Fly With Me (6 page)

His friend stopped talking to Stacey and Amber and looked over at us. Hell, it felt like everyone was looking at us.

“We're going to head out.”

Noah delivered the line with way more smoothness than I could have, as though,
We're going to head out
wasn't what we all knew it to be:
We're going to screw like rabbits for a couple hours; don't come up.

Meg's eyebrows rose while Stacey and Amber looked at me like I'd just won a grand at a slot machine. Maybe two.

Meg pulled me away from the group, her voice somewhere between giddy excitement and sisterly concern. “You're going up to his room?”

I shifted my body so I faced away from the group. “Is that cool? I don't want to bail on the party, but . . .” I made a face that basically said,
Can you blame me?
And honestly, this time the question was merely to be polite. I'd done dinner, but as Noah had said, dessert was definitely mine.

She shook her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “Go get lucky.” She nodded toward where Stacey and Amber were pulling out all the stops trying to get Easy's attention. “Besides, I have a feeling you're not going to be the only one getting lucky with a fighter pilot tonight.”

I snorted. “Round two?”

“Oh, yeah. I have a feeling all parties involved are more than ready.”

I laughed.

“Just be careful, Jord.”

“Will do.” I gave her a hug. “I'll be back later.”

I pulled away and turned my attention to Noah, my heart in my throat. “Ready?”

NOAH

I'd never been readier, arousal mixed with a thin thread of desperation. I didn't know if it was her little black dress, this one impossibly even sexier than the dress she'd worn last night, or the taste I'd had earlier, but either way, I wanted her naked, wet, and moaning.

We walked through the Venetian holding hands, making our way to the elevators that led over to the guest rooms. The idea to get a room on the Strip for the weekend rather than staying in our rooms at Nellis had been all Easy. I'd balked initially, too spun up on Red Flag to even think about partying, and then given up in the face of Easy on a mission and handed over my credit card. I owed him big time.

We got into the elevator and I looped my arm around Jordan's shoulders, pulling her toward me. She smelled amazing again. Not some cloying, flowery smell, but like vanilla and sun, and a hint of the ocean. And apparently I'd become a fucking poet in the face of her ass in that dress, the curve of her tits highlighted by the low neckline.

I shifted our bodies so her back was to my front, shielding the massive erection between my legs from the elderly couple holding hands that looked like they were celebrating their anniversary, and giving the added bonus of her ass against my cock.

Which, come to think of it, made my arousal so much worse.

I buried my face in Jordan's hair, my arms at her waist, holding her against me like I never wanted to let her go. I hadn't been kidding earlier when I said I'd been bored at dinner, that all I had been able to think about was seeing her again. It had possibly been the first time in my entire life that I'd had zero interest in talking about flying. But right now the idea of sliding into the cockpit paled in comparison to the promise of surrounding myself in her warm, wet pussy.

My hands drifted up her stomach, moving closer and closer to the swell of her tits, dancing on the line between appropriate public displays of affection and get-a-fucking-room.

The elderly couple got off a few floors before us, and then my hands went higher, tracing the soft curves under her breasts, my brain somehow registering the absence of a bra before it shut off and my fingers grazed her nipples and I bit down on her neck, her head arching back, a moan escaping her lips.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

Finally.

JORDAN

I stepped over the threshold, Noah behind me, shutting the door, flicking on light switches. I walked over to the window, needing a moment to compose myself, staring out at the bright lights illuminating the Strip. He hadn't been kidding about the view or how spectacular the room was. Floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted Las Vegas in all of its glory. And then I turned, and my gaze settled on him, and the majesty of neon and glitz couldn't hold a candle to the man in front of me.

“Do you want a drink?” Noah asked, his voice gravel, the sound eliciting a pull low in my belly.

I shook my head. The tequila I'd drunk earlier at dinner was becoming a distant memory and now all my senses were coming alive. It had been a long time since I'd had sex, an eternity since I'd had
good sex
, and possibly
never
since I'd had the kind of sex Noah promised every time he touched me.

I didn't want anything dulling that.

I turned back toward the window, and then a second later
the soft strands of music filled the suite. Not cheesy seduction music, but the low, throbbing beat of a house song that set the mood better than anything else could have. I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the tension vibrating between us like a live wire, the music filling my ears and my heart.

This was my favorite moment. Always. That moment right before everything started, when you hovered over the edge, that moment when you existed in the in-between. The promise of intimacy was a game-changer, and yet there was still that tension that lingered, the pause before everything altered. It was that moment when you were in the water and caught sight of a great wave, all of nature hanging in suspension as you watched the beauty of its power and prepared for the ride of your life. It was the possibility of it. Later it could turn out to be a dud, it could fuck you over and disappoint, but now,
now—

It was magic.

He was magic.

