High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1)

by Brenna Aubrey

  All blood rushed south, and her hands were on my shirt, pulling the buttons open as quickly as she could. I resisted the almost overpowering urge to push her down on the couch and bury myself inside her. Instead, I figured that while she was on top, I’d let her pilot the ship. And while she still might be a novice at sex, she had caught on rather nicely.

  And boy had I had a lot of fun showing her the ropes. As often as I possibly could.

  So I sat back and kept my hands on her hips as she kissed her way down my body from my neck, over my bare chest, spending time lavishing as much attention on my chest and nipples as I tended to do on her in my turn.

  And while it felt very good, I was anxious to cut to the chase. “Dammit,” I hissed. “Now you’re just torturing me.” She was moaning and grinding on the bulge in my jeans as she dragged her hot mouth across my chest. Fuck. It was torture. Sweet torture.

  When I went to take off her top, she pushed my hands away, letting me know she clearly had this. And, with no warning at all, she slipped off my lap. Maybe she wanted to lead us into the bedroom instead of doing this here. I glanced at the clock. Her father wasn’t getting here for a couple hours yet. We had time.

  Delicious, achingly sweet time. Time just for us. When I went to get up from the couch, however, she put a hand on my shoulder and sank to her knees in front of me. We locked gazes and my chest tightened. I swallowed, my breathing doing triple time. Merely seeing the hunger in her eyes, her hunger for me, made my pulse leap with excitement.

  For the last year or so, sex had only been something to get done, a quick and numbing escape. I mean, I’d been highly motivated to get it done—and often. But the act itself hadn’t been anything special.

  Until lately. Until Gray.

  She ran a hand over the bulge in my jeans, groping me through the thick denim. “I’ve been thinking about how much I need the D.”

  I laughed. “I’m more than happy to give it to you. Whenever you want.”

  She grinned, holding my eyes with hers. “I know you are.” She reached forward and unbuttoned my fly. I released a long breath and put my hand over hers, helping her navigate the zipper around the tight fit. She grasped the waistband, tugging it down, freeing my hips from the jeans.

  She was now kneeling, leaning forward over my lap, between my open knees. Her intentions were clear, and I, well, I was right on board with this plan. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her mouth, anticipating the feel of being enveloped by her heat, feeling her tongue and lips slide around my cock. My hips jolted when she fished my erection out of my boxers, exposing it to her inspection as she smiled at me, licking her lips.

  Fuck.

  Slowly, she leaned forward. Her hot breath bathed my sensitive skin, and I closed my eyes, savoring the anticipation. Her tongue lashed out, tasting the head of my cock. My breath stilled as pleasure zinged through my body. Then, her lips touched me there. The lightest stroke started at the very tip before opening to take it in, sliding down my length, devouring me.

  My eyes shot open as I watched more of me disappear into her mouth, that hungry gleam in her green eyes sharpening. Beautiful. So very beautiful. She was a lioness. And I was her happy prey. For now.

  Thrilled to be hunted down and swallowed by her.

  I reached out, threading my fingers through her soft hair, encouraging her to continue, letting her know it felt good. In some cases, gently guiding her movement when it was appropriate. She didn’t seem to mind, the way the thirst in her eyes intensified, and she’d let out a throaty moan.

  She was so damned delicious that I was about to lose it embarrassingly fast. One small hand gripped me at the base of my cock, the other ran her fingers through the fine hair near my navel. Pure pleasure clamped itself around me, grasping control and taking me along for the ride.

  I let it. Let her take me there.

  My hand cupped her breast, fingers quickly finding her nipple and working it to a peak. And I wasn’t sure what was turning me on more—the feel of her hot mouth on my aching cock or the small whimpers she made deep in her throat.

  Whatever it was, it got me to where I was going, quickly and without delay. Soon I was feeling the familiar build to climax. For her part, she kept going even if sometimes she needed to slow down and readjust her angle.

