Here Comes Trouble

by Leslie Kelly

  “Talk to me,” she murmured as she slowly slipped the remaining buttons free. The sleeveless top soon hung open on her shoulders, her breasts peeking from the edges of the pink fabric. Just as pink. Just as soft…other than her two taut, puckered nipples. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Lose the blouse.”

  She tipped one shoulder then the other, and it fell away, puddling around her on the seat. Cocking a brow, she waited for further instruction.

  “Show me how you want me to treat those nipples.”

  Sabrina covered one breast with her hand, her fingers spread, then she slowly closed them, puckering that pink tip tight. “The same way you sucked them. Gentle. Then hard. Pleasure…and just the tiniest bit of pain.”

  His mouth went dry as he shifted his gaze back and forth between the siren beside him and the controls in front of him. He kept an eye on the ground, too. Both for safety reasons, and because the sooner they were on it, the sooner his would be the hands on Sabrina’s body.

  Hearing the sound of a zipper, he glanced back in time to see her slipping out of her pants. Beneath them, she wore a tiny pair of pink thong panties, one lacy strap over each hip.

  “You want these gone, too?”

  “Unless you want me to touch you through the fabric,” he muttered hoarsely. “To close my mouth over you and inhale you through that silk.”

  Some inner well of sensual determination apparently outweighed her residual embarrassment. Because, licking her lips, she twined her finger in the elastic and tugged the panties down until her body was completely bared to his gaze.

  It was hard not to stare. The woman was perfect—all long, delicate lines and gentle, inviting curves. Her skin appeared smooth and supple and every inch of her looked soft.

  Max had sampled her breasts, and now longed to kiss his way down her midriff, over that flat belly, then to the hollow below. He wanted to bury his face in her golden curls and lick into her wet folds. To indulge in her, drink from her.

  “Show me how wet you are.”

  His hands tightened reflexively on the controls when Sabrina slid her palm across her stomach until the tips of her fingers tangled in the tuft of curls between her legs. When they slid lower, growing slick and juicy with her body’s moisture, Max nearly came out of his seat.

  Sabrina’s eyes drifted closed, her lips parting as her breathing grew deeper. A low moan emerged from her throat as she stroked herself, showing him—as he’d asked—what she liked.

  He was a good pupil. And he could hardly wait to prove to her just how carefully he was paying attention to the lesson.

  Soon. Almost there. A few minutes…

  “Max?” she whispered, close—she’d leaned over toward him again. “Hurry, okay?”

  “Ten minutes,” he said as he reached for the radio. As he informed the dinky tower at the Weldon airstrip—nothing more than a corrugated metal shed run by some local yokel—that they were returning so shortly after takeoff, he steeled himself to remain strong for a little while longer.

  But she made that impossible.

  “I think we can do a few other things to prepare,” she whispered, nibbling his ear as she slid her hand up his thigh. Into very dangerous territory. “I mean, we’ve got the protection ready to go. And I’m certainly ready to go.” She was nearly purring in his ear when her hand moved even higher, the tips of her fingers tracing the outline of his bulge. “All that’s left is to make sure you’re all ready to go.”

  “Oh, I’m ready. Trust me on this.”

  Her laugh was purely feminine, made confident by his desire for her. Her fingers did some walking. “I can tell.”

  “Please, you’re killing me here.”

  “So die happy,” she said, her tone pure evil as she moved even closer and wrapped her hand around his hard-on.

  Absolutely incapable of resisting, he arched into her grip, wanting her to grab him tight, squeeze and steer him right down the runway.

  Unable to do anything but breathe and keep the plane on course, he didn’t try to stop her when her fingertips moved to his zipper and slowly began drawing it down. She was careful, her breathing labored. His was even more so.

  “Don’t go too far,” he cautioned, wondering where his willpower was coming from. And just how far was too far.

  “Oh, of course not,” she said. “I know you’re very busy. Very focused. So I’ll stay out of your way.”

