Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (24 page)

“Ah, fuck it,” he said at last. He slumped back against the bed. Another full-bodied laugh. Heather’s heart flipped over. “Might as well. Make it good, Heather love.”

“Spectacular. I promise.”

He tucked the scarf back over his eyes. “Bring it.”

“Mmm, I love the sound of that. Now hold still. I’ll be right back.”

“Heather?”

“Toys, remember? Relax. You’re a little tense.”

That big, beautiful grin. His eyebrows were so animated that they poked out above the blindfold. “Can you blame me?”

Heather opened a drawer in her nightstand and grabbed what she was after. “Nope. I seem to remember having my arms tied behind my back, pressed against a hotel-room window.”

“That was quite a sight.”

“Consider yourself lucky I’m not telling you to do that.”

“Hah. Wouldn’t happen.”

She grinned, leaned over, kissed his stomach. Muscles flinched under her lips. “So you think. Now, on your side.”

Jon turned away from her. She stopped to admire the long line of his spine and the bunched muscles of his upper back. His ass was a work of art. Taut. Pure power. No wonder his hips were so amazing when he fucked her.

She nudged his top leg forward, half pushing him toward the bed. Her prize was the way his ass cheeks parted. Heather trailed her nails up the inside of his lower thigh, again, again. Then she used a small black comb and repeated the gesture. Each pass harder, until red streaks colored his skin and Jon shuddered on a long, low moan. She gave his ass a slap, which was louder than it was powerful.

“Again,” he gasped.

Instead of chastising him for the slipup, she did exactly as they both wanted. It wasn’t inflicting pain. And for Jon, it probably wasn’t receiving it. No, the thrill was in the power. Giving and taking. That flow passed between them without choreography, but always with the results they both sought.

Soon her hand stung and Jon’s ass was covered with a wash of pink. Sweat slicked them both. Heather shed her bra. She stretched along his back and pressed her damp breasts against him. He breathed as hard as she did.

“Good,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t a question, flyboy. It was praise.”

“Fuck, you’re cruel.”

“Not yet.” She reached behind her on the bed and grabbed her bottle of lube. Two fingers. The slightest touch of chilly and slick. “Hold still.”

“That was the deal, right?”

She smiled against his spine and licked his sweat. “Yes, it was.” Then she touched her fingers between his ass cheeks. Slid. Massaged. Teased. She had no idea what she was doing, but her pussy didn’t seem to care. Absolutely drenched.

When that lean, tense body relaxed against hers, Heather started the real test. She nudged the tip of a bullet vibe right against his anus. He flinched. His ass clenched tight.

“Nope. Relax.”

“Heather…” Her name was a deep growl.

“Call panda and I win. I know you won’t.”

“Then do it.”

The vibe slid in more easily than she’d anticipated. He was enjoying this a hell of a lot more than he might admit. So ready for that slight invasion. Heather turned the toy’s cap until vibration buzzed between them.

Jon groaned and pushed his forehead into the pillow. “Ah. Shit.”

“Good? And that
was
a question.”

“Good,” he gasped as she pushed deeper.

Soon she had a rhythm going. Gentle. Slow. She added more lube, then deepened each push. The vibe was small, only about three inches. But it must’ve felt huge inside him—a man who’d never submitted to anything of the kind.

“Normally I keep this in my purse,” she whispered against his nape. Just enough space between their lower bodies to permit room to play. “I use it in the private bathroom at work when the day’s been too crazy. When I need a release.” He grunted an unintelligible curse. “More, flyboy?”

“More.”

“Talk to me in French.”

He complied instantly. Hell, she didn’t know what it meant, but she could guess by the hard-edged growl in his voice that it was mean, filthy, even threatening. She shifted her thighs against a sudden rush. Yes, he would get back at her for this. She wanted it. Each word softened her muscles into aroused lassitude. All except for her right arm. She turned the vibe on high and kept up a strengthening pace. He was thrusting back now, meeting her each time.

She paused only a moment to press a condom in his hand. “On.”

Smiling, she’d never seen him so graceless. His fingers shook as he rolled the latex over his rock-hard prick. Christ, he was
huge
. Throbbing. She ground her palm against the flared base of the vibe, seating it there nice and tight.