  Her mouth sucked, my pleasure spiked, and I knew it was inevitable. “Gray,” I rasped. “I’m coming.”

  I started to pull out of her mouth, but she shook her head and thrust forward, taking me deeper as I squeezed my eyes closed and tensed, stilling as pure pleasure washed over me and I shuddered.

  I fell back against the cushions, happily depleted as she got up and went into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a washcloth for me. I took my own turn in the bathroom and cleaned up.

  When I came out, I saw we still had at least an hour. So, as she zipped up her bag, I instead scooped her up, throwing her over my shoulder as she shrieked in surprise. Carrying her to her bedroom, I pulled off her leggings, buried my head between her legs and returned the favor.

  Making her scream was quickly becoming my new favorite thing to do.

  She barely had time to dress for dinner and usher me out the door. Even though I knew I’d be seeing her in a few hours, I made out with her a little in the stairwell before I hopped down to the parking lot, loaded with her suitcase.

  We had months together, yet. And there would be no more talk of sleep studies or working through my issues. There was only some good clean—and sometimes dirty—sex followed by well-deservedly restful sleep.

  I waved to her from the parking lot as she smiled down at me, watching me make my way to the car.

  I drove home with a smile on my face the entire way.

  Chapter 22

  Gray

  Dinner this evening was Dad’s choice so, naturally, it was at his favorite haunt, Applebee’s. He was famously fond of the inexpensive chain of restaurants, and the media thought it almost an adorable quirk that he used coupons when he ate there.

  But tonight, he was unusually quiet, studying the menu for long minutes without looking up. Which was ridiculous because he always ordered the same dish.

  When the server arrived, I ordered a chicken Caesar salad, which of course my dad scoffed at. He hated salads and eschewed most cooked vegetables too. I often joked that he had the palate of a toddler.

  “How are you feeling tonight? You look a little peaked,” I said when he’d rearranged his silverware and polished every piece with his napkin multiple times.

  He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m fine, Gray. Stop nagging. Just had a long day.”

  My brow went up at the waspish snap, so unlike him, normally. Maybe he’d had a bad meeting earlier. “You’re still checking your blood pressure every day, right? With that automatic monitor I got you for Christmas?”

  Now, he looked exasperated. So, I held out a palm face up. Resting my chin against my other fist, I gazed around the restaurant, noting the couples, the small families. I understood why Dad liked coming here. When stuck in offices and in the world of finance and sycophants, someplace that brought him back to his middle-class roots would be a welcome break.

  “How about you?” he finally asked after our meals had arrived.

  I chewed my bite of salad and looked up at him. “How about me, what?”

  “You seem busy. My assistant told me it took her days to get hold of you to make this appointment.”

  I smiled. “Sorry. The day job and all the side jobs—the reports and studies I’ve been working on.”

  “And this whole babysitting thing. How’s that going?”

  I nodded. “Just fine. He’s doing so well. I keep sending you links to the media mentions. I hope you’ve been looking at them. The public’s been eating up that romance.”

  He snorted and dug into his fettuccine.

  “I’m concerned about your schooling,” he said a while later
after he’d stayed uncharacteristically silent for long minutes while enjoying his meal.

  “Nothing to be concerned about. I’ve got a plan to start getting clinical hours this fall—”

  He shook his head. “You should be working on all that now. Get the whole thing wrapped up.”

  I stopped mid-chew to throw him an exasperated look. “Well, you’re the whole reason I’ve been doing this work with Commander Tyler in the first place. Or did you forget that?”

  I frowned. What was up with him? Now he was backpedaling? This was so unlike him.

  “That’s all been a waste of time,” he snapped irritably.

  I dropped my fork so that it clanged against my plate—loudly. “Excuse me?”

  He stopped eating and stared at me, and my face flushed. Now, he was pissing me off. But would I ever in a million years tell him that?

  No. Hell no. I clenched my jaw and quickly picked up my fork again and stabbed at my salad, taking a breath and mentally counting to ten before I spoke again.

