Page 96 of Wild Card
“Is turbulence scary for pilots? Or is that just passengers?”
I hit her with a glare, but she’s unaware of my inner turmoil, the rush of desperation coursing through me. I unbuckle my harness and toss my headset as she rambles on. “Like, do you worry about that? Or is it just run-of-the-mill stuff?”
“Gwen, stop asking me questions and take your harness off.”
She freezes, her brows rising on her forehead. Her expression saysI know you did not just talk to me like that.But then she turns her eyes downward and clicks the straps loose.
“Oh-kay, buzzkill.” She slips her headset over blond strands. “I was going to say thank you for the birthday present, but I guess?—”
My hand gripping her thigh brings her up short.
“What?” She looks genuinely confused.
But I’m not. I’ve hit my limit. I fucking snap. I turn, reaching for her waist. The cockpit is small, so it’s not a struggle to pull her to me.
Within seconds, I’ve lifted her over the small gap between our seats and she’s straddling my lap. My hands wrap around her waist, and hers land against my shoulders.
My fingers pulse. I watch them press into her waist and let out a desperate groan as she tentatively lowers herself onto me. My eyes narrow at her jeans like they’ve done something unforgivable. Because they have. By merely existing.
I want Gwen in my lap. And I want her naked while she is.
“What are you doing?” she says in a low voice, the soft, minty puff of every word brushing against my cheek.
I turn my face up to hers while my heart clashes against the cage of my ribs. I drink her in. Pert lips. Wide eyes. Full cheeks.
Fucking perfect from head to toe.
“What I should have done months ago” is all I say. Then I grip the back of her neck, drag her mouth to mine, and kiss her.
I’m met with zero resistance—only shock. Followed by eagerness. Her fingers move up to rake through my hair as I take her mouth. My tongue tangles with hers as the kiss turns hungry. Her hips swivel, and all my blood rushes south. I grind up into her, once again irritated by the presence of her jeans. I seriously consider ripping them off with my bare hands.
She pulls away, and her heady gaze trails down to my cock, clearly straining against my jeans. Her breathing turns ragged, eyes dancing back up my body. “What about Tripp?”
I hold her gaze but reach forward and flick open the button on her jeans. “He’ll have to get over it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Because I’ll never forgive myself if I let you get away again.”
With that, I slip my hand down the front of her jeans, fingertips gliding over flimsy cotton underwear and the damp heat between her legs.
“Oh,” she whimpers, head tipping back as her hips rock forward.
My knuckles bend, pressing into her. Teasing her. Easily finding her clit through the fabric.
“Is that all? Oh?” I ask, circling now, watching a flush creep up her chest and over her throat.
“Yes,” she says, chin dropping back down as she presses her pussy against my hand.
I draw it away with a knowing smirk.
“Yes, what, Gwen? I’m going to need you to use your words. Because I’m about to snap and fuck you right here in this plane, but I need to know you want it first.”
She eyes me intensely, then drops her mouth to my ear, nipping at the lobe.
“It’s about fucking time, Rousseau,” her sultry voice taunts.
And just like that, all bets are off.
