TIGmas Day #4 – Eye of the Storm
Today’s story is for @theinheriteddutchess, and it’s just the right amount of unhinged and delicious… and Christmassy!
TW: Deception, manipulation, coercion, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, lying about birth control, semi-public sex, Terry Silver brooding and tired of waiting around
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Eye of the Storm
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Terry’s POV:
Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. At this time, all flights are currently canceled until further notice due to inclement weather. All commercial and private aircraft are currently grounded until conditions improve.
Weather. One of the few things in life that remained out of his control. This blizzard in particular seems to be taunting him with that fact.
LaGuardia is bustling on Christmas Eve, the airport overflowing with clusters of families and travelers trying to make their way to their loved ones. Terry’s just grateful he’s surveying them all from the relative quiet of the elite lounge reserved for those flying in private jets, looking through the tinted windows at the unsuspecting commoners.
Christmas Eve.
He’d intentionally scheduled his year-end meetings in New York for this time of year, wanting to keep himself occupied. With the All Valley tournament won earlier in the month, Terry had taken a step away from the dojo for the remainder of the year; hearing chatter about the holidays always left him feeling agitated. Frustrated.
Alone.
And now, instead of enjoying the luxuries of private air travel and anticipating a return to the reasonable, warm climate of Los Angeles – he hated the cold – he was stuck surrounded by reminders of his solitude, nursing a passable whiskey.
A family pulls off to the side, right in front of him, mother and father trying to calm their wailing brats, and he feels an uncomfortable pang in his chest.
How could so many undeserving, unworthy, average joes reproduce their mediocrity with ease while he, with an empire that could sustain generations of his legacy, went without?
He had spent the first decade or so of his career living up to the stereotype of the billionaire playboy, having more than his share of fun with anyone and everyone that had struck his fancy. He figured that when it was time for him to settle down, he’d have his pick of worthy candidates, beautiful women of good stock that would kill for the opportunity to bear his name and his children.
But no one had met his standards, and he was now well into the winter of his lifetime. It was too late.
… Or was it?
He may be pushing seventy, but his doctor had assured him he was still able to conceive during his most recent physical. He had plenty of resources to attract and… retain a suitable partner. And it wasn’t like he was settling down in his thirties; he could find someone worthy enough to have and raise his children without tiring of them after decades of time together.
Someone younger, naïve, impressionable… Someone that he could shape into the perfect wife and mother, if they didn’t come that way naturally.
A flustered young woman walks by, her open trenchcoat revealing flaring, child-bearing hips, her eyes sparkling with an anger that indicated great depth of passion.
Someone like you.
He finishes his drink, throwing his coat back on and wrapping his red scarf around his neck, straightening to his full height as he tracks your movement through the airport with his eyes, seeing you find a seat towards the end of the terminal.
It was time to expand his dynasty.
Reader’s POV:
Even at the far end of the terminal the noise is deafening, and you can’t help but scowl at the throng of people standing around as their travel plans are put on hold, the airport full to bursting.
You think you would give anything to be away from this crowd right now.
All you are trying to do is call your mom – God forbid the family cabin have cell reception, let alone Wi-Fi – to let her know you wouldn’t be there for Christmas. At least this afforded you an excuse that she couldn’t hold against you, but you wish that you could be back in your apartment instead of trapped here.
“Excuse me, Miss –” comes a soft voice behind you, a large hand squeezing your shoulder.
“What?!” you snap, spinning around in your seat to glare at the offender. The man removes his hand from you immediately, leaning back to give you space with a slightly wounded look in his blue eyes. Your frustration dissipates and is replaced with guilt.
“I’m sorry for startling you. I just wanted to ask if this was yours?” he explains in his smooth, deep voice, your passport in his hand.
Well, now don’t you feel foolish.
“Oh my God, yes it is!” you exclaim, cheeks flaming with embarrassment at your temper tantrum. “Thank you, Sir,” you continue, reclaiming your passport and tucking it securely into your pocket. “I’m so sorry for being so rude just now, I –”
“There’s no need to apologize,” the man cuts you off, giving you a warm smile. “Airports are stressful even under the best of circumstances.”
