by Tara Wylde
Ronan’s eyes darken. “What’s the point of faking it?”
“Don’t know.” I shrug one shoulder. “But my other lovers seemed to like it.” Not that I’d ever told any of them that it was what I was doing.
Ronan’s eyes grow even darker in the moonlight. “I’m not like any of your other lovers.”
“No,” I agree. “You’re not.”
He lifts a hand and strokes a finger along the curve of my cheek. His touch is so gentle, he could be stroking the back of a butterfly’s wing. Unable to stop myself, I lean into the touch.
A small, smug smile plays at the corner of Ronan’s mouth. “I want to come inside of you.”
“I said you can.”
“But only if you’re coming at the same time.”
“I wish it were possible, but it’s just not.”
His hand slides lower, running along the side of my neck before cupping my breast. My nipple instantly leaps to attention. “I think you’re wrong. I think I can make you come again, and when I do, I bet I can make you feel even better than you do right now.”
Considering that, aside from the guilt I have over leaving him hanging, I’m feeling pretty damn good, his words are quite bold. And I’ve never been the kind of person who can walk away from a challenge.
“Prove it.”
Cassie
Ronan’s gaze stays locked on mine as he grasps my hips and lifts me up and off his thighs. I swallow as the bulbous tip of his cock probes my entrance. I suck in a deep breath. From this position, it feels far bigger than it did when I had my hands wrapped around it, and it felt huge then.
Ronan’s fingertips dig into the soft flesh covering my hip bones as he slowly lowers me.
The first inch of his cock slides into me, triggering a fresh flood of moisture and a return of the pulsating heat in my lower belly, surprising me. On the few occasions when a lover has managed to get me off, he’s never been able to do anything to interest my body in a second round. Yet for some reason, just the feel of Ronan’s cock is warming me right up again.
What the hell makes him so different from every other man I’ve ever known?
“Sweetheart.” Ronan’s voice and the unexpected endearment returns my attention to him. His fingers flex against my hips. “I don’t want you thinking about anything else right now. Okay?”
How did he know my thoughts had temporarily turned away from the feel of him?
I nod.
“I want you to just breathe and let yourself relax.” He lowers me another quarter of an inch. “Just feel everything I’m doing to you. I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
My inner walls lightly spasm, trying to draw him more deeply inside of me. The heat in my belly burns brighter as a light pressure starts building.
“You might be right,” I whisper. Since I’ve never had a second orgasm, I don’t know what the build-up usually feels like, but from where I’m sitting, not only is Ronan stoking the fires that will lead to a repeat performance, it’s going to be even more intense than the first.
If it is, I don’t know how I’ll survive the experience.
“I am,” Ronan replies, one hundred percent confident in his abilities.
He lowers me the rest of the way until I’m straddling his pelvis, his entire cock buried deeply inside of me.
I lean forward slightly and brace my hands on Ronan’s shoulders.
When it comes to sex, I’ve always been a traditionalist. By the time I get to this point, I’m the one pinned between a mattress and a lover. This is the first time I’ve ever been the one on top. I like it.
Chasing my instincts, I slowly roll my hips, enjoying the way the movement changes the way Roman’s cock feels inside of my pussy.
“Stop,” Ronan orders. His grip on my hips tightens, halting my movement. “Remember, you’re supposed to be relaxing. Letting me take care of everything.”
Keeping one hand locked on my hip, he lets the other slide around to my front, gliding lower until he buries his fingers in my folds, capturing my swollen clit between his fingers and rolling the tiny bundle of nerve endings first one way, then the other. His hips buck, the sharp, short movement driving his cock deeper into my body, touching and activating nerve endings that have never been triggered before.
The slow, bubbling burn in my lower belly ignites into a five-alarm inferno.
Mewling softly in the back of my throat, I lean forward, covering his mouth with mine.
I initiated the kiss, but Ronan quickly takes control. His fingers keep playing with my clit, triggering one wave of moist heat after another to drench my already weeping pussy while his tongue and dick mirror one another’s short, thrusting movements.
One wave of hot, nearly unbearable sensation rolls through me, threatening to break me apart as fireworks burst behind my eyes.
My pussy tightens around Ronan’s thick member. My nails bite into his skin as pressure builds, starting in my pussy and quickly working its way upwards until it consumes me.
“Here we go,” Ronan says, and his voice sounds very far away even though his lips still brush mine.
Ronan arches his back, changing the angle of his cock, and the unexpectedness of the movement would have unseated me if I hadn’t been holding so tightly to his shoulders.
The change in angle is the final straw. It allows his cock to stroke a nerve that releases a thousand volts of white lightning, each volt hitting a new pleasure point. I can’t tell if they trigger one giant orgasm or if Ronan has just set off a thousand little ones that are rolling into one massive tidal wave of pleasure.
I scream incoherently as Ronan stiffens beneath me. Somewhere in the very back of my shattered mind, I register the hot spurt that signals his own climax and get the oddest sensation that I should be worried about it, but then another earth-moving wave of pleasure cascades through me and the only thing I can do is feel.