“Uh,” he moaned.

“Not so articulate now.” She sat up. “It’s the magic recipe for silencing Jon Carlisle’s clever tongue.”

“You’re gonna get yours, Ms. Morris.”

“Clinging to that thought, aren’t you?”

“Hell, yes.”

“I’m glad we’re still on the same page. Now. Come fuck me.”

Jon had her on her back so fast the room spun. He pushed into her without finesse. Just hard power. Blindfold stripped, his face was a mass of contradictions. Pretty-boy features. Determination and fierce passion. He hooked his forearm beneath her knee, opening her wide. He was brutal. Each slam shot through her body until her eyes rolled back.

“What happened,” she gasped, “to twelve strokes?”

“Gonna make you scream. Need more than twelve.”

“This was for me, remember?”

“Enough of that shit.”

“No way. I want one more thing from you. Then you can spend the rest of the night paying me back.” She arched forward and pushed the vibe, making sure it still worked inside him. “Take me. One hundred percent greedy fucking. You’ve got this fabulous tickle buzzing your asshole. You’ve got my cunt and my tits right here beneath you.
Take
, Jon. Just take.”

His mouth parted on a dirty smile—then it was gone. The last semblance of Jon. He grabbed her arms and tossed them above her head, catching both wrists in one hand. Oh, holy damn. He held nothing back. Every pulse and thrust showed on his face as pure, furious greed.

“Mine,” he rasped against her neck. “Fucking
hell
.”

So close. And now
she
was so close. Heather met each thrust. She fought his hold, but he was a beast unleashed. “Wait.” Her voice was a dry whisper. “Jon, God. No. Wait for me.”

But it was too late.

He came. Exploded, really. Fierce. Gorgeous. A shudder climbed up and down his spine, with one last slow grind and a string of French curses.

Just as Heather had wanted, he pulled back before she found her release. She cried out at the sudden loss of his cock. Curling onto her side, she couldn’t help a shiver of frustration that traipsed between pain and pleasure.

Vibe removed, condom gone, he knelt above where she lay stretched, sweaty and practically moaning for her release.

“You told me to be greedy.” His chest still heaved. No sense of balance or calm had returned to his eyes. A man possessed. Blasted and liberated. “I complied to the letter.”

“You loved it.”

“I did. As good as you promised.” He slid his fingers between her pussy lips and flicked her clit. She cried out. So sensitive. So close.

“Jon, please.”

“Oh, yes, Heather love. One spectacular orgasm, coming up.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Two Thursdays later, Jon lounged against the wall of the visitor’s center at the front gate of Nellis. The thick material of his flight suit protected his back—and the scratches Heather had inflicted—from the rough stucco, but only intensified the afternoon’s sweltering heat. Sweat dripped down his neck. Sunglasses shaded his eyes from the glaring sunlight.

It didn’t help his mood that he’d been up since four. He’d planned on a no-stress day of maintenance and classes. That itinerary had been postponed in favor of more hours in the air with a visiting squadron of Marines. As an extra special bonus, he’d had the pleasure of another run-in with Donaghue.

The dickweed who was supposed to be on Jon’s side.

Residual tension from that encounter turned his neck into a bar of steel. He checked his watch, bothered more than he’d like to admit that she was late. Only by a few minutes, but the delay made him want to bounce on the balls of his feet, as if he were the sort to give in to overeager displays.

Instead he crossed his arms.

By the time Heather pulled into the lot, he was chomping at the bit.

None of it made sense. So, she wanted to see his plane. No big deal. She wasn’t the only woman he’d been with who got off on the fact that he was a fighter pilot. He’d learned early that most women did.

She looked incredible as he signed her into base. Her blouse was a rich peach silk with a mandarin collar. Jon couldn’t look at it without remembering she’d worn it the Monday after he strangle-fucked her. Spike-heeled shoes brought her to his height. A demure tailored skirt clung to her full hips.

“Hey,” she said shyly.

“Hey, yourself.”

She kept up a light stream of chatter as he ran her through security and then drove her over to the 64
^th
Squadron’s headquarters—observations about the base, mentions of a project at work. Jon wanted to be able to match her, but he had nothing other than nerves. He could almost feel the defensive reflex as he dropped into his persona of cool.