“Still, that’s no excuse to take it out on you,” you chide yourself. “I’m just trying to make a call, but it’s too loud in here,” you explain, and the man tilts his head to the side as he stares at your lips, trying to figure out what you’re saying over the din of the bustling airport.
“I just want to make a fucking phone call and I can’t hear anything with all these people!” you snarl, glaring all around you as your temper flares into life once again. The man’s face twitches in response; you suspect he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing at you.
“I believe I can help you with that,” he offers kindly, somehow managing to speak audibly without raising his voice. “If you’d like, that is.”
“You can get me out of this mob?! I’m all yours!” you take him up on his offer enthusiastically. For a second, you think you see a wicked, pleased smirk on his face, but then you blink and he’s turned to walk away. You hasten after him, having a much more difficult time getting through the crowd; this man seems to have an aura about him that makes people give him a wide berth. At least it made him easy to spot – well, that and the fact that he towers over everyone else.
Now that your temper has been quelled, you take a moment to really look at this man. He was older, probably in his sixties, but looked strong – you doubt your head would even come up to his shoulders. He’s dressed in luxurious, well-tailored clothing that indicated wealth, with a full head of wavy hair that nearly brushed his shoulders. As he stops and turns back to see if you’ve followed, you notice how his hair, a lovely shade of silver, compliments his bright blue eyes.
All in all, he’s a real Silver Fox.
You catch up to him, glancing at the plain black door with a key card reader next to it before looking up at him curiously.
“Where does this lead to?”
“A private lounge,” he replies, not giving anything else away. So, he was proper rich, then. You reflexively back away from the door as if it could tell that you couldn’t afford to enter.
“Oh, I don’t think I’m allowed to –”
“You’ll be with me, you’ll be fine,” he cuts off your concerns, waving them away with a hand. You bite your lip, unconvinced.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask, you brow furrowing in concern. “You don’t know me at all!”
He offers you his hand, his expensive watch dangling from his wrist and catching your eye. “I’m Terry Silver. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he purrs, charisma oozing from every syllable. You find yourself shaking his hand before you’ve even thought about it, enjoying the way it fully envelops your own.
“Y/N L/N,” you reply, suddenly feeling shy; he hasn’t released your hand.
“A lovely name. So, now that we know one another, will you be joining me?” he asks, giving you a lopsided grin that makes him appear younger; it was truly difficult to gauge his age.
You find yourself still hesitating, though you’re not entirely sure why. This man hadn’t given you any reason to question his intentions, and it wasn’t like any harm could befall you in an airport, of all places. He opens the door with a swipe of his card, holding it ajar with a raised eyebrow in your direction.
“Well, I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet of this wonderful, mostly empty lounge. It was nice talking to you, Y/N,” he says teasingly striding through the doorway without another look back.
“I… Wait!” you hurry after him, barely catching the door before it closes after him. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
He turns back to you with a beaming smile, clearly pleased by your decision.
“Glad to hear it!” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice as his eyes twinkle at you, walking at a slower pace to match your shorter stride. Suddenly, he bends towards you to whisper in your ear, the gesture sending a surprising thrill through you.
“This will be the only awkward part, my dear. I promise,” murmurs, and you’re momentarily dazed by the scent of his cologne before you realize he has wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hugging you close to his side as he walks past the hostess, flashing her a card before carrying on right past her.
The moment you’re out of her sight, he respectfully releases you, giving you some space. You find yourself more than a little disappointed by the loss of his presence.
“I hope I didn’t overstep, Y/N. It was just the easiest way to get you inside.”
“I…No, I don’t mind,” you stammer, feeling like an idiot. “Thank you.”
Terry leads you to a quiet, secluded booth next to a bar; you can count the other patrons on the fingers of one hand. The headache you felt coming on since your flight was canceled evaporates the moment you take a seat across from him.
“Go ahead and make your call,” he insists, staring pointedly at your phone in your hand.
A server comes over at Terry’s signal, and he orders a whiskey neat, the brand sounding foreign and expensive, then gestures to you with an open palm.
