by Meghan Quinn
“If you tell me it’s a book about calculus or something like that, I think we might have to break up.”
He chuckles. “Break up, huh? It’s going to be that easy to lose you?” There is a hint of worry in his voice, even though he’s trying to be playful.
Wanting to ease his mind, I say, “No, you’re stuck with me. It’s going to take your entire squadron prying me off your sexy body to get rid of me.”
“Sexy? Hmm, I like that.”
“It’s true.” I pause. “Hey, you have an iPhone, why don’t you FaceTime me?”
“I’m shirtless in bed,” he counters. As if that’s an issue.
“Uhhh, and the problem with that is?”
He laughs. “I didn’t want you to think I was naked or something.”
“And the problem with that would be . . .”
He groans and before I know it, I hear beeping and see his FaceTime request. Thankfully after the gym, I was able to take a shower, do my hair and makeup and look somewhat presentable for my massage clients. I might be a little tired, but at least I look good for my man.
I accept his call and I’m immediately given the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen. Colby has his hand behind his head, propping himself up on his pillow, the short strands of his hair are disheveled, like he’s been playing with it all day, and his impressive chest is bare, strong, and carved. The phone is pointed so I can only see his pecs and face, which is handsome as ever with the perfect smile caressing his lips.
I settle on my bed, lying on my stomach, letting my hair fall past my shoulders, giving him a little bit of a cleavage shot because, why not? “Mmm, you look good.”
His eyes narrow when he catches my position, what I’m trying to do. “Playing with fire, Rory.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I ask, adjusting on the bed, the V of my shirt moving farther down, my breasts on full display.
“Is that why you wanted to FaceTime me, to torture me?”
“Just giving you a view, that’s all.” By the look on his face, I think he’s enjoying the view.
He takes a second before he says anything, his gaze on mine, his hand playing with the strands of his hair. “You’re fucking fine, you know that?”
My stomach takes flight, the hairs on my arms straighten, and my heart rate picks up from his compliment. “I could say the same about you.” I point at the camera. “Move the angle down a bit, I want to see what kind of stomach we’re working with here. Beer belly or six-pack.”
He scoffs and moves the camera down. The sheets of his bed run along the waistband of his boxer briefs making me wish it were my fingers instead. And then there is the V chiseled into his side, flanking his more-than impressive six-pack—rigid and carved, a washboard effect—begging for my tongue to be dragged over it.
“Mmm,” I moan. “Just keep the camera there for this entire conversation.”
Not listening to me, he brings it back to his face, a knowing smirk on his lips. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, is that how this is going to work?”
“Take it off, Rory.” His voice so deep, so . . . alpha, that I strip off my shirt in no time at all only to lie back on my bed in my red lace bra, the padded cups making my breasts spill out at the top. I’m sure I just heard him mumble, “Fuck,” and even that starts to turn me on.
Positioning the phone so he can only see my head and neck, I ask, “Are you sure you want to see this? My abs will put yours to shame.” It’s a lie. He makes my stomach look like a pile of mush.
“Show me.”
I shrug. “I warned you.” I angle my phone, working it very slowly over my breasts, a groan escaping Colby as I move past the red lace bra to my stomach that’s flat from all my workouts . . . but six-pack abs? Yeah, no. I like pancakes too much.
When I bring the phone back to my face, I watch him drag his hand over his face, pain in his features. “That was fucking torture.”
“You asked for it.”
Peeking past his hand, he asks, “Do you always wear sexy shit like that?”
“If you’re referring to my bra, the answer is yes. I actually only have red undergarments.”
He looks so pained that it makes me laugh. “Fucking red. That color haunts my dreams.”
“Why?”
“Red lipstick. The night of bowling you wore some. The red lips on my letters. It’s been etched into my brain. I’ve had dreams of that red lipstick dragging over my cock, perfect and plump, your lips sucking me into your mouth.”
