Page 44 of Big Dick Energy

She went quiet like she was processing the information. A flight attendant drifted past offering drinks, and we both waved her off.

“So what if you met your person?” Her voice had gone soft, thoughtful. “That one person you can't live without, and she wants marriage. Would you really walk away from that over a contract?”

My chest tightened, and I couldn’t explain why. “Would she really walk away over a contract?” I countered.

She considered my response. “I guess...” She tilted her head, and a strand of hair fell across her cheek. “If she wants to get married, she's probably not your person.”

“Yeah.” Then, because the conversation had gotten too heavy, too real: “What helps you destress after a rough day?”

She twisted her head toward me without lifting it from the seat, and a smirk tugged at her lips. “Easy...”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

“There's nothing better after a long, hard day than wine and an orgasm.”

I choked on nothing, literally inhaled air wrong, and had to cough into my fist while she watched with amusement. “At the same time, or...”

“Sip of wine. Orgasm. More wine.” She said it like she was reading a grocery list, then turned forward and closed her eyes again, leaving me sitting there trying to process what had just happened.

My brain had short-circuited. Completely flatlined. The image of her, wine glass in one hand, head thrown back…

Nope. Not going there. Not on an airplane where I couldn't escape.

Fuck… I shifted in my seat.

I cleared my throat, desperate for any topic that didn't involve her and orgasms in the same sentence. “Do you want to crash at my place or yours tonight?”

Nothing.

I glanced over. Her breathing had evened out, lips slightly parted, body completely limp. Asleep. Just like that. Out cold.

A grin tugged at my mouth despite the uncomfortable tightness in my jeans that her little wine and orgasm comment had caused.

My gaze drifted down to her right hand resting on the armrest beside mine, the wedding band catching the overhead light. Wrong hand. She was still wearing it on the wrong damn hand.

I reached over carefully, my fingers barely brushing her skin as I slipped the ring off, and she didn't even stir. I transferred the band to her left hand, where it belonged, then did the same with my own ring.

I settled back in my seat and tried very, very hard not to think about my sleeping wife beside me, or the way she'd looked in her bridesmaid dress, or the fact that I liked Davina more than I wanted to admit.

CHAPTER 16

BACK TO REALITY

DAVINA

I startled awake to the violent jolt of wheels hitting the tarmac and the cabin lights flickering overhead.

My head was nestled against Dallas’s chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulders like it belonged there. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. It felt good. Comfortable. Like I'd found exactly the right spot after a lifetime of searching.

I kept my eyes shut, feigning sleep for a few more seconds while I tried to regain my composure. The last thing I remembered was making a deliberately provocative statement about wine and orgasms just to watch him squirm.

Then I'd fallen asleep mid-conversation like some kind of narcoleptic sloth.

The plane jostled again as it taxied, and I felt Dallas's arm tighten reflexively around me.

“I know you're awake,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Your breathing changed.”

Busted. I opened my eyes and pulled away, immediately missing his warmth. “Sorry,” I said, sitting up straight and trying to smooth my hair. “I didn't mean to use you as a pillow.”