When I collapse on his chest, Ronan rolls onto his side, disengaging his now flaccid member and sliding off the bed.
Still vibrating from the most incredible aftershocks, the only thing I can do is lie there as he disappears into the hotel room’s bathroom. I hear water running for the briefest moment, and a few seconds later, Ronan returns, a damp washcloth draped over one hand.
Too exhausted to do anything but lie passively, I let him use the rough cloth to wipe the remains of our night from the inside of my thighs. He tosses the cloth on the floor and works the bedding out from under me. The mattress dips as he climbs back onto the bed, and uses the quilt to cover both of us.
I don’t protest as he pulls me into his arms, cuddling my back against the front of his chest even though I never sleep with any of the men I invite into my room. My MO has always been to kick them out of my bed, out of my room, and whenever possible, out of my life as soon as I can.
But for some reason, with Ronan, I just can’t do that. Probably because I’m still in a pleasure-induced fog. Besides, he’s all warm and comfy. Why should I deny myself that?
My eyes flutter closed without any conscious effort on my part, and the siren’s call of sleep beckons me. Just before I drift away, a sudden thought springs to the front of my mind.
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?” His own weariness gives Ronan’s words a slightly slurred quality.
“I just thought of how Northwest is always complaining that they don’t have any money and that the pilots need to come up with ways to cut corners.”
It might be my imagination, but I swear Ronan stiffens.
“And that’s funny?” He sounds more alert.
“No, not really.” Ronan might be waking up, but with every passing heartbeat, I’m getting sleepier, making it harder to remember what I wanted to say. “I just wondered what would happen if I pointed out that having all the pilots sleeping in one hotel, in one hotel room, would save a fortune.”
“Mmm,” Ronan agrees. His arms tighten around me, pulling me more securely against his chest. “Of course, the onl
y way I’d be interested in using that particular method for helping the company save money is if all the other lady pilots are as sexy as you.”
Ronan
Cassie is snoring softly in my arms, completely lost in what I hope are pleasant dreams. I should be doing the same thing, but it doesn’t matter how many times I try to turn off my brain, I just can’t seem to accomplish the task.
Which isn’t good, considering Cassie and I are supposed to be in the cockpit of our massive jet in just a few hours, shuttling a full complement of passengers to Athens.
When they set up Cassie and my schedules, Northwest gave us a pretty tight schedule, with only twelve or fifteen hours off between most of the flights, but this particular stop was supposed to be nearly twenty hours long.
I glance down at Cassie’s profile.
If I can fall asleep now, then when Cassie and I wake up, I’ll treat her to some great Italian food, followed by a walking tour of Florence, a city that’s almost as beautifully romantic as Paris, and follow that up with more good food and even better wine. Then, if we still have the time and energy, we’ll end up right here in this bed for another round of lovemaking.
Assuming, of course, that Cassie is up for it.
And assuming she doesn’t wake up and immediately freak out because we made love.
Which, as far as I’m concerned, is exactly what we’ve done.
The fact that I have a niggling suspicion that she and I aren’t on the same page about what tonight meant, coupled with how she’s going to react when she learns the truth about who I really am and why I’m flying, is driving me crazy.
That, combined with finding that body and Cassie’s casual comment about the financial concerns of Northwest’s execs, is doing a bang-up job of keeping me awake. How the hell have I managed to get myself into this position? When I first approached Northwest about hiring me as a pilot, my intentions were honorable—they still are—but at the time it was a lark, a fun game to prove to myself, my family, and society that there’s more to me than everyone assumes. But now … Ever since Cassie walked into that dingy little breakroom prior to our flight, I’ve had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that this entire situation is going to explode in my face.
I’m not crazy about explosions happening near me.
My dad is constantly griping about how I never look before I leap into things. He claims it’s my biggest flaw and that someday it’s going to catch up with me.
Speaking of leaping before looking …
I glance down at Cassie’s sleeping profile.
Unable to help myself, I stroke my hand over Cassie’s slim shoulder and upper arm, marveling at the softness of her skin and the solid muscle just beneath. Cassie’s a tall woman and with Marilyn Monroe style curves, not the type of woman I’d expect to have powerful muscles. Just another thing that makes her an enigma.
The more I get to know her, the more she seems shrouded in mystery, and the more determined I am to peel back all the layers.
She comes across as this completely bad-ass woman, the kind who is in complete control of herself and her surroundings. Which I find completely sexy, which is strange since most of the women in my life, including the ones I date, are soft and yielding, always ready to fall all over themselves to please me. Once I start dating a woman, it’s like she loses all sense of herself, shedding all of her personality, all of her likes and dislikes, and becomes some kind of clone of the woman she thinks I’ll fall for.
It’s a trend that has always creeped me out, and now I’m sick and tired of it.
Not one of them has turned me on as much as Cassie.
Yet, despite all her toughness, every once in a while she says or does something that provides a glimpse of something softer, perhaps even the faintest trace of vulnerability.