Oh hello, dirty-talking Colby.
A wave of heat rolls over me, a light thrum thumping between my thighs.
“You’ve thought of that?”
“From the second I first met you and got a close look at your lips.”
I tangle one of my fingers in my hair, moving my body against the sheets of my bed, wishing I wasn’t wearing pants right now. “That’s really hot.”
“In my mind it’s fucking sinful.”
We stare at each other, the sexual tension becoming more and more intense. But the distance between us causes a problem. I should have invited him over tonight. Then again, I have plans for tomorrow and they didn’t involve Colby being at my place.
But . . .
He’s shirtless and beautiful right now, and all I want to do is rock my humming body against his, feel his strong hands pin me into place, and get off as his cock penetrates me with deep, long thrusts.
God, I want him, and badly.
“I want you, Colby.”
Eyes shut, a groan escaping past his lips, he says, “I’m so fucking hard right now.”
“Let me see.” The words slip past my lips before I can stop them.
He doesn’t say anything, but he angles the phone to where I can see a defined outline of his erection against the white sheets of his bed. My mouth goes dry, my stomach bottoms out, and the apex between my thighs becomes increasingly wet with every second of his arousal I take in.
I want my hands on him, stroking him, watching how my touch affects him, how turned on I can make him, and how I can bring him to the brink of orgasm with just my tongue.
“Stroke yourself,” I say as I push down my leggings with my spare hand, my feet doing the rest of the work, tearing them off my legs.
“I’m not doing this for the first time over the phone, Rory.” He’s stern, but he’s in pain from the way his jaw clenches and he speaks through his teeth.
Angling the phone again, I show him the rest of my body, my red thong that matches my bra in plain view, my legs rubbing together, my center so wet with need that I move my hand to the top of my thong, my fingers playing with the hem.
“Please, Colby.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fucking hell, Rory. You’re so goddamn beautiful.” He shakes his head. “Not like this. I refuse to come on my stomach when I can come inside you.”
My breath hitches in my chest. My fingers find their way under my thong, slipping past into my slit, where I spread my legs and let my fingers glide over my clit. “Oh God,” I moan.
“Damn it, Rory,” he breathes.
I don’t stop. Can’t stop. I continue to my move my fingers up and down. I prop the phone on my nightstand so he can view my hand between my legs, my chest rising and falling, my face angled toward the phone so he can see how good it feels to have him watching me.
“Rory . . .”
“God, yes. Say my name again.” I slip my fingers inside me, arching off the bed, my thumb rubbing over my clit. “Talk to me Colby, let me hear you.”
“Jesus Christ. Rory, stop.” I don’t. I keep moving, spreading my legs even wider, my other hand going inside my bra where I pinch my nipple, rolling it between my fingers, the sensation shooting straight to my center. “Fuck . . .” He pauses and then says, “Pinch your nipple harder.”
Oh God, yes.
This is what I need, to hear Colby’s voice telling me how he wants me to pleasure myself
. I want the real thing—I want him—but I know this is the best I’m going to get right now.
“Stop moving your hand. Keep your fingers inside of you, but don’t move them.” I do as he says. “Two fingers, Rory.” I squeeze my eyes shut and slip another finger inside.
“So . . . full.”
“Good, because I’m going to feel even wider when I’m inside of you. Get used to it.”
My mouth falls open, my nipples pucker, and my lungs constrict, begging for air.
“Don’t fucking move, do you hear me, Rory?”
“Yes.” I bite my bottom lip, so turned on, my pussy pulsing around me, the need to rub my clit beyond overwhelming.
“Move your other hand down your stomach with the tips of your fingers. When you reach your thong, drag them up to your bra and circle your nipple over that sinful red lace.”
I do as he says, using his words to torture myself, and when he tells me to repeat the process, I do it. I keep doing it until I’m writhing on the bed, the cool sheets electrifying my body, adding to the paralyzing feeling coursing through me.