  He somehow didn’t equate Sabrina sliding her fingers into the opening of his briefs and stroking his erection with staying out of his way. “Whoa…”

  “Oh, my, you are ready,” she said as she pushed the cotton out of the way, freeing his rigid cock and catching it in her hand.

  If her touch had been good with his clothes between them, it was absolutely mind-blowing skin to skin.

  “I, uh, had been wondering…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at his cock. He saw the way her throat moved as she swallowed hard, and knew what she’d been wondering.

  She looked pleased at what she’d discovered. Very pleased. Her next words confirmed it. “Oh, yum.”

  With a laugh that was half groan, Max put his head back against the headrest and stared at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he’d gotten himself into this situation. At the controls, in flight, with a gorgeous naked woman holding his dick in her hand.

  Sounded like something out of a teenage boy’s pilot fantasy.

  “Holy shit,” he yelped when she made her next move. Because now she’d definitely moved into fantasy territory. He hadn’t even realized her intent, but now Sabrina’s sweet, wet mouth was wrapped around the head of his shaft.

  Her blond head looked gorgeous in his lap. Those silky strands spread over his jeans as she sucked and licked at him. The pleasure was like nothing he’d ever experienced, particularly as he gave himself over to the sensations, and the view out the windshield.

  Needing to touch her, he slid his fingers through her hair, gently rubbing the back of her neck, then gliding his palm down her back. Not stopping what she was doing, she wriggled that gorgeous ass a little, and he couldn’t resist reaching just a bit farther to cup it.

  “You know I’m going to get even with you for this,” he growled. “I fully intend to torture you when I have a whole lot of time to do it. Do things to make you scream and not take you until you’re begging for it.” He started to even out the torture by curling his fingers farther, between her cheeks, and sliding them into her wet crevice.

  “Oh,” she moaned, her back arching, her hips bucking up in welcome.

  He gave himself a few seconds to enjoy the slick softness of her skin, dipping his finger once—twice—into her tight channel. Each time, she groaned and ground against his hand. And each time she groaned, she sucked him harder.

  “Enough,” he said, seeing the small airport up ahead. Though it killed him, he pulled his hand away. “I mean it. Please, honey, sit up and put your seat belt on.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes big and dreamy, her mouth wet and red. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “Give me five minutes to land and then I’ll do you until you can’t remember what century it is.”

  WHAT CENTURY WAS IT, anyway? She already couldn’t remember. Completely out of her mind with excitement, Sabrina leaned back in her own seat, somehow feeling absolutely no embarrassment that she sat here in a tiny airplane, completely naked beside the pilot.

  The pilot whose most impressive erection was sticking out of his pants.

  Oh, she wanted that. She wriggled in the seat, the leather cool against her bottom and her legs. Still tingly from the way he’d touched her, she almost whimpered at how badly she needed more. Wanted more.

  Wanted him.

  She wanted to make love with Max Taylor more than she’d wanted anything in her entire life—more than she’d wanted to escape from her hometown, or to succeed at her job. More than she wanted to pursue her secret passion for writing.


  Right now, absolutely none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that the man she’d been fantasizing about for months and the man she’d been getting to know for days had blended together into one amazing package. And she was dying for them both.

  Toying with the condom packet, she tore the corner of it off. No sense wasting a moment once they were on the ground. Max was watching her out of the corner of his eye and she saw him start to laugh.

  “There are only two minutes left of your five,” she said, warning him. She was also playing with him.

  She liked playing with him. Sexy word games or sexy sex games, she just liked the way she felt when she was around Max Taylor. All the inhibitions—her initial doubts—had fallen away. She’d known when she left the theater with him how this “date” would end up—with the two of them finally doing what they’d been wanting to do since they met.

  What she hadn’t expected was that she’d fall a little deeper, get her emotions a little more tangled up, all because of the way they’d shared sensation and emotion. The way Max had eased her fear of flying with his sweet, vivid verbal seduction, turning her concerns into something else entirely. Something hot and wicked and hungry.

