Fly With Me (Wild Aces #1)(11)

I threw my leg over hers, my other hand resting on her hip, hovering near the string of her bikini bottoms. Her lips parted, desire filling her brown eyes.

“I wanted to see you, too,” she admitted.

I traced her silky skin, my fingers toying with the bathing suit ties at her hips. Each stroke sent a shiver through her body and had her arching toward me. The urge to dip my fingers below the fabric and stroke her made my chest tight, my cock hard.

I struggled to calm the pounding in my ears and heart, to make my touch lazy rather than hungry, drawing out her pleasure.

She held my gaze while I traced the skin at her hip, occasionally fingering the ties there. Her body relaxed even more, her lashes fluttering, her eyes sleepy. Her lips curved, her voice throaty.

“So let’s talk about this fighter pilot thing.”

I grinned. “I thought you weren’t too impressed by that.”

She gave me a little shrug and a teasing smile. “Can’t let you get a big head.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Jordan shifted, closing the distance between us, her nipples grazing my chest.

I stifled a groan as I felt how tight they were, her arousal egging my body on.

I hooked her leg over my hip, my hand sliding down to her ass, settling her body next to mine.

She bit her lower lip and I lost another bit of sanity.

“So do you guys wear the white outfits?” she asked, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

Fucking Top Gun.

I grinned, my hand back to playing with the ties at her hip, the other twisting her hair around my fingers, each touch ghosting across the tops of her tits.

Cute and sexy.

“That’s the Navy.”

“Oh.” She flashed me an apologetic smile. “Those are kind of hot.”

I choked back a laugh. “Not letting you around any sailors. Check.”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. I hadn’t been wrong last night. She definitely liked to play.

“How about the one from A Few Good Men? You know, the black one with the gold and the cool hat.”

“Still the Navy.”

“Oh.”

I grinned. “Definitely not letting you around any sailors.”

Jordan made a face. “It’s not my fault they have better uniforms. So what do yours look like?”

God, she was adorable. I liked her more for busting my balls.

“I wear a flight suit. Green. Zipper down the front. Flame retardant.” She gave a little shrug, the move drawing my attention to her boobs, and I grinned again. “Just out of curiosity, do you know anything about the military that doesn’t come from a Tom Cruise movie?”

“Nope. You’re the first fighter pilot I’ve ever met.” Jordan cocked her head to the side, exposing the curve of her neck.

“What do you do?” I asked, my fingers itching to trace the line there.

“I own a clothing boutique. My best friend, Sophia, and I are partners. We’ve only been in business for about three years now, but we have a steady clientele and an awesome location by the beach.”

So she was sexy and smart. And definitely a risk-taker.

“That’s amazing. Have you always wanted to run your own business?”

“I was a business major in college, but it took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do with it. I wasn’t really suited for corporate life; I like being my own boss. It’s pretty time consuming, especially in the beginning, but I love it. It’s really rewarding to see everything pay off. Plus, I work with my best friend all day, playing with clothes. It’s kind of my dream job.”

“Sounds like it. That’s really impressive.”

With each moment I spent with her, she hooked me deeper, and I found myself curious to know more about her.

“So you grew up in Florida?”

She nodded. “My family’s still there. It’s nice getting to be close to them. When Meg and her fiancé, Mike, have kids, I’m excited to be the cool aunt who has them over for sleepovers and goes to their sporting events. We’re all pretty close.” She tilted her head to look at me. “Do you get to see your family a lot?”

“A couple times a year if I’m lucky. It’s hard with work. They’re still in California. At least Oklahoma’s not that far away compared to some of the other places I’ve been stationed.”

Jordan reached out, her hand tracing my bicep, and I hardened against her.

“How long have you been a pilot?”

I had to think about that one for a minute, no easy feat with her touching me. Counting pilot training . . . it took me three tries to reach the correct number, my concentration broken each time her fingers dragged across my arm.

“A little over ten years,” I finally answered.

“Did you always want to fly?”

I looped my fingers under the ties of her bathing suit bottoms, stroking the soft skin there. She bit down on her lip again, her hips rocking forward.

My words came out strained. “Always. My dad was an Air Force pilot. He flew fighters when I was a kid, retired before I hit high school. He used to tell me stories about his assignments. There wasn’t anything else I ever wanted to do with my life. I studied aeronautical engineering at the Air Force Academy and got a pilot slot. Went through pilot training, got F-16s, and that was it.”