Page 78 of Over & Out

“You’re not dying, love,” I say between strokes of my tongue. “You’re living.”

She groans. “Asshole!”

“Oh, I’ll get there,” I say. I angle down and blow a stream of air over her tighter opening below. She cries out, her whole body clenching. The way her eyes go wide, I suspect no one has ever touched her there before. I return to her clit, bringing my strokes closer together.

As I work her harder and faster, then slower as I sense her coming close to the edge, I revel in the way she grips my hair. I bask in her screaming my name, hating me that I won’t let her get there until I say she does.

Finally, I relent, giving her the consistent, intense strokes she needs. When she comes for me, it’s so fucking beautiful that I decide right then I’m going to live here the rest of my life. As long as she’ll have me, I don’t plan on ever letting her go. Visions of that porch flicker through my mind, and I know I’m well and truly screwed. But right now? I feel so good—even fully clothed—I don’t give a single flying fuck.

Chapter 26

Chris

He wasn’t lying. The first time I come, the plane actually jolts. I know it’s a coincidence, but with the way I bucked and flailed, my whole body rippling through with a pleasure so extreme it almost felt like too much, I’m convinced we had something to do with it.

The second time? Well, I don’t want to know where he learned all the things he did to me. The suction on my clit was better than any of the toys I own, and they’re the best of the best. The perfect amount of firm and gentle, in a cycle so intense I could barely gather the breath to cry out his name.

But I did. I screamed his name like a wild woman, a woman possessed.

A woman who’d just been given the most intense orgasm I’m pretty sure anyone’s experienced. Ever.

I have to drag him up by his hair, his ears, anything, to give me the tiniest breath of respite.

He lies beside me, resting his head in his hand, hiseyes on me. I expected him to be desperate. To insist he take off his pants and get us to the next step. But he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.

“The plane’s going to land soon,” I say, tracing my finger over the curve of his shoulder through the thick thread of his button-down. He’s still wearing all his clothes, which makes me feel dirty in the best way. Wanton.

Just looking at him like this—so handsome, glowing in the milky morning light coming in through the windows—makes want him to settle between my hips once more.

Hopper kisses my jaw. “I’ll tell them to circle the airport.”

I laugh. “We’ll run out of fuel.”

He nips at my collarbone. “Then I’ll tell them to glide.”

“We’ll crash into the ocean.”

“Then I’ll have all the time in the world to fuck you on one of those inflatable dinghies.”

“Hopper! That’s not sexy to think about.”

“But you are. Every fucking millimeter of you is my erogenous zone.”

“That’s not how those work.”

“Sure it is.” He hooks a finger in the neck of my dress, kissing the top of my breast. But he glares at the offending fabric when it doesn’t stretch farther.

“I want to see all of you,” he says.

My stomach twists. “I told you. I don’t?—”

“You didn’t.”

“What?”

“You didn’t used to show anyone your body, and that’s good, because that means I’ll be the first. And last.”

Now my chest joins in with my stomach. He can’t possibly think we have a future, can he?

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