Page 38 of The Best Bad Decision

“I don’t want you to uproot your life, Cam,” she says, setting her cup down on the kitchen table. “I don’t want us to affect your career.”

“It’s a lateral move, Amie. Who knows, maybe I’ll have higher seniority out of Boston or New York.” I won’t. I already know my seniority will be lower than it is right now, whichever of the two bases I move to. I drink down half the bottle’s contents in one long gulp. “And there’s no uprooting about it—Iwantto do this.”

Warm hazel eyes search mine, a war playing out within them.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I assert, resolute in my decision.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. It would be nice to have you closer. For Maisy.”

I plaster a smile on my face. Itwouldbe nice to be closer to Maisy. It would be fucking amazing—all I want is to be closer to my little girl. But it would be everything too, to be closer to Amie.

twenty-two

Cam

Iopen my eyesto a pitch-dark room and squint into the darkness. Through the tiniest gap in the blackout curtains, daylight shines like a beacon, and I glance over at the clock beside the bed. Its neon green numbers read 11:23am, but I know better than to trust it. I slap my hand around on the nightstand for my phone and pull it to my face. It’s actually only eleven-fifteen.

I still haven’t figured out where I am.

After a few hours of delays, an aircraft change, and an Air Traffic Control system outage, I finally reached my hotel room after three am. I managed to call Maisy to say goodnight, but I was sitting at my gate, surrounded by delayed and irritated passengers, and it was the quickest call we’ve ever had. I didn’t get to tell her a bedtime story. She was crying when we hung up, big, shuddering sobs that broke my heart, and I didn’t even get to talk to Amie beyond a quick hello.

I felt like crying, too. I miss my little girl. I miss Amie. I miss them both with a fierce ache in my chest.

Stretching my arms above my head as I stand, I move over to the window and pull the curtains open, surveying the impressive ocean view. It looks like Miami. The clouds look ominous and the palm treesare swaying from side to side, bending so far they look like they might just break. Excellent.

I grab some underwear and my workout gear, whiz through my morning ablutions, and head for the gym, water bottle in hand. I stuffed my earphones in my ears before leaving the room and as I swipe my card at the gym door, I scroll to the newest episode of my favourite podcast. Then I find myself an empty treadmill and prepare to sweat.

Six miles later, with my muscles nicely warm, I hop off the treadmill, refill my water bottle and move over to the free weights. As a pilot, we’re always being told how important our physical health is. Mentally taxing though the job is, I pretty much sit and look out of a window all day, so it feels good to do something that gets me moving. It also helps to combat the effects of jet lag—supposedly, at least. Someone better remind my body of that next time I cross an ocean.

I push myself to a personal best with the weights and then move to a yoga mat in the corner, lying down to stretch and cool off. I don’t usually run so far and I never do so many reps, but I’m mad. I’m tired and I’m mad, yesterday’s delays pissed me off and I miss my girls. Pushing my body to its limit helped to relieve some of the stress, and a little more of it poured out in the sweat soaking the basketball jersey I keep in my suitcase for hotel gym workouts. I wipe down the yoga mat, toss my used towel in the designated basket, and head back to my room for a shower. I need a hot one to soothe my sore muscles but after spending the last four miles thinking about Amie’s ass, a cold one might be more beneficial.

Steam fills the room and fogs the mirror as I step out of my shorts. Once I step under the spray, the warmth envelops me and I feel my muscles begin to unclench. I lean heavily against the tiles, letting the hot water beat down on my back and shoulders.

Inevitably, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: New Year’s Eve in Singapore, with Amie on me, under me, wrapped around me. I close my eyes and I can smell her apple shampoo, the musky perfume on her inner wrists and throat. I can still feel her fingers dancing down my ribs, my stomach, my cock. It twitches, swelling quickly and aching with need as the memories play behind my closed eyes. I’m detached from my own body as I watch the playback memory of her on her knees, lips wrapped around my cock, looking up at me with a wicked smirk as she sucks me all the way to the back of her throat.

Fuck.

The way she sucked me deep, the way her tongue swirled and rubbed, the way her fingers cupped and teased. I huff out a breath and my hand grips my cock, jerking it hard under the water.Amie.

I let out a strangled yelp as her tongue swirled around the tip of my cock, followed by a light graze of her teeth. Her hands moved from my hips to cup my balls, gently testing their weight and squeezing lightly.

“Fuck, Amie,” I grumbled. Her lips twitched around me like a smile, and my hips moved without warning, my breathing heavy and erratic.

“I can’t hold—”

“Sshh.” She released me with a warm breath and a lewd pop, taking me in her hand once more. “Just fuck mymouth, baby. Make me yours.”

Well, fuck, I didn’t need any further invitation. She took me in her mouth again, sucking me down until I bumped the back of her throat, and I thrust his hips against her face. She met each movement, sucking and licking, her fingers teasing at the base of my cock and my balls until they began to tighten, a dull, tingling sensation spreading from the base of my spine. Her dark hair draped over her shoulders until I gathered it in my hand, wrapping the wild curls around my fist and using it to drive her mouth up and down my shaft, in and out, tangling my fingers and my soul in her.

“Amie, I’m—” I bit out. Then, “fuck.”

My orgasm tore through me, an explosion in each limb, and Amie swallowed it down with a coquettish smile. She released me with another pop and licked her lips, then moved back up me body to capture my lips with her own.

“Delicious,” she declared, using the pad of her thumb to wipe at the corner of my lips. “Now I want you to screw my brains out.”

I stroke myself, jerking into my hand, remembering the sensation of Amie’s mouth until the inevitable happens, hot white spurts hitting the tile and sliding down slowly. It’s a relief, but barely. I clean myself up, rinse the evidence from the shower wall, and turn off the water.

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