{BOOK THREE}...When unworldly literature student Jeon Jungkook first encountered the driven and dazzling young entrepreneur Kim Taehyung it sparked a sensual affair that changed both of their lives irrevocably. Shocked, intrigued, and, ultimately, r...
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Jungkook P.O.V.
As the plane taxis out on to the runway, we sip our champagne, grinning inanely at each other. I can't believe it. At twenty-two years old, I'm finally leaving the United States and going to Europe—to London of all places.
Once we're airborne, Natalia serves us yet more champagne and prepares our wedding feast. And what a feast it is—smoked salmon, followed by roast part-ridge with a green bean salad and dauphinoise potatoes, all cooked and served by the ever-efficient Natalia.
"Dessert, Mr. Kim?" she asks.
He shakes his head and runs his finger across his bottom lip as he looks questioningly at me, his expression dark and unreadable.
"No, thank you," I murmur, unable to break eye contact with him. His lips curl up in a small, secret smile and Natalia retreats.
"Good," he murmurs. "I'd rather planned on having you for dessert."
Oh . . . here?
"Come," he says, rising from the table and offering me his hand. He leads me to the back of the cabin.
"There's a bathroom here." He points to a small door then leads me on down a short corridor and through a door at the end.
Jeez . . . a bedroom. The cabin is cream and maple wood and the small double bed is covered in gold and taupe cushions. It looks very comfortable.
Taehyung turns and pulls me into his arms, gazing down at me.
"I thought we'd spend our wedding night at thirty-five-thousand feet. It's something I've never done before."
Holy cow . . . another first. I gape at him, my heart pounding . . . the mile high club. I've heard about this.
"But first I have to get you out of this fabulous outfit." His eyes glow with love and something darker, something I love . . . something that calls to my inner goddess. He takes my breath away.
"Turn around." His voice is low, authoritative, and sexy as hell. How can he infuse so much promise into those two words? Willingly I comply and his hands move to my hair. Gently he scoops up the strands few at a time, his expert fingers making short work of the task. My hair is propelled in a mini manbun, a smidgeon amount of strands left out in the front of my face, covering my eyesight a bit. I try to stand still and not squirm, but I'm aching for his touch. After our long, tiring but exciting day, I want him—all of him.
"You have such beautiful hair, Kook." His mouth is close to my ear and I feel his breath, though his lips don't touch me. When he's finally done, he runs his fingers through it, gently massaging my scalp . . . oh my . . . I close my eyes and savor the sensation. His fingers travel on down, and he tugs, tilting my head back to expose my throat.
"You're mine," he breathes and his teeth tug my ear lobe.
I groan.
"Hush now," he admonishes. He sweeps my hair out of my eyes and trails a finger across the top of my back from shoulder to shoulder following the black trim at edge of my suit. I shiver in anticipation. He plants a tender kiss on my nape above the collared part on my suit jacket. He then swiftly removes my suit jacket leaving me in my white lace button down silk shirt.