  Sabrina also felt as though he’d opened another page in the private book of his life. About why he needed to fly—to stay ahead, out of reach of anyone who might hurt him. He hadn’t liked that he’d revealed it, but it had been too late. She’d heard. She’d seen. She’d understood. Maybe she was the only one who understood this man. Or perhaps she just wanted to be.

  “One minute,” she murmured, glancing at her watch.

  “We’re taxiing.”

  To her surprise, she realized they were. Max’s landing had been so smooth she hadn’t even noticed they were on the ground.

  Close now. Oh, incredibly close. And the anticipation was so incredibly good. It was like that second before she blew out her birthday candles, knowing it was time to make the wish she’d been waiting a whole year to make. Or the moment before she used to open her eyes on Christmas morning when she was very small, knowing whatever was about to happen would be magical.

  This was going to be magical.

  Knowing where Max’s plane had been parked when they’d arrived at the airstrip, she realized immediately that they were heading toward another spot. Max pulled the plane to the very end of the tarmac, the farthest he could get from the teeny building where the airstrip manager worked, giving them that much more privacy.

  Good thing. Because the second he pulled the plane up and killed the engine, Sabrina was leaning toward him. “Now.”

  “Condom.” He grabbed it from her hand and pulled it on, then, without another word, reached over and lifted her off her seat. Moving her as easily as he would a doll, he separated her legs and opened her for him. Opened her wide.

  “Now,” he growled.

  With one hard thrust, he buried himself deep, so deep she had to howl at it. She was stretched and gloriously filled—completely connected.

  Max caught her cries with his mouth, kissing her ravenously as he tangled his hands in her hair and cupped her head. Kissing him back, she tugged at his shirt, needing it gone, needing to feel that bare skin and that amazing body. He let her pull her mouth off his just long enough for her to tug the shirt up and toss it away. Pausing for one second, she admired the thick ropes of muscle across his shoulders, the hard chest, the lean middle. He was absolutely beautiful to look at.

  And beautiful to touch.

  Digging her fingers into his arms, already slick with sweat, she started to move, sinking deeper, then pulling away. Every stroke was a new delight, every thrust a reminder of how empty she’d been before him.

  He caught her rhythm, matched it. Still kissing her like he wanted to devour her whole, he thrust into her again and again, imprinting himself on her, somewhere deep inside.

  It wasn’t long—not long at all—before Sabrina felt the wild, rollicking tremors roll through her body in a powerful orgasm. She wailed against his mouth and he carried her through it, holding her in his arms as she collapsed against his chest, almost exhausted at the power of the climax.

  “Oh, Max,” she mumbled against his neck, liking the taste of his sweaty skin, “I like flying with you.”

  He grabbed her hips, shifting her again, grinding into her until she panted at how good it felt. “Good thing. Because we’re just taking off.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALLIE HAD NO WAY to get home. It was three o’clock—one hour past the time Mr. Potts had promised to pick her up from Miss Emily’s house after their lovely luncheon. Only, he hadn’t shown up. He’d apparently forgotten all about her.

  “You’re sure your phone is working?” she asked her hostess, who’d made the most yummy tuna salad, complete with pickles, as if knowing Allie had been dying for something salty and tangy today. She’d followed it up with fudge brownies—also knowing Allie would want chocolate?

  “Joey checked and said it was fine.”

  Joey. The cute nephew.

  He’d been here for lunch and had been so thoughtful—pulling out her chair, offering to refill her water glass the moment it fell an inch below the rim. He was a gentleman, which was unbelievably rare for someone probably only a year older than her. Most of the guys Allie had met in college had been horny boys anxious to notch their belts now that they no longer lived at home. Even in the Christian school she’d attended, the need for eighteen-year-olds to get drunk and lose their virginity had been huge.

  Joey was different. Sweet. Earnest. A real Pennsylvania farmboy, born and raised.

  With his thick, sandy-colored hair, heart-melting smile and great body, she’d figured he had a girlfriend for sure. Some pretty dairy queen with big udders and blond braids. So she had been pretty surprised—and a little pleased—when he’d told his aunt that he did not.