You order a double of your favourite highball, getting the sense that you’ll need the liquid courage to get you through both the phone call and the rest of the evening.
Terry’s POV:
As he nurses his drink and pretends to watch the snow continue to fall through the large window, he reviews the information he has gleaned from eavesdropping on your phonecall:
The rest of your family is off in the middle of nowhere, a landline being the only means of communication with the outside world (and, more importantly, you).
They believe that you’re lying about the canceled flight to try to get out of the holiday. This appears to upset you, though he senses it’s not entirely untrue.
You’re something of a workaholic, a point of pride for you and a sore spot for your loved ones. He thinks he appreciates the dedication.
You’re currently single, if the icy tone you used to spit out the name ‘Derek’ into your phone was any indication.
And you can handle your liquor, he notes as you polish off your drink, scowling as you listen to whoever is on the other line.
You’ll do.
“I’ve apologized a hundred times; I don’t know what more you want from me! I’ll do my best to get there when the weather clears, mom. Thank you, goodbye,” you growl into the phone, hanging up more aggressively than necessary.
“Seasons Greetings from the family?” Terry jokes wryly, and you give him a withering look. You have a pretty, expressive face; he’s looking forward to watching it transform into a mask of ecstasy for him.
“Bah, Humbug,” you grumble with a pout that draws his attention to your full lower lip. Had he lucked out, running into you at the perfect moment, or was he simply finding you more and more desirable because he was planning to knock you up some time within the next few hours?
“Thank you for bringing me here and letting me do this, Mr. Silver,” you say graciously, letting out a heavy sigh and sliding down the booth like you thought you were going somewhere.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks with incredulity, and you freeze in place.
“I was going to go pay for my drink and then get out of your hair,” you offer weakly. He’s pleased you’re already looking guilty at the thought of going against his plans for you. Wanting to test you, he points a finger at you before pointing a few feet to your right. Sure enough, you follow his direction, sliding back into the booth obediently. Good girl.
“Firstly, your money is no good here; everything is automatically put on my card,” he counters you smoothly, wanting to set out the expectations for your future relationship right from the outset.
“Then please, allow me to reimburse you at least, Mr. Silver –” you plead, and he decides he likes that tone from you very much.
“Terry,” he corrects you sternly, noting your blush. You like being told what to do. “And no,” he adds petulantly, for good measure.
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing all this?” you ask with frustration, your voice tinged with desperation. The way your big, beautiful eyes are fixed on his, looking to him for answers… he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.
“I saw an opportunity to be a Good Samaritan and I took it,” he replies simply, nodding in recognition as the server replaces your drinks with fresh ones, though his eyes never move away from your face. Sensing that you’re not fully buying into his logic, he decides to take a more sentimental route, with the added bonus at hinting at his plans for you.
“And I don’t have a family I’m trying to get to; the least I could do is help you contact your own.”
Terry watches a wave of sympathy wash over your features, and he feels his hooks sink a bit deeper into you with satisfaction. After a moment, your expression returns to normal, though your eyes appear calculating.
“Nothing’s for free,” you state matter-of-factly, though you don’t hesitate to take a sip of your second drink. He bites back a smile as you make use of one of his favourite expressions. “What’s in it for you?”
“Your company as we wait out the weather, if anything,” he replies innocently, blinking at you as if he was utterly perplexed by what you could be insinuating. He cackles in his head.
“Although, you certainly seem eager to be back in the chaos of the terminal,” he carries on, his voice teasing. “And here I thought I had found a kindred spirit.” He sighs deeply, turning his gaze back to the window. Though he hates the snow, it is currently his greatest ally in his ploy to keep you with him.
“You… you just want someone to talk to?” your words are heavy with unease, and his eyes flit back to you. Someone so young and appealing shouldn’t be so wary, so surprised at receiving attention. You would have all of it.
Provided it was first approved by him, of course.
“Do you know of a better way to pass the time?” he asks politely, noting the way that your throat constricts as you swallow heavily, not meeting his eye as you shake your head. Your desire is evident; now to get you to let your guard down and act on it. The more you thought this was your idea, the easier it would be for him later on if you needed… convincing.
