Fly With Me (Wild Aces #1)(22)

“I want you on your knees while I f*ck your mouth. I want to feel your * tighten down on my cock when I’m filling you up. I want to sleep with my arm hooked around your waist. I want to kiss that mouth of yours—sweetest f*cking thing I’ve ever tasted. I want more nights with you, and days, too.”

When he put it that way, I was pretty sure I fell off the f*cking cliff.

“I want to make you come over and over again. Want to hear you scream my name. Want to play with your tits until you’re writhing and moaning over my cock. If you want that, I’m game.”

I considered the fact that I refrained from fanning myself to be a testament to my willpower. I so did want that. All of it, over and over again, with a few moves of my own thrown in.

“You live in Oklahoma. I live in Florida,” I repeated slowly, as though saying the words would convince me of the insanity of all this.

He nodded. “Yeah. And I’ll just be totally honest with you, my job doesn’t leave a lot of time for dating. If we do this, we take it one day at a time. But this doesn’t have to be good-bye.”

Part of me wanted that. Part of me was greedy for more nights with him. And part of me was thirty years old, already past the point when I’d thought I would have met the guy, and own the house, and have the two point five kids I was supposed to drive to piano lessons and soccer camp. I could literally feel the cobwebs gathering on my eggs, the reality that if I didn’t meet the guy soon, I was slightly f*cked.

I’d always figured I would date a guy for a year or two before we got engaged. And then a year for the engagement so we could enjoy it and plan the wedding and just revel in being in a committed relationship without having to endure fights about whose turn it was to take out the trash or why no one had changed the roll of toilet paper. And then I figured another three or four years of being married to do married-people things before we added in a miniature person to take care of. And considering I wanted, like, three kids?

Way behind the power curve here.

I didn’t really have time for a no-strings-attached f*ckfest—however appealing it might be.

But the problem was, it wasn’t just appealing, it was roll-your-tongue-off-the-floor earth-shattering. And maybe he wasn’t the settle-down kind of guy, but it wasn’t like I’d met a lot of that guy, either. And cobwebs or no, thirty was the new twenty, right?

And if he really was the dating Chupacabra . . .

“So this f*ckfest you’re proposing?”

He choked back laughter. “Fuckfest?”

“That’s kind of what it sounds like.”

Noah’s lips twitched. “Not going to say no to that.”

“Is this a monogamous-but-don’t-expect-a-ring sort of arrangement?”

This time he didn’t bother hiding his smile. “You’re a little neurotic, aren’t you?”

“Only in the fun way.”

His smile deepened. He moved toward the bed, his body hovering at the edge. “I wasn’t planning on sharing. Or looking at anyone else.”

“So you’re not going to fit the fighter pilot love-’em-and-leave-’em stereotype?” I teased.

He knelt on the bed, prowling toward me. “Babe, we gotta expand your knowledge beyond Top Gun.”

I leaned back, letting the sheet fall down to my waist, my breasts bare before him.

“So expand my fighter pilot knowledge.”

His smile went from playful to intent. “Is this another one of your conversation-foreplay sessions?”

I grinned, my eyelids fluttering, hair flipping, sliding into full-on flirt with ease.

“Maybe.”

He leaned over me, his big body hovering inches away, his mouth close enough that if I just leaned up, I could put my lips on his.

“I’m beginning to see how fun you could be in briefings, babe.”

Okay, maybe the uniform thing would be kind of hot.

I reached out, my fingers stroking his back, tracing the ridges of his spine all the way down to his spectacular ass. I tugged on the workout shorts, sliding them off over his hips. He made a growly sound in his throat that told me he liked it—a lot.

I leaned up, my lips grazing his ear, unable to resist the urge to let my tongue stroke his lobe. The shudder I felt against my hand at the base of his spine told me he liked that, too.

“So tell me fighter pilot things. Is there a password? A secret handshake?”

He slid down to his elbows, his chest pressing into mine, his cock settling into the curve of my hips, his hand pushing the sheets away until there was nothing between us.

“Cute.”

I ground my hips up toward him, feeling another rush of satisfaction as his body stiffened and jerked against me. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to get what he wanted.

“Seriously. Teach me.”

He groaned. “You can’t say things like ‘teach me’ when you have your legs spread beneath me and expect to actually have a coherent conversation.”

“Am I distracting you?” I teased, sliding my hand between us, cupping his balls.

Another groan.

“Definitely distracting me.”

“Tell me fighter pilot things. I’m seriously disappointed if there isn’t a secret handshake.”

He tilted his head to look at me, another smile tugging at his lips. “You have my dick in your hands and you’re still busting my balls?”