Jessica's POV

Kim Taeyeon's background check reveals a ticket for possession of . There is nothing in her police records for ual harassment. Maybe last night would have been a first if I hadn’t intervened. And the little prick smokes weed? I hope she doesn’t smoke around Fany—and I hope she doesn’t smoke, period.

Opening Andrea’s e-mail, I send the NDA to the printer in my study at home in BLANC. Fany will need to sign it before I show her my playroom. And in a moment of weakness, or hubris, or perhaps unprecedented optimism—I don’t know which—I fill in her name and address on my standard Dom/sub contract and send that to print, too.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Hey, hotshot. Let’s go hiking,” Krystal says through the door.

Ah…the child has woken from her nap.

X

The scent of pine, fresh damp earth, and late spring is a balm to my senses. The smell reminds me of those heady days of my childhood, running through a forest with Krystal and my brother Ian under the watchful eyes of our adoptive parents. The quiet, the space, the freedom…the scrunch of dry pine needles underfoot.

Here in the great outdoors I could forget.

Here was a refuge from my nightmares.

Krystal chatters away, needing only the occasional grunt from me to keep talking. As we make our way along the pebbled shore of the Aral Canal my mind strays to Tiffany. For the first time in a long time, I have a sweet sense of anticipation. I’m excited.

Will she say yes to my proposal?

I picture her sleeping beside me, soft and small…and my heart twitches with expectation. I could have woken her and ed her then—what a novelty that would have been.

I’ll her in time.

I’ll her bound and with her smart mouth gagged.

X

Melatone is quiet. The last customer left five minutes ago. And I’m waiting—again—drumming my fingers on my thighs. Patience is not my forte. Even the long hike with Krystal today has not dampened my restlessness. She’s having dinner with Yoona this evening at The Northern Lights. Two dates on consecutive nights is not her usual style.

Suddenly the fluorescent lights inside the store flicker off, the front door opens, and Fany steps out into a mild Incheon evening. My heart begins to hammer. This is it: either the beginning of a new relationship or the beginning of the end. She waves good-bye to a young man who’s followed her out. It’s not the same person I met the last time I was here—it’s someone new. He watches her walk toward the car, his eyes on her . Jongin distracts me by making a move to climb out of the car, but I stop him. This is my call. When I’m out of the car holding the door open for her, the new guy is locking up the store and no longer ogling Miss Hwang.

Her lips curve into a shy smile as she approaches, her hair in a jaunty ponytail swinging in the evening breeze.

“Good evening, Miss Hwang.”

“Ms. Jung,” she says. She’s dressed in black jeans…Jeans again. She greets Jongin as she climbs into the backseat of the car.

Once I’m beside her I clasp her hand, while Jongin pulls out onto the empty road and heads to the Incheon helipad. “How was work?” I ask, enjoying the feel of her hand in mine.

“Very long,” she says, her voice husky.

“Yes, it’s been a long day for me, too.”

It’s been hell waiting for the last couple of hours!

“What did you do?” she asks.

“I went hiking with Krystal.” Her hand is warm and soft. She glances down at our joined fingers and I brush her knuckles with my thumb over and over. Her breath catches and her eyes meet mine. In them I see her longing and desire…and her sense of anticipation. I just hope she accepts my proposition.

Mercifully, the drive to the helipad is short. When we’re out of the car I take her hand again. She looks a little perplexed.

Ah. She’s wondering where the helicopter might be.

“Ready?” I ask. She nods, and I lead her into the building toward the elevator. She gives me a quick knowing look.

She’s remembering the kiss from this morning, but then…so am I.

“It’s only three floors,” I mutter.

As we stand inside I make a mental note to her in an elevator one day. That’s if she agrees to my deal.

On the roof Charlie Tango, newly arrived from Boeing Field, is prepped and ready to fly, though there’s no sign of Stephan, who’s brought her down here. But Joe, who runs the helipad in Incheon, is in the small office. He salutes when I see him. He’s older than my grandpa, and what he doesn’t know about flying is not worth knowing; he flew Sikorskys in Korea for casualty evacuation, and boy, does he have some hair-raising stories.

“Here’s your flight plan, Ms. Jung,” Joe says, his gravelly voice betraying his age. “All external checks are done. She’s ready and waiting, miss. You’re good to go.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

A quick glance at Fany tells me that she’s excited…and so am I. This is a first.

“Let’s go.” With her hand in mine once more, I lead Fany over the helipad to Charlie Tango. The safest Eurocopterin her class and a delight to fly. She’s my pride and joy. I hold the door open for Fany; she scrambles inside and I climb in behind her.

“Over there,” I order, pointing to the front passenger seat. “Sit. Don’t touch anything.” I’m amazed when she does as she’s told.

Once in her seat, she examines the array of instruments with a mixture of awe and enthusiasm. Crouching down beside her, I strap her into the seat harness, trying not to imagine her as I do it. I take a little longer than is necessary because this might be my last chance to be this close to her, my last chance to inhale her sweet, evocative scent. Once she knows about my predilections she may flee…on the other hand, she may embrace the lifestyle. The possibilities this conjures in my mind are almost overwhelming. She’s watching me intently, she’s so close…so lovely. I tighten the last strap. She’s not going anywhere. Not for an hour at least.

Suppressing my excitement, I whisper, “You’re secure. No escaping.” She inhales sharply. “Breathe, Tiffany,” I add, and caress her cheek. Holding her chin, I lean down and kiss her quickly. “I like this harness,” I mutter. I want to tell her I have others, in leather, in which I’d like to see her trussed and suspended from the ceiling. But I behave, sit down, and buckle up.

“Put your cans on.” I point to the headset in front of Fany. “I’m just going through all the pre-flight checks.” All instruments look good. I press the throttle to 1500 rpm, transponder to stand-by, and position beacon on. Everything is set and ready to go.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asks with wonder. I inform her that I’ve been a fully qualified pilot for four years. Her smile is infectious.

“You’re safe with me,” I reassure her, and add, “Well, while we’re flying.” I give her a wink, she beams, and I’m dazzled.

“Are you ready?” I ask—and I can’t quite believe how excited I am to have her here beside me.

She nods.

I talk to the tower—they’re awake—and increase the throttle to 2000 rpm. Once they’ve given us clearance I do my final checks. Oil temperature is at 104. Good. I increase the manifold pressure to 14, the engine to 2500 rpm, and pull back on the throttle. And like the elegant bird she is…Charlie Tango rises into the air.

Tiffany gasps as the ground disappears below us, but she holds her tongue, entranced by the waning lights of Incheon. Soon we are shrouded in darkness; the only light emanates from the instruments before us. Fany’s face is illuminated by the red and green glow as she stares into the night.

“Eerie, isn’t it?”

Though I don’t find it so. To me this is a comfort. Nothing can harm me here.

I’m safe and hidden in the dark.

“How do you know you’re going the right way?” Fany asks.

“Here.” I point to the panel. I don’t want to bore her talking about instrument flight rules, but the fact is it’s all the equipment in front of me that guides us to our destination: the attitude indicator, the altimeter, the VSI, and of course the GPS. I tell her about Charlie Tango, and how she’s equipped for night flight.

Fany looks at me, amazed.

“There’s a helipad on top of the building I live in. That’s where we’re heading.”

I look back at the panel, checking all the data. This is what I love: the control, my safety and well-being reliant on my mastery of the technology in front of me. “When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation,” I tell her.

“How long will the flight be?” she asks, a little breathless.

“Less than an hour—the wind is in our favour.” I glance at her again. “You okay, Tiffany?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice oddly abrupt.