“Colby, I . . . I can’t. I need to move.”
“Don’t,” he commands, using a voice I envision him using when he’s putting his cadets into formation. It does nothing to hold back my impending orgasm. “Stop moving your hand up and down your body. Reach into your bra and pinch your nipple. Slowly.”
When I lift my hand, he once again commands, “Slowly, Rory.” The menace in his voice causes me to moan. Oh God, I never knew this could be so hot.
A light sweat breaks out over my skin, as I desperately hold back the burning need inside me. The need to pump my fingers, roll my thumb over my clit, scream out his name, beg for him to come to my place and finish me off, his cock inside me, pulsing until I come.
The vision plants itself in my brain: his corded muscles hovering over me, his abs contracting with each thrust he makes; his lips as he kisses me.
“Pinch, Rory.”
I do, an oath popping out of my mouth.
“I’m going to come, Colby.” It’s there, my orgasm, riding up my spine, hovering over me, causing everything to tingle.
“Not yet.”
“Please, Colby.” Desperation laces my voice. “I can’t. I want to come when you tell me to, but I don’t think I can hold out any longer.”
He doesn’t listen to me. “Remove your hands from your body. Now.”
I open my eyes, looking at him for the first time since we started this. “What?”
His eyes sharp, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his pecs flexed, he says, “Remove your hands.”
“But . . .”
“Rory. Don’t question me.” So forceful. So hot. I do what he says.
The empty feeling inside me is beyond my comprehension. My body is humming, my pussy throbbing, thumping faster than my heart rate. I can hear him. I can hear his ragged breathing. I can hear him using his hand to rub up and down his cock. Oh fuck me.
“Understand this feeling. Memorize it. Your body fully aware, fully aroused, itching for release. This right here, Rory. This is how you make me feel, so goddamn desperate whenever you’re around. You don’t realize how sexy you are when you wear a simple sweater, what you do to me when your hand presses against my chest, giving me a whiff of your perfume. This feeling? This is how I feel all the time.”
I whimper, pleading with him. “Please, Colby.”
Looking at me, his eyes boring holes into mine, he says, “Make yourself come for me, Rory. Show me how much you want me inside of you.”
More turned on than I’ve ever been, I turn on my side, keeping my eyes on his, and spread my legs so one is bent and propped up. I slip my hand between my thighs and bite my bottom lip when my finger connects with my clit. Oh God. Oh God.
“I want you here, your tongue lapping me up, your fingers twisting inside of me.” I move my fingers inside me and rock my hips against my hand. Moaning, I say, “I want your cock, pulsing in and out, your lips on my breasts, your hands pinning me to the mattress, fucking me. God, Colby I want you to fuck me.”
“Come, Rory.” His command is like a direct order to my body. My thumb finds my clit, and with one press against the little nub, I fly over the edge, my orgasm consuming me, wrapping my body into a bundle of nerves, exploding into a thousand pieces. Oh my fucking God. Never. Never been like that.
As my body starts to slow down, the hammering in my chest fading, I hear Colby say, “Have a good night, beautiful.” The softness in his voice returns and washes over me as he hangs up, leaving me in a state of utter bliss. What has he done to me?
“You’re looking hot.” Stryder comes up to me, pulling me into a hug, his large body circling mine like Colby’s does.
“Thank you.” When I pull away, I adjust my purse on my shoulder. “Think he’ll be excited?”
Stryder scratches the side of his jaw, looking at the pool house. “He’ll probably be excited to have you all day to himself. Celebrating his birthday though? Not sure. He’s usually a grump on this day, keeps to himself.”
It’s not the first time Stryder’s told me that. When I proposed my idea of celebrating Colby’s birthday, Stryder warned me that he likes to spend it alone, usually reading. He doesn’t work out; he doesn’t even really get out of bed. He just reads . . .
The same book.
The Mammoth Book of Fighter Pilots.
