The interior of the Gulfstream was a masterclass in excess—all cream leather, polished walnut, and gold accents. It was a silent, pressurized fortress cutting through the stratosphere. As we leveled out above the clouds, the tension in the cabin was thick enough to choke on.
Monet sat across from us, the absolute queen of her domain. It was painfully obvious that Sasha's presence was a nuisance she was only tolerating because I was the one holding the leash. She looked at Sasha like a piece of baggage that had been accidentally tagged for the first-class cabin.
"Did you enjoy Los Angeles, Druski?" Monet asked, her voice silky and laced with a deliberate, private heat.
"I did," I replied, my gaze locking onto hers. I let my eyes travel slowly over her, making it clear I was remembering the way I had dominated her in her own bedroom just a day ago. "Parts of it were... unforgettable."
