jet filled the void, he slowed his breathing and pulled back just an inch. He searched my face before leaning down to press a deep, lingering kiss to my lips.
His thumb brushed the damp line of my jaw. "You taste so good," he murmured against my mouth.
He studied my eyes, his expression unreadable. "How do you feel?"
I looked up at him, unable to find my voice. Beneath the bone-deep exhaustion, the lingering heat, and the quiet hum of the jet, a single question echoed silently in my mind:
Is he always this caring with everyone he sleeps with?
When he realized I wasn’t going to answer, he shifted. Slipping his arms beneath me, he gently lifted me and pulled out, sliding his thick cock from my body with a slow, deliberate care that made my breath hitch. He set me down softly against the pillows, then rose, walking over to the built-in cabinet to pour a glass of water.
He handed it to me. "Drink. Hydrating after sex is important."
I took the glass with trembling fingers, drinking deeply before setting it aside. It felt entirely surreal. In my entire life, aside from my friend Julian, no one had ever shown me this kind of quiet, attentive gentleness, let alone a ruthless billionaire like Frederick Corvin.
I shook my head, pushing the confusing thoughts aside. We both cleaned up in the en-suite bathroom before crawling back beneath the covers.
"Sleep," Frederick murmured, pulling me close. "You need the rest before we land."
I turned my back to him, wrapped in a blanket of absolute exhaustion, and fell into a heavy sleep almost instantly.
When I finally opened my eyes again, the cabin was still, but the engine vibration had changed. I blinked against the light, disoriented.
Frederick was already out of bed, dressed in a sharp, immaculate white suit, sitting calmly in the main cabin chair as if he had been waiting for hours.
I tried to push myself up, but a sharp, biting ache shot through my lower back and thighs, forcing a harsh wince past my lips.
Frederick glanced over, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Finally awake."
I gritted my teeth, gripping the edge of the mattress. "How many hours left before we land?"
"We landed an hour ago," he replied smoothly. "You were sleeping so deeply I didn’t even touch you, and you’re still out like a light."
My jaw dropped. I didn’t touch you? With a thick, massive length that had just stretched me wide open for hours, he had the nerve to stand there in a tailored suit and claim he hadn’t touched me?
As if reading the sheer outrage swirling in my head, a slow, dangerous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Though," he added, his voice dropping into a low, teasing hum, "if I actually really fucked you... you’d probably forget you even exist and sleep for a whole week."
I stared at him, my face instantly burning hot as I struggled to find a single coherent reply to throw back at him.
"Get dressed," he said, standing up. "We’re already on the tarmac. I’ll be waiting outside." With that, he turned and left the cabin.
I stared at the empty doorway, a bitter ache twisting in my chest. Is this reality? Hours ago, he had been holding me, whispering praise, acting as though he cared. But the moment he got what he wanted, the warmth vanished, replaced by cold indifference. He hadn’t even asked how my body felt.
I scoffed, shaking my head. What else did I expect?
I pulled myself up, dressed as quickly as my sore muscles would allow, grabbed my backpack, and walked out into the main cabin to find him.
When he saw me, he stood up immediately. "Let’s go," he said without looking back.
We stepped out of the jet and onto the private airstrip. Waiting for him below were three sleek black cars, surrounded by a dozen men in tailored suits and dark glasses, looking like an elite mafia syndicate.
Normally, a welcome party like that would have terrified me, but right now, I barely noticed them. We were back in Saint City. Whatever happened between us was over.
When we reached the lead car, I stopped before getting in and bowed my head slightly. "Thank you for your help," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Once we leave the airport, you can drop me off at the nearest road. I’ll go home from there."
Frederick paused, turning his head slowly. "Which home?"
"To my family."
He looked at me, a cold, incredulous smile touching his lips as he shook his head. "You really are one of the stupidest pretty faces I’ve ever met."
"What?" I blinked, taken aback.
"Get in the car."
He didn’t give me time to process his words. He gently grabbed the strap of my backpack and pulled me forward. One of the security guards immediately opened the door, and he guided me into the back seat.
Frederick leaned down through the open car door to look at me, his eyes flashing with a dark, dangerous promise.
"I didn’t ask questions before because I didn’t think you were my cup of tea," he said smoothly. "But after what we shared... I’ve become quite interested in letting your family know exactly who you’ve gotten involved with."
"What do you mean—?"
Without another word, Frederick climbed into the back seat beside me, and the bodyguard silently clicked the heavy door shut.
"Mr. Corvin," I demanded, shifting in my seat as much as my sore, aching body would allow, "what do you mean by that?"
He cut me off entirely, his expression maddeningly unbothered. "What would you like to eat? Something homemade, takeout, or should we eat at a restaurant?"
I stared at him, my mouth dropping open, utterly incapable of closing it as the convoy smoothly pulled away from the tarmac and merged onto the highway.
"Tell me," he added, leaning back against the plush leather, "when you’ve decided what you want to eat."
"Sir," the driver called from the front.