Page 2 of Flyboy
Hell, possiblyallher life.
Inside the bathroom he lowered her to her feet in front of the shower alcove. Keeping one arm around her waist as if she still might make a break for it—ha! She wasn't going anywhere—he reached out and turned on the water.
Smirking she said, "Maybe I'm lulling you into a false sense of control."
"Yeah?" His gaze met hers, fire sparking in his chocolate-brown eyes. "You going to take charge of clean up?"
She could. They both knew it. Except Jack in charge—in control—always ramped the heat between them higher and resulted in at least one of those mind-blowing orgasms. And who the hell fought those? Not her.
"Nope." She shook her head. "I'm all yours."
"Yes." He grabbed her running shorts by the waistband, fingers curling into the elastic of her thong, and yanked them both down to her feet. "You certainly are," he said as he stood straight again, his gaze boring into hers.
Ignoring the little frission of unease skittering down her spine at the look in his eyes, she pushed onto her toes and smashed her mouth to his. A quick swipe of her tongue was enough to distract him from any more talk.
And when she shoved her hands into the back of his shorts and palmed his ass, he grunted into her mouth with a forward buck of his hips. The hard press of his cloth-covered cock against her naked clit sent jolts of need shooting through her sex.
Anything other than getting naked and in the shower was forgotten. Stumbling together, lips locked, bodies grinding tight, they managed to strip the rest of their running gear and get beneath the warm spray.
Heat surrounded them. Raining down, rising up. Inside, outside. It soared high then higher, singed and scorched and licked along nerve endings until the flames became too much and the only thing left to do was let the blaze consume them.
Hands gripping her hips, Jack growled, "Legs up," into her mouth as he spun and pushed her back to the wall.
Moving those talented hands to her ass, his fingertips brushing either side of her slick folds, he angled her hips so his cock lined up with her soaked entrance and her body clenched in an attempt to draw him in.
She never had to worry about being ready for Jack. The man had her wet with desire every second of the day. He was the only man to ever make her need like this, with a bone deep ache that she always feared would never be sated.
Except this was Jack. And Jack knew exactly how to coil her desire tighter and tighter until it snapped. Shattered into a million razor-sharp splinters of pleasure.
"Now," he demanded. "Take it all."
A hard buck of his hips sent his cock deep and the air from her lungs on a cry of sharp sensation she could never decide was pleasure or pain.
His mouth ate at hers, his tongue thrusting hard and fast to match the rhythm of his cock. He pounded into her. Over and over. Again and again. Plunging and stretching, tunneling deeper with every stroke.
The ability to breathe was gone, Jack's own harsh breaths into her mouth the only thing filling her lungs with air. She could do nothing but take what he gave andohwhat he gave.
Every slam into her hit the sweet spot inside and ground the base of his shaft against her clit in perfect unison. Hips pumping, bodies slick with water and sweat, they charged toward the peak with mind-wiping speed.
Gasping, Alyssa tore her mouth free and cried out in shock and relief as the climax ripped through her like a bomb blast.
"Yes! Like that!" Jack kept hammering. Once. Twice. Three, four, five, and then six stabbed deep and held. "Fuuuuck!"
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Wasn't sure she could see or hear. But one thing she knew for sure. Hooking up with Jack was the most explosive sex she'd ever had.
"Fucking hell. I think it's you who's trying to kill me," he mumbled into her throat. "Let me catch my breath then I'll put you down."
Humming her response, she enjoyed the last pulses of release throbbing in her core. Who knew how long he stayed inside her, keeping her pressed against the wall, it could have been seconds, minutes, or hours before his softened cock slipped from her sex and he lowered her to her feet.
In a post climatic daze, they washed up, working around each other with ease, passing the soap and shampoo, before shutting off the water and stepping out. Again, it struck her how compatible they were. Not just sexually, but in normal everyday things like taking a shower.
There were no bumping elbows, treading on toes, or bashing heads. They moved together in the available space of her small bathroom like a choreographed dance.
"I'll get breakfast started," Jack tossed over his shoulder as he left the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, leaving his back and broad shoulders in full view.
"You don't—"
"Not listening," he called out as he crossed the hall to her bedroom.