Stryder told me it goes with him wherever he goes. It’s a book his father gave him years ago when Colby decided he wanted to become a fighter pilot. And now it’s what keeps him company on his birthday.
I’m just hoping he wants a little more company than his book.
“I think you’re smart just keeping it between you two though. Your initial idea would have been way too much for him.”
A surprise birthday party idea was quickly nixed by Stryder when I told him my idea. I didn’t understand why at first, and I couldn’t get much information out of Stryder, but what I did get was this isn’t a day of celebrating for Colby.
I’m hoping I can at least keep him company, because I don’t think I’d be able to keep my distance from him on his birthday, especially after last night.
“You don’t mind bringing the cake over later?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t mind at all.”
“And Hardie and Joey will be here?” Stryder nods. “It’s a minor surprise, which hopefully he won’t mind. I just want him to realize how loved he is by everyone.”
“It’s sweet.” Stryder grows serious. “He’s lucky he has you, Rory.”
Something passes between Stryder and me—a mutual appreciation for each other and an understanding that what we both want is for Colby to be happy. Even though Stryder can joke around a lot, I see a serious, caring side too.
Knowing I probably shouldn’t say anything, I still ask, “How come you never moved forward with Ryan? I know she was really interested.”
Looking at the ground, Stryder pulls on the back of his head, his T-shirt and jeans hugging his body, his thick muscles flexing underneath. He really is gorgeous with his dark features and mesmerizing eyes. I could see why Ryan was so disappointed when he didn’t pursue her.
“She’s a sweet and gorgeous girl, but I just wasn’t feeling it.”
“Wasn’t feeling it?” I raise my eyes at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a guy say that about Ryan.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes your heart is somewhere else.” And he leaves it at that, nodding toward the pool house. “Go get your boy. The fucker is probably already three chapters into his book.”
Sighing, I take a step forward and give Stryder another hug before taking off toward the pool house. His eyes linger on me. “Thank you for your help, Stryder.”
“Any time, Rory.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
COLBY
Twelve years ago . . .
Peace.
That’s all I wanted today.
And I got it.
&nbs
p; Mom and Ted are out, leaving my twelve-year-old self alone in the house. There’s nothing to eat or drink, no birthday cake waiting for me in the fridge, and I might have a black eye that’s hurting more than I’d like, but it’s quiet. I’m surrounded by my planes, have my book in my hands, and a glass of water on my nightstand in the Air Force cup that I got a few years back on my birthday . . . when my mom cared.
I’m happy.
I got a call from Gramps earlier, told him Mom and Ted were taking me away for the weekend so I wouldn’t be able to see him. It’s what they told me to tell him so he didn’t see me, didn’t see what Ted did. I was okay with it. I listened to them and did what they said, because I knew Gramps wouldn’t like to hear that he couldn’t see me. Not on this day. Especially not on this day.
And he wasn’t happy.
He made me pass the phone to Mom afterward. I went to my room but heard Mom stumbling over her words as I made my way up the stairs. I don’t think Ted will hurt me for a little bit, not since I haven’t seen Gramps in a while, especially with Christmas coming up.
Christmas never fails me. Gramps has always come, even when Ted said he couldn’t. Gramps might be old, but he still has some pull over the doctor. I’m glad for that.
I flip the pages of my book, loving the stories about fighter pilots from the past, and take a sip from my water, the blankets on my bed keeping me warm in my perched position on my mattress. Snow falls lightly to the ground outside, coating the ground in white as I try to channel Dad.
He always loved it when it snowed, especially since Colorado was so off and on with its weather. Known for three hundred days of rays, the sun is almost always shining, so when we get a bout of stormy weather, we try to soak it all in.
Thump.
My heart stills, my ears perking up as I slow my breathing. Was that snow falling off the roof or was that . . .
Footsteps sound through the house, the slamming of cabinet drawers filling the empty house. Oh no. No. Not now. Not today.
