Fly With Me (4 page)

I figured I'd played hard to get for long enough. Either way, I didn't have it in me for more.

I gripped his biceps, holding on for dear life, my fingernails digging into his skin so hard I'd probably leave a mark. I was too far gone to care.

He pulled away first, his mouth swollen, a sexy grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Fuck me, I might have just found Bigfoot.

I sat down on the edge of one of the loungers, my legs shaky, that light-headed feeling returning again. This guy should have come with a warning label.

Caution: Kisses will make you forget your name. Proceed at your own risk.

Noah's hands settled on his hips, watch gleaming against his tan skin, the motion tugging the trunks down a bit, exposing dips on either side of his waist.

I died. Holy hell, he had penis cleavage.

Penis cleavage, like the Chupacabra and Bigfoot, was another urban legend as far as I was concerned. I'd heard about it, seen it in magazines, in the occasional movie with an actor that you knew had gone on an apple diet to get a body like that. But I'd never seen it on a flesh-and-blood man.

That was one item checked off the bucket list.

“Do you want a drink?”

I shook my head, the mimosa already discarded, needing to keep my wits about me in the face of all that male magnificence.

“Food?”

I shook my head again. You didn't eat in a bikini like this.

“Drapes open or closed?”

Gah.

“Closed.”

Definitely, closed.

NOAH

My hands shook as I shut the drapes behind me, blocking out the pool and everything around us. I figured the closed drapes were about as effective as leaving a tie or sock on a doorknob. Thor and Easy would definitely get the message and stay away.

I turned around and my jaw dropped.

Jordan leaned back in one of the lounge chairs, her cover-up on the floor next to her, wearing only the white bikini, which I was pretty sure would prove fodder for quite a few future fantasies.

This girl was unbelievable.

I stalked toward her, sitting down on the edge of the lounger. Jordan slid back, making room for me next to her. Neither one of us spoke. The beat of house music broke the silence between us, tension filling the air.

I lay back on the lounger, rolling over to my side so I could look at Jordan, her body mirroring mine. I propped my head up with my hand, staring down into her face, admiring her
brown eyes and pouty mouth. At some point she'd taken her sunglasses off her head, and I couldn't resist the urge to play with her hair, my fingers lingering on the strands just inches away from the slope of her breast.

Her legs brushed against mine, our limbs tangling together, the curve of our bodies two interlaced half-circles.

I swallowed. I couldn't remember the last time, if ever, that I'd been this attracted to a girl. Puberty? Smooth had gone out the window and now I just prayed I didn't make a complete and total ass of myself. Even as my control hung by a thread.

“I dreamed about you last night.”

I hadn't intended on telling her, but the words escaped of their own volition.

A pink flush settled over her cheeks.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you. I annoyed the shit out of Easy and Thor this morning looking for you.”

Jordan curled into my touch, moving closer, her breasts inches away from my chest.

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.”

“Aeronautical engineering?” Her brow rose as her finger traveled from my bicep to my chest, her hot pink nails trailing across my collarbone.

My stomach muscles clenched.

“So you're really smart.”

I shrugged, releasing her bathing suit ties, my palm settling against her ass, cupping her there, squeezing, my eyes greedy as I watched her arch against my hand.

“I like science. There was a brief period of time when I played around with being an astronaut, but it's pretty much always been jets for me.”

My other hand left her hair, drifting down to her waist, lower still, until I grabbed two perfect handfuls. I could die a happy man now.

It was a moment before she spoke.

“So how does it work exactly?” She grinned. “Clearly, I know nothing about the Air Force. Do you have any control over where you go?”

I marveled at her ability to string together a coherent thought. The hard-on raging between my legs was definitely making it more difficult for me to speak. When I finally did, I had to push the words out. It was a miracle I was functioning at this point.

“Officially? Kind of. Certain bases have specific airframes. Only a few locations have F-16s so I'm usually limited to those assignments. Typically, you can list your preferences, but in reality, it's very ‘needs of the Air Force.' You go where they want you to go.”

The last words came out in a strangled gasp because my throat closed up as she shifted in my arms, and then I was on my back, staring up at her, her body straddling mine.

“I gotta say, this is hands down, the most interesting conversation I've ever had about my job.”

She laughed. “I figured it beats the interview-style first date awkwardness.”