Heat slid through me as Noah came up behind me, pulling me against his body, holding me tight in his embrace like I belonged there. I tilted my head back, leaning into him. He stroked my hair, playing with the strands, his touch achingly gentle. I liked that he didn't rush, that he touched me like he wanted to savor every moment. I liked it, and at the same time, it threw me for a loop. I was happiest when I could put things into tiny little boxes. My personality was chaotic enough; I needed everything else around me to be easily classified or else I just became a fucking mess. And I didn't know what to make of this.

This was a one-night stand. Maybe if things went well, two nights. His touch was supposed to make me come. Instead, it unraveled me until I was quivering each time his flesh grazed mine.

There was something here I wasn't prepared for, a reverence I hadn't expected bubbling up until it became a lump in my throat, blocking out everything else. It had been there between us in the cabana, unbidden, a sense of awe that filled me. Hell, maybe it had even been there that first night I saw him, simmering underneath the urge to take off our clothes. Or maybe I was wrong to try to separate the two. I didn't know what I was anymore.

Noah stroked the back of my neck, a shiver rippling through me. His touch was light, his fingers teasing. He slid forward, tracing the curve of my neck, skimming my collarbone, my entire world focused on the pads of his fingers. Each part of my body that he touched felt remade, born again to something new, something I'd never imagined. As though I gave those pieces to him, losing myself at the same time I found something I'd never expected.

There was so much beauty here that it hurt. I'd wanted dirty and quick and I'd gotten the slow death, death by one thousand strokes.

I loved every single one of them.

I sucked in a deep breath when Noah reached the center of my chest, hovering there, inches away from my cleavage. He turned me to face him, his other hand tipping my chin up so our gazes locked.

My mouth went dry.

His eyes were night, dark pools I couldn't read, his breath ragged as though he'd gone to war and barely come out the other end. I drank his sighs as though they were water and I was dying of thirst, wanting, needing to take each part of his body into mine.

This wasn't sex. It was worship.

And then his lips closed over my earlobe and I forgot everything as I succumbed to the deep pull of lust that
assailed me and gave him my body even as I clung to my heart, as if I could hide it away from him in some secret place he couldn't touch.

I wasn't a romantic, far from it. And I hadn't confused sex with love in a very long time. But I'd never gotten this before. Never felt such a strong link between my body and someone else's, never felt the kind of cause and effect that meant that he did and I felt.

Until now. Until Noah took fifteen years of hard-won dating knowledge and flung it back at me as though it were nothing, and suddenly, I felt a different kind of naked. Like my bravado, and sass, and all the armor I put on had failed me. I went from the driver's seat to just-along-for-the-ride with a few caresses, and hell, I was all too willing to follow him.

He nipped me, his mouth hot against my ear, paying homage to another part of my body as if each curve of flesh was a stop on his own personal pilgrimage and I was his hallelujah. I'd never thought of my ears as particularly erotic, but holy shit, Noah proved me wrong.

His fingers stroked my skin, moving lower until he reached the top of my dress. I arched forward, my body craving more, laying myself at his altar.

“Touch me,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and needy, my plea sounding suspiciously more like a demand. I wanted to cloak myself in the promises his body gave me, sink down on his cock until he filled me. I wanted the memory of this night to sustain me long after the magic had gone, when I was back to my ordinary life and dates that ended with too-wet kisses on my doorstep and a pint of Häagen-Dazs after.

This was one of those magical nights I'd read about, dreamed of, but never experienced myself. And now that it was here, I was overcome with the desire to both draw it out and rush to the best part.

Noah's hands settled on my hips, holding me in place as his gaze all but devoured me with the same fervor as a condemned man given his last meal, and another ache filled me. I didn't feel like some interchangeable girl like I had with other guys, like I was just the means to an end for a guy chasing his next orgasm. I felt like he chased
me.

“I never want to stop touching you,” Noah whispered, his voice throaty and low, my legs quivering as the words cloaked me in heat. His hand skimmed up the curve of my waist. “It feels wrong to be near you and not touch you. My hands turn greedy around you. So fucking greedy. I can't get enough. There are too many places on your body that I want to touch, kiss, lick, fuck.”

Yes, please.

I'd never been shy about my body. I would never be called skinny, but it wasn't lost on me that there were plenty of guys who liked boobs and asses, and thankfully, I had both to spare. And by the way Noah looked at me like I was a present for him to unwrap, I figured they worked for him.

Not to mention, I had a pretty awesome view myself . . . and a whole lot of fantasies.

I reached between us, my own fingers turning greedy, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, the need to have him naked and on top of me—or under me—eclipsing all else.

Noah stilled as I reached his stomach, my hand slipping down to stroke his abs through the thin fabric of his undershirt. His muscles flexed reflexively beneath my touch, my mouth dry, body wet. I wanted more of what I'd seen at the pool today. I wanted to gorge myself on him until I was happy, and sated, and too full to move.

My movements went from hesitant to hungry, racing
through the buttons, tugging the shirt off his shoulders until all he wore was the V-neck white T-shirt that looked like it had seen more than a few washes.

The knot in my stomach tightened.