  “Dad, why didn’t you fully fund the XPAC, then?” There, my voice was smooth as silk. I was proud of myself.

  He didn’t answer for a long time. “I want you to succeed, and I want you to love what you do. I’m afraid you’re not going to finish what you started.”

  I shook my head. “The only way that will happen is if the XPAC isn’t funded. Then I won’t have the job.” Might as well shove a little additional pressure for him to keep from backing out whenever I could.

  Some strange mixture of emotions crossed his face, and he looked weary. He must have had a bad night’s sleep. That happened to him sometimes. But I refrained from mentioning it because it only seemed to make him more ticked off with the mood he was in.

  We didn’t linger over our plates tonight, nor did he order dessert, which cut things short and confirmed to me that what he was lacking was some good rest. We drove back to my place in silence. In the parking lot of my building, I gave him a big hug and landed a kiss on his cheek.

  “Get some sleep, Dad.”

  “Love you, Gracie,” he said in an odd sort of monotone.

  I had a forty-five-minute drive back to Ryan’s house that night, and so I cued my oldies playlist and listened to Diana Ross and the Supremes sing about how you can’t hurry love.

  It made me wonder, again, what love was and where the line was between what I was feeling and love or infatuation.

  In my field, some had published on the subject, saying that love was definable by certain behaviors and characteristics. A focus on the positive—like my Ryan-colored filter. An emotional instability heavily dependent upon the object of one’s desire. Given the way my moods were swinging these days, that would definitely qualify. That central dopamine rush like the flow of a drug—as I’d often compared that feeling to. An intensifying attraction—and yes, he was much more handsome to me now than even when I’d first noticed him. I still appreciated those flawless physical characteristics, but now that I knew more about his heart—his good heart underneath the cocky asshole façade, I couldn’t tear myself away.

  The list went on. Intrusive thoughts, emotional dependency, daydreaming about the future, possessive feelings, craving emotional union. I had them all.

  Goddamn.

  I was in love.

  As I gripped the steering wheel and exited the freeway, headed for the hills in the north, I swallowed the oncoming tidal wave of exhilaration, happiness and cold fear.

  I was deeply in love with Ryan Tyler.

  I caught my breath again, trying to calm my respiration. I could hear the clicking, even over the music. Should I tell him? And how should I tell him? And if not tonight, then when?

  Ordering myself to calm down, I turned into his neighborhood, flipping my headlights on to high beam so I could see better. I blinked and forced myself to think it through calmly.

  I was never ever known for getting carried away with my emotions. No. I was Gray, the girl who played it safe. And I’d be as calm and rational about this as I was about everything else. I wasn’t going to let being in love for the very first time make me lose my head.

  No, I’d let things play out naturally knowing that my intuition would lead me to divulge that wonderful secret at exactly the right time.

  And hopefully, God, I hoped, he’d feel the same way too.

  Chapter 23

  Ryan

  The next morning in the astronaut office, we were prepping for our next full real-time simulation. Noah, as my backup on this mission, was helping me go over the timing and checklists for each step from pre-flight to touchdown. Fortunately, we’d managed to keep it professional since the blowup in the locker room the week before last.

  As a group, we were preparing to go out to Cape Canaveral, Florida the following month for launchpad tests, and we had to have the timing down to within fractions of seconds in order to be ready for them.

  “Stack thirty-five,” Hammer was saying. “Go at T minus twenty—”

  The door opened, and Tolan’s assistant poked his head in.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Mr. Reeves wanted to know if Ty could meet him across the street at the restaurant at three for an informal meeting with some of the investors.”

  My brow shot up. That seemed sudden and weird. “Did he say who?”

  The assistant shrugged. “Just said to make sure you got the message and that you’d be there.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged. “Got it.”

  Weird or not, I’d go.

  The guys said nothing, and we went back to work.

