Chapter Twenty-Five
“I hurt you.”
Pippa lifts her head, staring down at the red marks between her breasts, where the silk had been lying and had rubbed against her skin when I tugged at it from behind.
“It’s barely a friction burn,” she says, prodding at it, wincing when she touches a particularly nasty-looking spot.
“Shit,” I mutter, moving to roll off the bed, but her hand catches my arm, stopping me.
“You didn’t hurt me, Wyatt.” She looks at me in earnest. “I promise.”
It doesn’t placate me, though, and I shrug out of her hold. Her sigh sounds irritated as I bend down and pick up the discarded condom, taking it to the bathroom and tossing it in the trash.
Glancing around, I pull a hand towel from the rail and turn on the faucet, letting it warm up while rummaging around in the vanity, searching for cream or ointment or something to soothe what I did.
She’s still lying on her back, staring at my ceiling as I walk back into the room, warm towel and antiseptic in hand. Turning her head, she watches me as I join her on the bed and gently run the towel over her chest, paying particular attention to the scratches. She closes her eyes as I dab on the cream before continuing to wipe her body, guiding the towel between her legs. Parting them for me, a whimper escapes her lips.
“Sorry,” I murmur, grimacing when I notice her muscles tense.
She smiles lazily and cracks open her eyes to look at me. “It’s just a little sensitive.”
I shake my head. “I was too rough.”
“No,” she says firmly, her fingers circling my wrist, pushing the towel harder between her legs, proving a point. “I liked it, Wyatt. I would have told you to stop otherwise.”
“I can run you a bath?”
“I’m fine, ” she says, tugging the towel from my grasp and tossing it onto the floor. “Stop worrying.” Grabbing my shoulder, she maneuvers me beside her, forcing me onto my back and drawing the comforter over us. She rolls on top of me and rests her chin on her balled-up hands as she gazes up. “Why did you want to become a pilot?”
“More pillow talk?”
“What? It’s not that bad.” She smirks. “And it’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while anyway.”
“You should try to get some more sleep, Pippa,” I say, glancing at the clock on my nightstand, the red letters glowing 4:32. Her alarm will go off in twenty-eight minutes.
“Sleep is overrated,” she replies, wriggling to get comfortable. “Besides, you know why I chose figure skating, so it's only fair I know more about you.”
Her eyes are filled with so much intrigue it’s almost painful to look at her. The truth is staring me straight in the face. I like that she wants to get to know me, like the man I am when I let her in.
Pippa pouts her lower lip, silently pleading, and the corners of my mouth twitch in amusement. I lift my gaze to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. How can I resist that look?
“When my dad and Sadie got more serious about each other, they started doing all these child-friendly dates now and then…y’know, as a way for me to get to know her and vice versa, I guess.” I feel Pippa nod, and I look down at her, my fingers threading into her hair to massage her scalp as I continue. “She was amazing, always asking where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do. Once, we went to visit her cousin, who’s got this ranch in Montana with horses and shit, but I was petrified of the damn things.” Pippa smothers a laugh. “There was this one time that my dad took us to D.C., which at the time I thought was pretty flashy for him, taking his girlfriend and son across the country for a vacation… It turned out he was going to propose to her. He took me out for breakfast, sat me down with a mountain of pancakes, and asked if I wanted to make Sadie a permanent part of our family. I asked if that included her brother's horses.”
“So young Wyatt was only okay if it didn’t include the horses?”
“Something like that,” I chuckle lightly. “Anyway, I was excited, especially ’cause that meant I got to wear a tux as his best man. She said yes, obviously, got married in a courthouse the next day and they have been sickeningly in love ever since.”
“That doesn’t explain the pilot thing,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
“I’m getting to that bit,” I say, playfully tugging her hair, before muttering, “Such a damn brat… Anyway, Sadie’s really into history and museums, so after the wedding, we went to as many Smithsonian museums as we could fit in before my grandparents met us and took me back to Phoenix so they could have a honeymoon.
“Her favorite was the National Air and Space Museum. She took me around the entire place, holding my hand, reading me every sign, and explaining everything. She bought me something from the gift shop—an old-school fighter jet helmet—and I would wear it all the time, running around our yard, arms held wide, pretending to fly.
“Then, in high school, when I realized the NFL wasn’t going to be calling me up and giving me a big, fat signing bonus, I needed to think of a new career path.”
“You really wanted to play pro football?”
I half-huff, half-laugh. “What young boy doesn’t want to be paid to play the sport he loves? But since that was a pipe dream anyway, I asked Sadie to help me look into becoming a pilot.”
Pippa’s smile is filled with so much affection it makes my mouth dry. “I love that. I didn’t realize that your stepmom had such a big influence on you growing up.”
A hand reaches into my chest, clenching my heart in a vice-like hold as I think back to that day. I’d almost forgotten about it, a memory from the past in a life that seems so long ago. Without Sadie, I wouldn’t be doing the thing I love every single week.
“Neither did I,” I voice aloud.
Pippa doesn’t give me any time to dwell on my revelation as she fires another question. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
I balk. “Really? Aren’t past lovers an off-limits question?”
“ Past lovers ,” she snorts. “Okay, Grandpa. I forgot you probably had to write letters to potential dates or walk to the nearest payphone or…”
She squeals, wriggling against me as I reach down and pinch her ass. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Because I make you feel young again.”
Rolling her over, I lie on top of her. “Such”—I nip her throat—“a”—I part my lips around the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder—“brat.” And I suck hard.
