Chapter Two: Soaring into Dreams

The jet engines purred beneath them, a steady vibration that seemed to seep into Ayan’s bones. The leather seat was buttery soft beneath his palms, but even that luxury felt unreal. He was thousands of feet in the air, on a private jet bound for Vienna—flown there not by fate, but by a woman he had met only hours ago.

Saba.

Across from him, she reclined with feline ease, a glass of wine balanced in her elegant fingers. The dim lights bathed her face in warm shadows, her cheekbones sharp, her lips curved in a knowing smile. Her gaze rested on him with quiet amusement, as though she were in on a secret he hadn’t yet discovered.

“Comfortable?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

Ayan gave a small nod. “I’ve never been on a private jet before,” he admitted, still a little breathless with disbelief.

Her chuckle was throaty, intimate, and it rolled over him like velvet. “You’ll get used to it. It’s the only way to escape the world’s noise.”

Ayan swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to her hand as she swirled the wine lazily in its glass. The dark liquid caught the light, but his attention stayed on her fingers—the curve of them, the way they looked made to hold, to touch. His chest tightened.

“You look like you could use rest,” Saba said after a moment, setting her glass down. “You’ve been carrying too much.”

Her eyes lingered on his face, as though she could see the ghost of Alizeh still haunting him. He dropped his gaze, ashamed of the ache he couldn’t quite bury.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” he confessed softly. “My head won’t stop.”

Saba’s smile deepened, equal parts kind and dangerous. She rose, fluid and unhurried, and crossed to the cabinet. From it, she drew a small vial and a length of silk the color of midnight.

Ayan watched, entranced, every movement of hers deliberate, sensual in its restraint.

“What’s that?” he asked.

She returned to him, standing close now, close enough for her perfume to flood his senses—jasmine layered with musk, dark and heady. She held up the vial. “Lavender, chamomile, sandalwood. For calming restless minds.” Then the scarf. “And this will keep the world out.”

Before he could reply, she leaned closer, dabbing oil onto her fingers. The first touch at his temples made him jolt. Her fingers were warm, gentle, moving in circles that coaxed his tension to surrender.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, the silk of her voice sliding into him. “Breathe. Let it go.”

Ayan obeyed, though every nerve screamed awake under her touch. Her fingers drifted down, stroking along the ridge of his jaw, then to the nape of his neck. She kneaded there softly, making his breath hitch, his body betraying him.

“There,” she murmured, close enough that her breath skimmed his ear. “That’s better.”

His muscles slackened despite himself. He felt the scarf whisper against his skin as she tied it gently across his eyes, the darkness cocooning him. His world became sound and scent and touch: the hum of the jet, the jasmine-and-musk around him, the ghost of her fingertips lingering even after they withdrew.

And then—

The dream took him.

Candlelight flickered against walls draped in crimson silk. The air was thick, heavy with jasmine. Music curled low through the room, haunting, seductive.

Saba stood before him. But not the composed Saba of the jet. This Saba was unbound. Her hair tumbled in dark waves over her shoulders. A gown clung to her curves like it had been painted onto her skin, shimmering with each breath she took. Her eyes burned with intent, a predator’s softness.

“Ayan,” she whispered, her voice liquid heat.

He moved to her, helpless, his hands brushing the silk over her hips. She trembled beneath his touch, then leaned in, pressing her body against his with aching deliberation. Her scent surrounded him, drowning him.

His lips found hers before he could think, the kiss searing, consuming. Her mouth tasted of wine and want, her tongue sliding against his with a hunger that mirrored his own. He groaned into her lips, pulling her closer, **** to feel more of her.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging, urging him deeper. His palms roamed her back, down the curve of her waist, tracing the swell of her hips. Every inch of her body seemed sculpted to drive him mad.

They stumbled against the wall, her gasp vibrating against his mouth. She clawed his shirt away, her nails grazing his skin, leaving trails of fire. His hands found the hem of her dress, lifting it slowly, reverently, exposing her thighs inch by inch.

Her moan was low, guttural, when his mouth left hers to kiss along her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast through fabric. She writhed beneath him, fingers deftly freeing him from his jeans, her touch closing around him in a grip that made him curse against her skin.

“Please,” he rasped, voice ragged, surrendering to her control.

Her eyes met his, dark with desire. “Then take me,” she purred, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He lifted her effortlessly, pressing into her as she arched, her cry filling the candlelit air. They moved together, bodies colliding in rhythm, breathless and wild, the room spinning around them. Nothing existed but her—her moans, her heat, the way she clung to him as though he was both ruin and salvation.

Release hit like fire, tearing through him, drowning out every thought but her name on his lips.

—

Ayan woke with a sharp inhale, chest heaving, sweat slick on his skin. The jet cabin swam back into focus, shadows and leather and the soft hum of engines. The scarf had slipped down to his neck.

And there she was. Saba, poised and calm, sipping her wine, her eyes fixed on him with a smile that was far too knowing.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her tone casual, but her gaze searing.

His throat was dry, his body still trembling from the echo of the dream. “Yes,” he managed, hoarse.

Her lips curved, amused, wicked. “Good. We have a long flight ahead. And plenty more… to discover.”

Her eyes lingered, and he knew she saw it all—the flush on his skin, the hunger he could no longer hide. And as the jet soared through the night sky, Ayan felt anticipation twist through him, sharp and undeniable.

Because dream or not, Saba was unraveling him piece by piece. And he was beginning to crave the fall.