“It’s almost the same as my dad’s posts,” she said, looking out the window of the car. “Except for the planes.”

“Some things never change.”

She laughed as he pulled into the parking lot. He helped her out of the low-slung Aston. The black business skirt flashed a nice length of thigh as she swiveled and stood. Since the parking lot was half-empty, with most people gone early as repayment for having come in at o’dark thirty, he risked a fast, hard kiss.

If he could change one thing about their quasi-relationship, he’d take down a few more of their strangely walled-off borders. With sex, it wasn’t a problem. These quieter moments…

But the words had come from his own mouth: some things never change.

Ignoring the cranked-up feeling that climbed his spine, he laced his fingers through hers. No one lingered to get on him about public displays of affection. That Princess Leah had popped smoke and left early was no surprise, but even Major Fang, normally the last one out, had headed home to Cass.

Part of Jon wanted to show Heather off—again, as he had at the club. He’d known she would look slick and put together. Class personified. But it was probably for the best that she didn’t see those two knuckleheads after a long day. Ryan, of all people, would take one look at him and know he was losing his footing, that Heather tied him in knots.

They walked across the street and around the back of a huge hangar to where the ranks of jets lined up like soldiers. Mean, angry-looking soldiers painted in gray and desert brown camo.

Heather drew to a halt. “Wow,” she breathed.

“Are you finally impressed?”

She laughed. It made her blue eyes shine. “Yes. I’m impressed. Are you happy now?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and brushed kisses over her neck, tipped his tongue into the soft divot behind her ear.

“So sorry,” drawled a voice laced with attitude. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Heather practically flew out of his arms. Bright pink flushed her cheeks. Jon snapped ramrod straight. He knew that voice—that brassy, crass jerkwad had been his bane since showing up in the unit. Hearing it after briefings made him want to hurl sharp things against walls.

“Captain Donaghue,” he said, pivoting on his heel. “What are you doing here? Everyone’s done for the day, and we both know it’s not like you to put in extra time brushing up.”

Even though he spoke to Jon, the pilot aimed his smarmy smile straight at Heather. “I was just looking for Major Haverty. Wanted to ask him something.”

“He left.” Jon’s reply was clipped and formal.

Confusion turned down Heather’s mouth. Jon had never let her see him so overtly irritated. Even at the country club he’d maintained a certain disdainful cool. This was stronger. More potent. Kisser didn’t deserve manners beyond what the military dictated.

Donaghue had pushed the limits of his fuel supply during sorties that morning. He’d flown too fucking long—all to get in just another hit. He’d crash someday, or get a buddy shot down—one who was only trying to stay on his wing. That sort of asshat behavior was deplorable, especially when it put the members of the 64
^th
at risk. They were a
teaching
squadron, for fuck’s sake.

“That’s fine,” Donaghue said. “I’ll find him in the morning.” He thought he was hot shit, in and out of the cockpit. Incredibly tacky. Crass. Trying too hard to hide the chip on his shoulder. He eyed Heather again. “Like I said, ma’am, sorry to interrupt.”

Her smile made the skin slither along Jon’s nape. “Please don’t trouble yourself,” she said. “It was no big deal.”

It was no big deal.

She’d vaulted out of his arms, but it was no big deal.

The further Jon pushed, the more she withdrew. He could give her orgasms that rocked her world and let her push his boundaries just as much as he pushed her.

Goddamn. That ought to be enough.

After Donaghue left, Jon tried to regroup. “Where were we?”

She wiggled away from his hands and stepped toward the lines of planes. “You were going to show me which of these is yours.”

He led her to the one stenciled with
Capt. Jon Carlisle
below the cockpit’s seam. “This one.”

She folded her hands behind the sweet swell of her ass. “I like it. It looks…cold. Cruel. Exactly how it’s meant to, I’m sure.”

He stepped up behind her, cupping her upper arms. “That’s a good way to put it. Do you want to look inside?”

“No way. How much does it cost?”

“Almost thirty million.”

“There’s no way I’m touching it. Not at all.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Heather, it’s a war machine. It goes Mach two point five if pushed hard enough. I doubt you could hurt it.”