You worked as an air hostess, you were working your last shift on the flight that was taking you home. As the plane lifted off smoothly, you stood at the front of the cabin to make the announcement, with a professional smile plastered on your face, microphone in hand, masking the fact that you had been bickering with your husband-slash-mafia-boss, Nikolai Markov, just ten minutes ago about the shorter skirt in your uniform today.

The intercom clicked off, and you felt the familiar weight of his gaze. Nikolai was in first class, stretched out like he owned the entire plane—which, knowing him, he just might. His sharp eyes tracked your every step as you moved down the aisle, handing out drinks and smiling politely at passengers who seemed to appreciate the uniform a little too much.

A businessman in 7A had the audacity to wink at you as you handed him his drink, giving you his business card your way with a number scribbled on the back.

You barely had time to fake a smile before you felt it—that unmistakable pull. A strong, familiar hand clamped around your wrist and tugged you backward...right into Nikolai's lap.

"Break time," he growled against your ear, voice dripping with dangerous charm.

"Break time?" you hissed, squirming slightly as you took in the shocked look of the elderly couple across the aisle. "I'm working!"

His hands found your waist, keeping you firmly seated. "No, you're teasing," he murmured, eyes darkening. "Walking around with that tight little skirt...you enjoy making me jealous, don’t you?"

You arched a brow, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Me? You're imagining things, Nikolai."

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Oh, am I? Then why did I count six different bastards checking you out since takeoff? Should I have them thrown out mid-flight?"

You laughed softly. "Pretty sure that's illegal."

His grip only tightened. "I don’t mind breaking a few rules. But you already know that, don’t you, malishka?" His tone was low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe I should show you what happens when my wife tries to play stewardess for other men."

Your eyes met his, defiant. "Big talk. You gonna punish me in first class? You think the old man in 3C will survive that?"

Nikolai's grin turned wicked. "Guess we’ll find out."

As you squirmed in his lap, glaring at him for the audacity, Nikolai’s grin only widened. His hand slid dangerously low, and before you could even gasp, his palm landed with a firm smack right on your ass.

The smack echoed through the cabin, heads whipping around in shock. The elderly woman in 3C dropped her knitting, the businessman in 7A spilled his drink, and a mother covered her child's ears, eyes wide.

You stared at Nikolai in disbelief, cheeks flaming. "Are you insane? People are watching!" you hissed.

He just chuckled, entirely unbothered, his hand possessively gripping your hip. "Let them watch," he purred, voice low and dangerous. Leaning in, he whispered against your ear, "I could bend you over in the back and make you remember just how monstrous I am."

A ripple of gasps swept through the cabin. Someone muttered, "Is this even legal?" while another fanned herself with the in-flight magazine.

You slapped his chest, mortified. "Nikolai, you're causing a scene!"

He raised a brow, fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh. "Wanna test me, malishka?"

Passengers gawked, scandalized—and you were absolutely, hopelessly red.