“Where are you meant to be heading to?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.
“My family is in Washington. We have a cabin on Mt. Baker that we try to get to every Christmas. They’re all there, waiting for me,” you explain, a trace of bitterness to your voice.
“You make it sound like they’re going to pounce on you,” he notes with amusement, looking at you with sympathy even as he imagines being the one to give you that treatment. You sigh, fortunately not having any insight into his thoughts.
“They mean well, and I love them all very much, but they can be a lot. I’m glad I only see them two or three times a year.”
“Loved ones always seem to aggravate us like no one else,” he agrees, his jaw clenching imperceptibly.
“And you?” you attempt to reverse the roles you’re playing, and Terry allows the move. “Where are you heading?”
“Home, to Los Angeles. I was in New York for business,” he answers, purposely keeping his answers vague. Further questions on your part would suggest growing interest, and he wants to hurry the process along.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to be somewhere warm for Christmas!” you respond with jealousy, sighing dreamily. Ask, and you shall receive.
“It won’t be much of a Christmas, I’m afraid,” he adds, wanting to see your pity. And, no surprise, there it is, your eyes softening as you take him in. He sees your fingers twitch, and suspects you’re fighting the instinct to take his hand comfortingly. He’ll have to break you of that habit, and soon; your instincts are far more aligned to his intentions.
“I’m sorry, you mentioned you weren’t going to visit family.”
“It sounds like you are quite similar to how I was at your age; prioritizing work, only visiting family occasionally… having a bit of a short fuse,” he teases, winking at you, and you blush, scowling at him.
“Well, clearly I’m on the right track, then, if you’re able to get into a place like this,” you respond cheekily. He gives you a piercing look over the rim of his glass, as though taking a contemplative sip. Your eyes seem focused on the way his hand grips his glass; he runs a fingertip along the rim for good measure.
“I don’t know about that,” he replies, going for a somber mood. “I think my one and only regret is not having a family of my own.”
You give him that same look of sympathy again, this time looking as though you might leap at across the table and into his lap to console him. Almost there… he can taste the growing tension between you two on his tongue, like a snake tracking the scent of its prey.
“And yours?” he asks, once again keeping you on your toes by switching your dynamic. “Do you have any regrets yet, Y/N?” he asks, cocking his head in interest. You fidget under his intense gaze, seemingly unable to look away.
“Hmm, maybe. I’ll have to think about it!” you avoid the question, clearly uncomfortable with looking inward. No matter; he’d soon pry you apart and get everything out in the open. “If I go use the bathroom in this place, are they going to fingerprint me or ask for a fancy card?” you ask jokingly, giving him a wink. He lets you change the subject; having a few minutes to himself would be beneficial.
“No, once you make it past the hostess, you can pretty much run amok around here,” he replies, pointing you in the right direction. He follows your retreating form with his eyes, sliding down the booth the moment you round the corner, his hands quickly pulling your coat towards him and retrieving your passport once again from your pocket. You really should pay more attention to keeping track of such important documents.
Tucking the small booklet in the front pouch of his suitcase, he slides out of the booth and over to the bartender.
“Another drink, Mr. Silver?” the man asks, already turning to reach for his preferred bottle.
“No, I want a room. The biggest you’ve got, and for God’s sake, it had better be clean.”
He doesn’t want to have to waste time with all of these formalities once he’s whisking you away to defile you.
“Your card, please,” the man requests, unfazed by Terry’s tone and request. Handing it over, the card is swiped, updating access to one of the private rooms.
“That’ll be Room #8, Mr. Silver; last door on the left down the hall.”
“Thank you, Roger,” he replies smugly. “If my guest and I are nowhere to be found, and our luggage is still at our booth, keep an eye on it for me, would you?”
He finds he doesn’t want to be subtle about this; he wants it to be perfectly clear that he’s going to be taking you – hot, young little thing that you are – to a private “Nap Room,” as they called them, and decidedly not nap. The world should know it. The world would know it, once you were his, your body growing and swelling with his child…
“Yes, Mr. Silver.”
