Page 89 of From Air

He parks my Jeep and leans over the console to kiss me. It takes several minutes to drag ourselves out of the vehicle. We meet at the back of the Jeep and kiss again. Fitz presses my backside against the spare tire. Our kiss grows into something that feels too intense to control.

Lifting me to him, he slowly treks toward my building.

“The . . . the key . . . ring . . . ,” I pant as he kisses my neck.

My back hits the side of the building while he fumbles with my keys, finding the card to scan. The door buzzes, and he opens it with one hand while his other hand claims my ass.

I stop him before he heads up the stairs. “D-down the hall, last on the left.”

We stumble into my tiny efficiency apartment and waste no time in discarding our clothes.

“Jaymes, you have a fucking twin bed,” he mumbles over my lips when I push him back onto my single-size mattress.

I giggle. “I’m aware.” I kiss his chest and abs, my fingers brushing his scars before my tongue makes a slow swipe up the length of his erection.

His head stretches back while a satisfied moan vibrates along his chest. I straddle him, guiding him between my legs. My heavy eyelids surrender when I sink onto him, hands flat on his chest.

When I open my eyes, he’s watching me with an intoxicated gaze and soft lips that he occasionally wets with a lazy swipe of his tongue.

I lean forward, grinding against him, and he lifts his head, mouth on my breasts.

“God . . . Fitz . . . that feels . . .” I lose my words and mind.

His hands tangle in my hair while he kisses me deeply, slowly moving with me as the moonlight through my one-way windows washes over him, shadows flickering across his face when I sit up.

We are whispers of labored breaths and flesh colliding.

As my orgasm begins to course through my body slowly, he flips me onto my back and pumps into me harder, quickly finding his release.

I revel in this moment, mesmerized by him moving above me. Face tense, lips parted; it feels like a bonus orgasm—a compulsion I can’t deny.

“Fuck you, Jaymes ... god ... just ... fuck you ... I never want ... to stop.” There is more to his words than the simple meaning behind each one. With Fitz, it’s never what he says as much as how he says it.

I can’t stop my grin as he fights his emotions. There’s something gratifying about being the person who gives someone else strength. However, I’m thoroughly addicted to being Calvin Fitzgerald’s greatest weakness.

He’s not deficient in confidence. He’s brave on a whole different level. Except with me, he’s vulnerable. And I’m incredibly honored that he trusts me with the part of himself that he has yet to understand.

My sweatypersonbreathes heavily in my ear before kissing a trail down my chest to my abs, teasing my belly button with his tongue.

I giggle. “Stop! That tickles.”

I feel his lips pull into a grin along my skin while he presses his hands into the mattress on either side of my body. He drags his tongue to my side and bites my skin just above my hip.

I jerk. “Fitz!” I wriggle beneath him.

He laughs, and it’s an ecstatic sound.

I push at his chest. “I have to pee, and now I need a shower.”

“Good idea.” He lifts himself off the bed, grabs my hand, and pulls me to my feet.

“What’s a good idea?”

He grips my shoulders and leads me around the corner into the bathroom. “Shower sex.”

“I didn’t say—OUCH!” I squeal when he smacks my bare ass.

“Just get the fuck in the shower.”

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