Chapter Text
Air France One, somewhere over the warm darkness of the Caspian Sea.
The cabin lights were down to a single amber strip, just enough to catch the gold in their eyes.
Emmanuel slipped through the door first, Brigitte right behind him. She let it click shut, then leaned back against it, arms folded under her breasts, robe slipping off one shoulder. The silence between them was already thick, humming like the engines—punctuated by a faint metallic clink from somewhere deeper in the cabin.
He smiled first, soft, conspiratorial.
“You know the pilots rerouted us twenty minutes south just because I asked?”
She arched a brow.
“Poor pilots. They had no idea what they were enabling.”
He stepped closer, slow, until the toes of his polished shoes touched her bare feet.
“I may have told them I needed to… review some very sensitive documents.”
Brigitte laughed under her breath. “Sensitive. Wet. Same difference tonight.”
His knuckles brushed the inside of her wrist, tracing up the soft skin of her forearm, stopping just before the curve of her breast—where he noticed first the subtle quickening of her breath, even before the flush on her chest.
“You started without me,” he murmured, noticing the faint flush high on her chest, the way her thighs pressed together under the silk. “And after last time we crossed the Urals… I should’ve expected it.”
“Someone left me alone with a glass of champagne and too many memories,” she teased. “My hand wandered.”
He exhaled, half-laugh, half-groan, and leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth, gentle, lingering. “Show me where it wandered.”
She took his hand, guided it beneath the robe, let his fingers slide over the slick heat already waiting. His breath caught; hers trembled out against his cheek.
“See?” she whispered. “Traitorous body. One thought of you and I’m soaked.”
He circled her clit once, slow, feather-light, watching her eyes flutter.
“I spent the entire takeoff hard,” he confessed against her ear.
“Had to keep the briefing folder strategically placed.”
Brigitte smiled, wicked and fond, and nipped his lower lip.
“Poor Monsieur le Président. All that power and still undone by a little turbulence between his legs.”
He kissed her properly then, deep, unhurried, tasting champagne and want.
She melted into it, hands sliding up to loosen his tie completely, popping the first two buttons of his shirt so she could mouth along his throat. He shivered when she found the spot just under his jaw that always made him weak.
They moved together toward the wide seat, shedding clothes in quiet laughter when his cufflink snagged on her robe, when her hair caught on his watch. By the time he sat, shirt open, trousers unzipped, she was naked except for the robe hanging off her elbows like a truce flag.
She straddled him slowly, knees sinking into the leather on either side of his hips. His cock was heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking at the tip; she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking once, twice, spreading the slickness with her thumb.
“Feel how hard you make me?” he breathed.
“I feel how wet you make me,” she countered, guiding the head of his cock through her folds, coating him, teasing them both until they were trembling.
No rush.
She sank down inch by inch, eyes locked, breath mingling.
When he was fully inside her, they both exhaled like they’d been holding it for hours. She rolled her hips once, slow, savouring the stretch, the perfect fit.
He cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones.
“Je t’aime comme ça,” he whispered. “Open, dripping, taking me so beautifully.”
She kissed him again, softer this time, and started to move: long, languid strokes that dragged him over every sensitive spot inside her. His hands slid to her ass, guiding but never forcing, just feeling the flex of muscle as she rode him. Every time she ground down, her clit rubbed against his pelvis and they both moaned into each other’s mouths.
Minutes blurred. The plane rocked gently; they used it, letting the motion add an extra thrust, an extra roll. She leaned back, hands braced on his knees, giving him the full view of his cock disappearing into her glistening cunt again and again. He watched, transfixed, then reached down to circle her clit with two fingers.
Her head fell back, hair spilling everywhere.
“Yes… right there… don’t stop…”
He didn’t.
He kept that perfect pressure, matching her rhythm until her thighs shook and she came with a broken gasp, inner walls fluttering around him, soaking his lap.
He followed seconds later, hips jerking up, spilling deep inside her in long, pulsing waves, her name a reverent murmur against her breast.
They stayed locked together, breathing slowing, sweat cooling. She traced idle hearts on his chest with a fingertip.
“Next time,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear, “maybe we should take a roundabout route over the scenic Indian Ocean. More turbulence.”
He laughed quietly, kissed her temple, still buried inside her.
“Careful… in fewer than three hours we’ll be over the Tangri Tagh. And the turbulence there? Mon amour… you won’t be walking off the plane.”