“Is this a first date?”

She hesitated for a second, a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“Does it count as a date if I didn't buy you dinner?”

“I think it's whatever we want it to be.”

My eyes narrowed speculatively. “If you have any strange habits I should know about, please spare me and tell me now, because I'm pretty sure in another minute or so, I'm not going to care if you collect creepy dolls or save your toenail clippings.”

She cracked up. “That's pretty not-sexy.”

“And yet, I'm still turned on.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Yeah, you are.”

This girl was killing me.

“Does collecting creepy stuffed animals count?”

She could tell me she collected porcelain clowns and I was pretty sure I wouldn't care. I must have made a face, though, because she burst into laughter again.

“You should see your expression. Totally kidding about the creepy stuffed animals. No weird habits that I know of. Of course, if I did have them, I'd probably think they were normal and not flag them as weird at all.”

I grinned. “True. I guess I'll just have to take my chances.”

“I guess so,” Jordan teased.

She brushed her hair over her shoulder, drawing my attention up to her breasts.

“So where have you lived?” she asked.

Apparently, we were back to informational foreplay. God, that answer took me a while to come up with, too, although not entirely surprising considering all the blood in my head had rushed to my lap.

“The whole list?”

She nodded.

“Okay, I was at the Academy in Colorado Springs for college, then I went to Texas for pilot training, then Phoenix for the B course.”

“B course?”

She reached between us, her fingers tracing my abs and a few more brain cells died. Being stroked by her was heaven, and I was pretty sure I could lie here all day long.

“Basic course. It's learning how to fly the F-16. Then South Korea, followed by Germany, then a stint in Vegas for weapons school, then almost three years in South Carolina, and now I'm stationed at Bryer Air Force Base near Oklahoma City.”

“So you've lived in eight different places since you joined the Air Force.”

Her hands went a little lower on my stomach, skimming over my belly button, and I sucked in a deep breath.

Go lower.

“Not including the times I've deployed? Eight places in sixteen years, if you include my time at the Zoo.”

“The Zoo?”

“Air Force Academy.”

Her touch stilled, her expression intent. My dick protested, but my brain welcomed the reprieve. There was only so much a man could take.

“How many times have you deployed?”

That took a minute, too. “Three. No, four.”

“For how long?

“The first two were four months each, the last two six months each. Fighter deployments aren't as long as some of the other deployments.”

“And you like this job?” she asked, the doubt in her voice clear.

I grinned. “I guess it kind of makes me sound insane when you put it like that, but yeah, I do.”

She remained still, staring down at me, her hands on my stomach, her gaze locked with mine. Emotions flashed through her eyes, altering the tension between us as if a switch had been flipped. I didn't know what had happened, just that something had changed.

I'd have been lying if I didn't admit that I felt pretty far removed from the civilian population. It was hard to explain what my lifestyle was like. That it was difficult to predict where I'd be living in a couple years, or if I was free to go to a family member's wedding even with a year's notice. Dating could be tough considering not many girls liked playing second fiddle to the Air Force. And no matter how hard I tried, I could only make so many promises. Right now I had a job I couldn't quit and a life that wasn't my own.

My original commitment had been eight years out of the Academy. Eight years of service in exchange for millions of dollars of flight training. Then an additional three for weapons school. Now I was eight years away from retirement, a couple years into the next commitment I'd signed. I wasn't sure if I'd stay active duty past the twenty-year mark or if I'd look at my options in the Guard or Reserve, but either way, I planned on sitting in the cockpit until I was too old to fly.

So yeah, bad shit and all, I fucking loved my job.

JORDAN

I reached between us and linked hands, staring down at him, no longer wondering if he was an urban legend.

I was straddling the dating equivalent of the Loch Ness
monster, Bigfoot, and the Chuapacabra all rolled into one, and holy shit, I could die happy if I spent every day with him between my legs.

I'd never met anyone like him. Ever.

I'd dated guys who acted like a two-year cell phone contract was too much of a commitment. This guy had basically given his adult life to serving his country and he acted like it wasn't a big deal. He wasn't trying to impress me or make himself look good. He just answered my questions with nonchalance, as though normal people moved all the freaking time, and went to war, and risked their lives. As if it was easy to sign away large chunks of your life. It gave a completely new meaning to the word “sacrifice.”