  Not long before three, I left the building and crossed the street to hit the old haunt. When I got there, I saw that Cheryl was on shift today. She perked up when she saw me coming. “Here to meet Tolan,” I said when she greeted me with a menu.

  Her eyes widened. “Right, he’s in the back room. With some famous guy. Or at least that’s what the guys in the back are saying. I have no idea who he is.”

  My brow went up. “Famous guy?”

  She nodded. “Of course, you’re famous too, so it’s not a big deal who that old man is.”

  I frowned. Famous? Old man? With Tolan? His assistant had said it was to meet with some investors. Maybe it was someone new who wanted in? I speculated over that as she led me to the semiprivate room in the back—meant for corporate parties or people who requested more privacy.

  Still, this bar and grill wasn’t all that fancy and an odd place to meet someone important. Tolan should have brought whoever it was over to the plant, given him a tour, introduced him to all the guys, not just me.

  When we stepped into the room, I immediately understood why Tolan had chosen not to bring him to XVenture.

  My stomach bottomed out as Conrad Barrett looked up from his conversation with Tolan when I walked in. Not the famous guy I was expecting—though I had no idea who I’d been expecting. But it sure as hell hadn’t been him.

  I clenched my jaw before forcing myself to relax. I held out a hand to shake Barrett’s. He looked at it, and instead of taking it, waved me off toward a chair. “Sit down, Tyler. Join us. Shall I order some appetizers? Are you hungry?”

  I blinked, hesitating, and then pulled my hand back, oddly reminded of that first day when I’d put my hand out to Gray. She’d stuffed her hands into her pockets rather than shake my hand. I never did ask her why she’d refused that handshake. But the irony was not lost on me.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Had a big lunch a little while ago.” His eyes took me in from head to toe. I sank into an empty seat across from him and Tolan. And I waited for one or the other of them to clarify for me why the hell I was here.

  “How about a beer, then?”

  I looked up at Cheryl. “Mineral water with lime, please.”

  Barrett ordered himself a Diet Coke and a bowl of chips and salsa. Tolan, instead of ordering, stood up. “I’m going to let you two chat. I’ve got to get going.”

  I frowned at that. Clearly, this had been the plan. That did not bode
well for whatever Barrett’s agenda was. I frowned at Tolan, then turned my gaze to Barrett, a question evident in my glance.

  “Tolan’s indulging me. I had some questions about how things are going with the program, wanted to hear it straight from you.” He nodded at Tolan. “Thank you.”

  Tolan acknowledged Barrett’s comment and then nodded to me and left the table. Cheryl appeared with our drinks and the chips and salsa. Barrett proceeded to load his plate with a handful of chips before pointing to the bowl. “Help yourself.”

  “I’m good.” I sipped at my beverage, bracing myself. This was not some generic meeting to follow up with concerns. I knew that much. Conrad Fucking Barrett did not deign to bother himself with such banalities. If I hadn’t figured that out from his down-home public persona, then hearing Gray talk about him for the past month and a half had helped me figure that much out, at least.

  I leaned back in my chair and watched him attack his chips and salsa with gusto. I blinked, waiting. He didn’t seem all that in a hurry to get started. And that added to the sinking feeling in my gut.

  Classic blow-off tactics—summoning me to a meeting, then putting me off by making me wait. The magnanimous offer of food and drink—alcoholic, if possible. Yes, Barrett had an agenda, and if I was a betting man, that agenda involved his daughter. “What can I do for you, Mr. Barrett? You had questions?”

  “Mmm.” He held up a hand to hold me off while he finished chewing his mouthful and washed it down with a sip of Diet Coke. “My daughter would kill me if she knew about the soda. Not supposed to have caffeine.”

  I swallowed but didn’t say anything. We held a long, meaningful gaze.

  He knew about Gray and me. I was certain of it.

  But would he have the balls to be the first to bring it up, or would he wait until I cracked and confessed? He was toying with me, that much was certain.

  I put a hand on the table and leaned back in my chair. “You didn’t have questions about the program, did you?”