Page 119 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Where? Keys?” His cock presses against me with each step he takes and makes the walk across the strip tortuous.
“Shit. My keys are in the office.” I laugh as my mind scrambles. “Go to the left. Red hangar. Far side.”
“Christ,” he mutters, but only because with each rub over his dick he lets out a little groan. “Here?”
“Mm-hmm. The door slides,” I say even though he’s already pulling open the large barn-type door. Then we’re into the shadows of the red hangar and he’s shoving the door shut and slamming me back against it. His lips are on mine in a savage union of lust and greed and want and need and every one of the
seven sins mixed in there.
There is no finesse. There are no niceties. We are all about how fast we can unharness ourselves from our rigs and step out of them so we can feel and enjoy each other’s skin.
“Christ, Em.”
“I know. Hurry.” A laugh falls from my lips. “Post-jump sex is the best kind of sex there is.”
“Oh really?” he says, leaning back to meet my eyes. His have darkened with lust and suggestion.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You were holding out on me.” A brush of his lips against mine. A cup of his hand against my ass pulling me against his hardened dick.
“Can’t hold out on someone when they are the one refusing you.” I quirk my lips, but then they fall lax as he tugs down the zipper of my suit and yanks down my tank so he can suck then graze his teeth over my nipple.
“I’m not refusing you now, am I?”
“I wouldn’t let you,” I challenge.
There is a quiet moment where our eyes lock and our bodies vibrate from our connection – mental, physical, emotional—and then within a beat, we are back into frenzy mode. Zippers on flight suits sound off. The shimmy of clothes being pushed down. The squeak of shoes on concrete. The begged pleas to hurry. Quicker. I’m desperate.
And then, as we stand in this massive hangar buck naked, his body a mouth-watering sight only serving to encourage my urgency for him, I realize there isn’t really anywhere to have sex in here except for the concrete floor. The walls are lined with industrial shelving units. The tables are covered with plane parts.
“Where are we going to . . . crap.”
He takes in the sparse space save for the Cessna in one corner and a Piper in another before turning back to look at me with a gleam in his eye.
“What?” I ask.
“Guess there’s no time like the present to join the mile-high club, huh?”
Before I can process what he means, he lets out a whoop, swoops down, wraps his arms around my thighs and hoists me buck ass naked over his shoulder.
“Red or blue?” he asks, and I can only guess he’s making me choose a plane. I don’t have the heart to ask how he plans on joining any kind of club when there is definitely no room in either of them to have sex. “Decide.”
“Blue,” I say, and then cry out in shock when his hand smacks my ass as he makes his way over to the Piper. “Grant. What are—”
“Shush.” He slowly lets me down so that I slide down the length of his body. The friction of my slow descent makes my nipples bud so hard they hurt, but it has nothing on the ache banging hard between my thighs. “We’re chasing the moment,” he says, flashing a smile before his lips are on mine again.
The trailing edge of the wing is at my back and he pushes my ass against it while we speak with tongues and moans instead of coherent words.
The adrenaline is a high, but so is the taste of Grant Malone. And, Christ, how I want more of him.
Our hands are everywhere and not enough places on each other. His fingers find their way between my thighs, and the groan he emits when they find me wet, willing, and wanting for him is enough to make me come on the spot.
But that’s cheating.
If he wants to make me come, he’d better work harder than that to earn it.
“Turn around,” he demands.