  Allie thought Emily had stared at her and wagged her eyebrows. But that didn’t seem possible. What protective aunt would set her adored nephew up with a knocked-up twenty-year-old whose own family was probably cutting out scarlet letter As to sew on her maternity dresses?

  She hated that damn book. It had been hell reading it in English Lit last semester when she’d been trying to hide her pregnancy.

  “Sorry, Allie,” Joey said. “It is working. I just tried Mr. Potts’s number again and got his voice mail. You’re sure he’s American? He sounded like a stuffy English guy on the recording.”

  “Must be his butler. I haven’t met him yet but I’ve heard lots of stories.”

  Romantic stories, wild stories. Stories of countries she’d only ever read about and worlds she’d only ever dreamed of. Far removed from the reality of Allie Cavanaugh, Reverend Tucker’s second-oldest granddaughter. As was any idea that she could still be a simple, fun-loving twenty-year-old and bask in the attention of a cute guy with a great laugh and strong shoulders.

  The realization making her sad, she steeled her shoulders and gave Joey the most polite, nondescript smile she could manage. “Well, it’s not too far, I can walk.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Emily shook her head so hard her brownish curls flopped over her forehead. It made her look younger, prettier. Which Mr. Potts would surely have noticed if he had shown up. “Joey can take you home.”

  “Yes, of course I can,” he said, sounding pleased by the idea.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let him see me as some poor fallen woman he needs to rescue. But he probably did.

  Suddenly feeling very old—much older and wiser than Miss Emily’s nephew—she let him help her to her feet, absently rubbing her belly with the palm of her hand. Catching him watching her, she bit back a smile as his eyes widened in surprise—as if he’d just remembered there was a whole other person living inside her.

  Though he remained polite, she sensed a veil of formality drop over him. Once again, Allie began again to feel alone—far removed from Joey and his problems at the small community college he attended.
They seemed so insignificant. Young. Like he still thought the number of imaginary friends he had on MySpace really mattered.

  It wasn’t only because she was pregnant—about to be a mother—while he probably hadn’t had a whole lot of sexual experience. She wasn’t older just in terms of sex. She was also far too experienced in heartache.

  But Peter hadn’t broken her heart. Her family had.

  This attractive guy didn’t know about that. Had no frame of reference. Neither did any of Allie’s other college friends. She, alone, had been forced to grow up practically overnight, realizing you couldn’t always go home again. And sometimes home was where you made it.

  Like here, in Trouble…in a tent in Mr. Potts’s backyard.

  “I would appreciate the ride,” she murmured. “Ma’am, thank you so very much for the lunch, I appreciate it. I’m sorry you didn’t have the chance to meet Mr. Potts.”

  Miss Emily tucked her arm in Allie’s and led her to the door. “That’s quite all right. You let Joey take you home safe and sound, honey, and you put your feet up for a while. Give Butch a scratch under the chin for me, will you?”

  Smiling, she agreed, then let Emily’s nephew escort her to the car. He held the door open for her—playing at gentleman again—and then lent her a hand so she could lower herself into the passenger seat. She carefully buckled up, keeping the belt low, beneath her belly, as all her maternity books said she should.

  Allie might not be handling all the other aspects of her pregnancy too well—the stretch marks, the discomfort, the isolation, the loss of her family. But she was doing very well in one area: loving her child. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep the baby safe, even if his father was the biggest prick on the face of the planet.

  As they drove through the town of Trouble toward Mr. Potts’s place, Joey tried to make small talk. He asked her about her family, her education. But in her mind, every conversation ended in a silent question: Who knocked you up? So they soon stopped talking.

  The silence heavy in the car, Allie withdrew deep into her thoughts, going over—as always—her plans for the future. A future that involved her standing on her own, relying on her sister to be not her caretaker but her confidante, her sibling. Her friend. She wanted to reach that point—wanted to free Sabrina from this hair coat of guilt she wore, as if she’d wound up the key in Peter’s back and pushed him in Allie’s direction.