He turns away without another word, feeling confident, and sees you emerging from the bathroom. The instant that you spot him, he can see your cheeks turn pink, your gaze darkening, and he suspects his choice to gain access to the room in advance was a wise one. He slowly stalks over to you, building the anticipation until he can see you nearly vibrating from the tension.
“I figured out my regret,” you inform him rather breathlessly once he comes to a stop in front of you. You don’t even come up to his shoulders…
“Oh? Please, enlighten me,” he purrs, looking down at you biting your lip nervously; he resolves to suck on it until it bruises.
You take a deep breath to gather your nerve before looking up at him, your pupils dilating in your desire. Your small hands reach up, gripping an end of his scarf in each hand and pulling so that he bends down to your level.
“Not being spontaneous and taking what I want,” you hiss in his ear, pulling him by the scarf into the bathroom.
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It’s been awhile since he’s been with a younger woman, let alone one with your… tenacity. As you prop yourself up on the bathroom sink to better wrap yourself around him, he is all too happy to let you be in control if it gets him closer to you spreading your legs for him. You pull him down to kiss him again, fingers toying with his hair as you tease his lips with your tongue, letting out a dreamy little sigh that he swallows into his mouth. He slides his hands further up your thighs, coming to squeeze your hips possessively, making you moan.
“Oh Y/N,” he groans, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against your own, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. “The things I want to do to you…”
“Tell me!” you beg, pulling back to look at him with need. “Please, tell me what you want to do! Tell me everything, Terry.”
A few lush kisses and the prospect of dirty talk and you were willing to hand over the reins to him, just like that? He’ll take what he can get.
He grips the backs of your thighs in his large hands, lifting you up off the sink with ease and carrying you over to the wall, pinning you against it. You roll your hips needily at the rough treatment, and he smirks against the skin of your collarbone as he lavishes every inch of your exposed flesh with kisses.
“I want to own you,” he whispers passionately, knowing you’ll dismiss the truth as just something said in the heat of the moment. “I want to learn every inch of your body and how to make it sing for me.” You’re gasping for breath now, head thrown back like a lioness submitting to the pride male, and he relishes in it, inhaling deeply as he runs his nose up from your throat to your ear.
“More, please!” you cry needily, fisting his curls as you hold his head against you. Greedy little thing, weren’t you? He’ll teach you to be careful what you wish for…
“I want to bring you more pleasure than you can possibly imagine,” he hums in contentment, giving the muscle at the side of your neck a playful nip that has you wantonly grinding against him. “I’ll have you coming so many times you won’t remember your own name, baby girl; I want you begging for mercy.”
“Yes Daddy, please!” you moan, and something primal in him growls in approval. He grips your waist, stepping back to lower you to the ground, pleased when you cling to him needily.
“Say. That. Again.” His voice is rough as he demands to hear it again, the irony making him internally howl with glee. Your eyes open as you’re set on your feet, and you seem to realize what you’ve just called him with a great deal of embarrassment. He loves it.
“I – I…” you stammer, unable to look him in the eye. His hand comes down without a second thought, spanking you hard, and you squeak, looking up at him reflexively.
“I said say that again,” he repeats, holding your chin up with a finger so that you can’t look away. Your lower lip trembles, and he traces it with his thumb lightly, making you shiver.
“I… I want you, Daddy,” you whimper, trying to shy away from him, but he grips your chin firmly, making you sit in your humiliation.
“Good girl,” he praises, pulling you against him with an arm around your waist, enjoying the way you respond to him.
“We don’t need to do this here,” he tells you, as though he’s just coming up with the idea. “I’ve got a private room.”
“You have a room in an airport just for you?” you ask, incredulous. “Rich people have everything!”
“Not quite,” he corrects you, pointedly looking you up and down before quickly bundling you out of the room and down the hall.
Reader’s POV:
Your head is spinning as Terry guides you into a simple room and leads you to the bed, looking down at you like you were something to eat. You’re nervous, you’re excited, you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life.
You’re not on the pill, having stopped after getting out of your last relationship, but you’re fairly certain that it won’t be an issue for Terry anymore. You find you don’t care, you’re finally giving yourself over to your base instincts. No regrets.