I didn't know what was in the Vegas water, but whatever it was, there was something about his ruggedness, his I-don't-give-a-shit, this-is-who-I-am, fucking-deal attitude that turned me on completely. This wasn't a guy I would be able to manage; there was little softness to him. He was a handful in a way I'd never experienced before. A man who lived by a code of his own, one I still didn't completely understand. And where I'd never thought I was the kind of girl who appealed to a rugged guy, the evidence to the contrary stood right in front of me.

I pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, my fingers sliding over satiny smooth skin. I yanked the fabric higher, the hiss that escaped his mouth singing in my blood. Our hands collided as we both struggled to get it over his head and then his shirt hit the floor and I sank to my knees.

I was tall enough that my lips leveled with the bottom of his stomach, tantalizingly near the indents on either side of his hips. I could write poetry about those two gaps. I kissed him there, inhaling his scent, my tongue hitting the dips just above his jeans. He groaned as I licked him, rocking forward, his arousal heavy and hard, inches away from my mouth.

The moment hovered suspended between us, his body vibrating with need. And then my hands grasped his belt buckle and we careened toward release.

I unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clinking together crackling between us. I pulled the leather through the denim loops with a snap, the belt falling from my fingers
as I attacked the buttons at his fly, another groan escaping his lips as I stroked his cock through the denim. I was a woman possessed, whatever we'd created here between us finding a home inside me.

I slid the jeans off Noah's hips. He jerked away to remove his socks and shoes, working the pants down his legs until he stood before me wearing black boxer briefs—
yum—
and a wicked smile. I tilted my face up, our gazes locking, my heart a steady drum. His hand reached out and stroked my hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands like a rope that bound me to him.

Noah's eyes went onyx, his voice hoarse. “I wanted you like this the first second I saw you. Imagined you on your knees, that look in your eyes, while I fucked your face.”

My clit spasmed.

I'd never been a flowery-sex kind of girl. My enthusiasm for phrases like “making love” and “joining” was tepid at best. I'd never cried during sex, preferred the lights on, and nothing got me off like the filthy words that fell from a guy's lips while he fucked me. So on every single level, this was working for me. A lot.

“Your mouth . . . your lips . . .” He groaned. The fist in my hair tightened, pulling my head back, dangling me somewhere on the precipice between pleasure and pain until it hurt so good. “You have fuck-me lips, a mouth made for sex. Full, soft, plump . . .”

I figured it was the only time a guy would ever get away with using the word “plump” in a sentence referring to my appearance without getting kneed in the balls. But he was right, my mouth did feel swollen, my lips sensitive, my tongue itching to lick him from base to tip.

Noah reached between us, the pad of his thumb brushing my lower lip, pressing down on the skin, opening my mouth.
His fingers slipped in and I sucked them deep, the little bit of himself he gave me not nearly enough. I kept my gaze on his the entire time, the approval filling his eyes heating me from the inside out. Somewhere along the way this had ceased to be about what I wanted and instead became about pleasing him, about giving him a night he'd never forget. I'd already checked that box off for myself.

I drew the boxer briefs down his legs, each inch of fabric sliding down sucking more and more air out of the room until I could barely breathe.

He was beautiful. Big. Thick. Absofuckinglutely perfect.

Definite Chupacabra territory here.

I leaned forward, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting him, his hands gripping my hair even harder, his hips canting toward me, a shudder rocking through him. His reaction fed me, satisfaction coursing through my veins. I swirled my tongue around the tip, sucking him deep between my lips, the groan that reverberated through his body the best sound I'd ever heard.

I'd never felt more feminine in my life. This was power, madness, glory. This was a complete and utter shattering of his control and mine. I was the one on my knees, but it was impossible to feel anything other than the sense that I held his world in the palm of my hand.

NOAH

I'd never experienced anything that gave me the same kind of high I found in the cockpit. Until now.

She took me into her mouth and I forgot my fucking name.

I hadn't been wrong in all my fantasies about her pouty lips—the girl gave magnificent head, made even better by the fact that she clearly got off on it, too. There was nothing worse than a girl who went down on you like it was a chore, but this girl licked and sucked my cock as though each stroke of her tongue, each bob of her head, took her closer and closer to finding her own brand of ecstasy.

Her tongue swirled around the tip, a shiver trembling down my spine, drowning in the silky wetness and hot suction of her mouth, the urge to come between her lips.

Maybe “magnificent” wasn't a strong enough word.

I pulled back, my hands on Jordan's hips, lifting her up and carrying her over to the couch in the living room. One of us had entirely too many clothes on and I couldn't wait until I had my mouth on her, until I learned if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

I settled her on the edge of the couch, my hands spreading her wide, sinking down on my knees. Jordan stared down at me with the same dazed expression that I was beginning to recognize as her sex-face, her fuck-me mouth swollen from our kisses and my cock.

It was like someone had dropped a fifty-pound weight on my chest. And then squeezed.

I opened my mouth to speak, words flooding my mind, all of them praise I wanted to lavish on her that fell short before they even left my lips.