Back in Atlanta, I was shocked to hear the words about love at first sight. I hadn’t meant to say it. I’ve always found the idea of love at first sight to be completely laughable, the kind of thing that only happens in romance novels.
If someone had said something like that to me, I’d have thought the same thing as Cassie did, that it was a bad come-on line.
But it wasn’t. I’m not sure what it was, or even what I meant when I said it.
I’m not in love with Cassie, at least I don’t think so, but the second my eyes met hers, my heart didn’t skip a beat but something deep inside of me shifted. I’m not saying I fell in love, but I’m willing to admit to falling into instant obsession. And the more I get to know Cassie, the more obsessed I become.
That’s why I dug in my heels and balked when she dragged me into this room.
I wanted to have sex with Cassie. I wanted her more than I’ve ever wanted another woman … more than I ever wanted anything. But as much as my body craved her, I didn’t want a one-night stand.
There was another reason I balked. The entire time I was trying to talk Cassie out of sleeping with me, I’d been afraid of how I’d react, that something inside of me would change forever.
But she was impossible to resist.
And I was right. Making love with Cassie was more intense, more spectacular than anything I’ve ever experienced before. The fact that with me she experienced multiple orgasms-and oh boy, just watching her experience them had rocked my world-for the first time made it even more special.
I’m not to the point where I’m planning our wedding or trying to pick out baby names, but the fact that I’m mentally creating the perfect romantic date instead of sleeping proves that I’m already pretty far gone.
Falling head over heels for my prickly, sharp tongued co-pilot wasn’t part of my plan.
The opening bars of the Star Wars theme breaks into my thoughts. Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, I slide out from under Cassie and kind of tumble to the floor. Using ringtone as a guide, I grope around until I locate my pants and dig my cell phone out of the pocket.
A picture of my oldest brother fills the screen.
I hit the answer button. “Hey, Emmet.” I keep my voice as low as possible. I don’t want Cassie to overhear this call. “Give me just a sec, okay?”
Ronan
“Dude, I just talked to Mom.” Emmet’s loud, good ole boy voice booms in my ear. “Is it true, ‘cause if anyone else told me this, I’d wonder what they were smokin’.”
I close the bathroom door tightly behind me and nudge the shower curtain aside so I can turn the hot water onto full power.
“What are you talking about?”
I conjure up an image of my oldest brother. He’s a big guy, big enough that he intimidated the players from opposing football teams, both while he was in high school and later at Texas A&E, who awarded him a full athletic scholarship even though our dad’s money meant he didn’t need it.
It’s the middle of the night in Texas, so he must be getting home from some fancy event, which would explain when he talked to our mother. They always attend the same events and then spend the time huddled together, gossiping about the attendees.
“Mom said you have a job,” Emmet booms. “And what is that sound?”
“Yes, I’m working for Northwest as a pilot.” I run a hand through my hair and wonder why the news warranted a phone call. “And the noise is the shower. I turned it on so I can’t be overheard.”
“Oh,” Emmet chortles. “You must be with a hottie.”
The description has my jaw clenching. Emmet doesn’t know Cassie, so I can’t really blame him for what he just said, but he’s talking about Cassie. She’s more than just a gorgeous and warm body.
“Why’d you call me?”
The question puts Emmet’s train of thought back on track. “Why the hell did you go out and get a job? I’d give my right arm if it meant I didn’t have to work anymore.”
After he graduated from college, Emmet started working at the company our great-grandfather started and that each generation since has managed to make grow. His entire life, he’s been told that this would happen, bu
t it wasn’t until my father retired that Emmet realized that not only does he hate the work, he isn’t any good at it.
Luckily, the company is full of people who are happy to do most of the work and see that the company continues earning a massive profit margin each year. With the way things currently stand, Emmet is little more than the face of the company. He has to go into the office, shake a few hands, and sit in on the meetings. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but with the way he carries on, you’d think he was overworked and underpaid. As far as I can tell, he spends all of his time daydreaming about the day he gets to retire and spend all of his days sailing and playing golf. As far as I can tell, our dad is holding something over Emmet’s head, something that requires him to at least put in an appearance and make it look like he’s working. It’s strange though, because my dad has never had a problem with the fact that I spent my twenties bumming around the world and never made any kind of effort to work.
“Emmet, you do realize that most people have to work? It’s not like it’s the end of the world.” Not that I really have much experience. I got my very first job a week ago and have only been “working” for one flight.
“Most people have to work; it’s the only way they can pay for things. Or they have to take over the family legacy.” Bitterness seeps into Emmet’s voice. “You don’t. So why the hell did you go and get a job?”
“I like to fly.”
“You have your own planes,” Emmet points out.
“Yeah, but …” I hesitate, unsure of how to make my brother understand that while being a carefree playboy was fun, I’ve grown tired of it. Tired of not having anything important in my life. Tired of no one taking me seriously because in their minds I’m nothing more than a playboy who has nothing to contribute to the world. “Have you looked at Northwest’s paperwork? Their numbers?”