“Come here,” you demand, sitting up on your knees at the end of the mattress. He smirks down at you, slowly closing the distance between you, and you hook your fingers into his belt loops the moment he’s in reach, tugging him to you by his hips.
“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he asks teasingly, his large hand stroking your hair.
“Is that a problem?” you ask, batting your eyes up at him as you brazenly run a hand over his erection.
“Not at all,” he replies smoothly, getting on his knees on the carpet in front of you. In one fluid motion, he’s gripped your calves out from under you and yanked them towards him, knocking you on your back with the force of the movement. “Provided those roles can also be reversed.”
You’re rarely this dominant sexually, but this man just has you wanting. You find yourself wanting to try anything and everything with him. There’s just something about the way that he looks at you, like he’s planning on having you forever, that you find incredibly appealing.
“I want you any way I can have you, as long as it’s now,” you confess, your fingers moving to his belt. He slowly stands up and leans over you, his hands to either side of your head.
“Then stand up and strip for me,” he requests, his face so close to yours. “Now.”
He moves off of you, sitting on the edge of the bed expectantly. You get to your feet, coming to stand a few feet in front of him. You slowly bend forward at the hips, placing a hand on his knee as you move to unlace your boots, your face nearly in his lap. That task accomplished, you straighten up, giving him a coy smile before turning in place, presenting your butt to him. You hear him shift on the mattress behind you.
“Help me with my zipper?” you ask innocently, looking back at him over your shoulder. He stands, towering over you, his eyes locked with yours as he slowly pulls your zipper down to the small of your back. You shimmy out of it, grinding your ass back against him teasingly, and he growls, gripping your hips firmly.
“Filthy little tease,” he murmurs against your neck. “Let me show you what that gets you.”
Moving far more quickly than you would have thought him capable of, he’s somehow got you naked and on your back in the middle of the bed, kneeling between your spread legs with a ravenous expression. Divesting himself of his own clothing, giving you the opportunity to ogle him – who had a body like this at his age? – he finally starts touching you, his hands and mouth working you into a frenzy. The way his hands map out your body with featherlight touches stands in stark contrast to the strength you know he’s capable of, and the anticipation of more is driving you wild.
“Please!” you find yourself chanting, your hands exploring as much of him as you can reach. Terry ignores your pleas, tormenting you until you think he’s going to have you coming for him without so much as touching your needy pussy.
“Terry, please!” you beg, trying to hook your legs around his waist, but he pins your knees to the bed in his large hands. “I can’t take it anymore, I need –”
He silences you with a kiss, reaching down to slip one finger into your dripping cunt, then two, curling them in a come hither motion to stroke your g-spot.
“Oh, I know what you need,” he hisses in your ear, his thumb toying with your clit in circles that have you bucking your hips against him. “You need me to fuck you hard, and raw, and deep,” he groans, and your begging becomes fully incoherent at this point as you wordlessly wail for him to just use you already.
“Don’t worry, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he promises with a wicked smile, nibbling your earlobe as you shudder, feeling filthy. Finally, he enters you, your slick cunt taking him with ease despite his size, and you let out a moan of completion as he bottoms out. Terry hisses as you clench around him, grinding his hips against yours as he sets a punishing pace.
“Oh, fuck!” you whine, your hips trying to meet his. “Yes, please, pump me full!”
Terry growls in approval at your dirty talk, his fingers gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, and your eyes roll back in your head.
“Yeah? You want to milk my cock of every drop with that needy cunt, don’t you?” he goads you, rutting into you like an animal and making you keen, your back arching off the mattress.
“YES!” you cry out, completely losing yourself to the moment.
“I’m gonna give it to you, baby,” he promises, looking down at you with an outright predatory expression, his hair falling in his eyes. “I’m gonna fill you up.”
And you want him to, you realize as you abandon all reason, giving yourself over to lust.
“Come for me, Terry!” you demand, forcing your eyes to stay open so you can watch him come apart for you. And he does, hips stuttering as he shoots his load deep inside you, coming hard with a roar. You both catch your breath, Terry insistent on remaining inside you, holding you down with your legs around his waist; you’re more than happy to oblige.
Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. Conditions have improved, and crews are currently working to prepare aircraft for flights. Please turn your attention to flight boards for information about your flight. The first flights will begin boarding in thirty minutes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Terry’s POV:
“Better now than a few minutes ago,” Terry jokes with a wry grin, making you giggle. He gives you an affectionate kiss on the lips before slipping out of you, surreptitiously ensuring that he doesn’t start leaking out of your slick entrance. He’d held you both in an ideal position for conception for as long as he could.
He knows he needs to snap the trap shut on you before you come to your senses, the two of you gathering your clothes and getting dressed. As he helps you into your coat, he’s pleased to see you don’t check the inner pocket for your passport.
“I’ve never been more upset to hear that it’s stopped snowing,” you admit cheekily as you try to fix your hair, your cheeks still flushed. He seizes the opportunity.
“I know exactly how you feel,” he replies, blue eyes blazing as he takes your cheek in hand. You lean into his touch, just as he wants you to. “You should come with me.”
Your eyes fly open in shock, wide as saucers, though he’s encouraged by your lack of an immediate ‘No’.
“What?!” you croak.
“You should come to L.A. with me,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly as if he wasn’t asking for the world. For your world.
“But… but…” you sputter, leaning back as though being able to see more of him would help you determine if he was joking. “My family… we barely know each other!” you babble, and he doesn’t intervene, content to watch you process this on your own.
“I’m not sure I’m done with you, yet,” he purrs when you finally settle down, giving you a searing kiss that makes your eyes lose focus. "It would be no trouble, I assure you."
“What about all of your regret at not spending time with your family?” you ask, and oh, if you only knew…
“An excellent anecdote for why I should make sure I don’t lose you now, and regret it later,” he replies smoothly, internally applauding his own brilliance. “Fate has clearly brought us together, and who am I to deny it?” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, doing his best to look both confident and well-intentioned.
“But… my family…”
“They didn’t seem to believe you were stranded in the airport anyway; how will they ever know you could’ve made it to them and chose not to?” he offers, finding it easy to script excuses for you. “Plus, we both know you’d rather spend time in the sun, letting me spoil you.”
He can practically see the gears in your head turning, and knows he’s almost got you.
“No regrets…” he murmurs in your ear, running his lips along your jawline until you’re vibrating in his hands.
“Terryyy…” you whine breathlessly, and he smiles against your skin. He wonders how many more times he can pump you full before he gets you to his home…
“Say yes, baby girl,” he asks oh-so-nicely. He just has to get you on the plane before you come to your senses. “Say yes and let me take care of you.”
“Okay.”
He blinks, face buried in the crook of your neck, honestly a bit surprised at your easy acceptance.
“Okay?” he repeats, pulling back to look into your eyes.
“I could use a vacation, and could do a lot worse,” you return with a smirk, looking him up and down. He’s becoming more and more impressed by his choice of the mother of his children.
“Then come with me, my dear, and let me give you everything.”
You both quickly gather your luggage from the lounge and make your way to the departure gate for private jets, his naturally being among the first to be ready for take-off. You never once check for your passport.
---
Once the plane reaches cruising altitude, he removes his seatbelt, standing to retrieve a bottle of champagne. You stay put, looking up at him nervously, but your gaze is still heated.
“Are you going to look for my membership card to the mile-high club?” you call after him with a giggle. He returns to his seat with a bottle in an ice bucket, having forgone any glasses.
“You have to be initiated first,” he replies seriously, pulling the bottle out of the bucket and longing to press the chilled glass against your flesh. “And I can’t help but think about how good your body would look dripping with champagne foam.”
Your intake of breath is immediate, and your eyes darken.
“You’re insatiable, Mr. Silver,” you tease, removing your seatbelt and shakily getting to your feet.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he warns you, though you likely assume it’s just a show of bravado. “Now, let’s get you out of that dress again.”
He’d have you pregnant before you landed.
Perhaps the snow wasn’t so bad after all.
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This was originally inspired by another request given to me while I was stuck in the airport during the summer; I can’t believe I’ve been writing for you all for half a year now! Thanks to everyone for reading!