She gasps, the sound morphing from shock to a moan, her pelvis lifting slightly to rub against me.
I release her with an obnoxious pop, her skin slick from my tongue. A faint bruise has already started to form, the sight making the caveman that was once dormant inside me come to life.
It’s predatorial.
It’s claiming.
It’s mine.
“I still want to know,” she says, reaching up to run her fingers over the mark.
“Freshman year.”
“Of college?”
My face screws up. “Of high school.”
Her mouth drops open. “What the hell? That young?”
I shrug a shoulder, unbothered. “I was one of those older kids in the grade. I turned fifteen while some were turning fourteen. Besides, I played varsity football, so I was kind of a big deal. She was a cheerleader in the year above me...”
“And was it your ego that stopped you from getting that NFL deal?”
“It was getting my dick wet and chasing skirt that stopped me from that dream. As soon as I lost my virginity, I was more interested in girls.”
“And did any of these girls win the heart of the wanna-be football star?”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s with the twenty questions about my life?”
“I enjoy history. The olden days are fascinating,” she deadpans before breaking out into a grin, the let's-get-into-trouble kind of grin I cannot resist.
I capture her mouth with mine, our tongues dueling in the same way our words do—teasing and flirting, the cheekiness of the girl below me coming through her kiss. She’s pliant, letting me taste her the way I need to before giving her another piece of me. Letting her in the way she’s clearly dying to be.
I wrench myself away from her, confusion mixes with the glazed look of lust in her gray eyes. Rolling off her and onto my back, I stare up at my ceiling, unfamiliar nerves lining my stomach as I prepare myself to open my heart, letting her know the real me.
“I’ve never had more than a one-night stand. Throughout college, it was always women older than me, seemingly more experienced than me. And then, when I graduated, it was pretty much the same: weekends out in a different bar with a different girl.”
Pippa shifts onto her side, lifting onto an elbow to look at me.
“I don’t do relationships. I don’t do more than first names and a night filled with more rounds of sex than you could imagine. I don’t do phone numbers, pillow talk, or repeats that could lead to sexy lingerie. I don’t do sneaking around or lying or coming to watch competitions.”
I risk a glance at her, watching her expression darken with each word I say, her body tensing beside me.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you asked. Because you wanted to get to know me. Because I’m a therapist’s wet-fucking-dream. I’m the man who’s never had a girlfriend, the man who’s never been in love, the one who doesn’t want attachments because then I can leave them before they leave me.
“I’m the one who’s fucking his boss’s daughter without an ounce of remorse, regret, or fear of the repercussions. I should let you go. I should have after the first time, but I can’t. I’m possessive in a way I’ve never been before that it almost scares me. I don’t like it. It isn’t me, yet as much as I try to fight it, it doesn’t work.”
“Then don’t fight it,” she breathes, her pupils blown wide. “I don’t want you to.”
“You shouldn’t want me,” I growl, my head turning to glare at her. “I’m a man who’s only good for a night, Pippa. You are a woman who’s great for a lifetime. You could choose someone, anyone , better than me.”
“That’s not up to you.” She swings her leg over mine, straddling my hips, her fingers biting into my shoulders. “Don’t you realize that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be? No one forces me to do something I don’t want to, Wyatt, and clearly, you haven’t been paying attention and need to be reminded.”
She crushes her mouth to mine, and I groan as she sucks my tongue. Grinding her wet pussy on my cock, she blindly reaches for my nightstand, opens the drawer, and lifts out another condom. Fumbling with the foil, she tears into it, throwing the sheets off us, and deftly slides the latex over my hard length before sinking down.
Her mouth parts, her eyes fluttering shut as she silently screams, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room while my head chants mine. Mine. Mine.
Something has changed between us—something tangible in the space of a few hours—and I have no idea what to do about it. We’re still employer and employee, pilot and passenger, and I hate that I’m now trying to figure out ways to make this work.
We can’t sneak around forever.
I don’t know how she feels, but I do know what I feel. Pippa isn’t some fling; she isn’t some girl I picked up in the restaurant bar and fucked without care. I’m opening up to her, telling her things my brothers don’t even know. But it’s not only that. The way she handles herself isn’t like anyone I’ve met before. She doesn’t play games, she doesn’t bullshit, she takes what she wants and owns it.
My issue about our ages is only evident when we’re flying, the short trips a reminder of our stations. But when we’re together behind closed doors, there’s no gap, there’s no boss’s daughter. She’s mature, sweet, kind.
Compatible. And I want to keep that.
“I cannot believe you,” Pippa says, standing in the middle of my kitchen with her hands on her hips.
I frown, glancing around the room, trying to figure out why she’s mad. Only she doesn’t sound it or look it. In fact, it appears as though she’s struggling not to smile.
When I don’t answer, she whirls around and opens the nearest cabinet. My face flushes, and I suddenly want to look into face tattoos, anything to cover the awful shade of pink I know it’s been taken over with.
“You got more dishes.” She points to the stack of plates and bowls, far too many than I’d ever need. Then she opens the next door, gesturing to the different style mugs—latte glasses, little espresso cups, mugs that your whole hand can wrap around. When I asked Sadie to stock my kitchen, she might have gone overboard.
“They were Christmas presents,” I grumble.
“Uh-huh.” She purses her lips, not convinced. “Are you sure you didn’t buy more because I kept teasing you?” She’s smirking as she saunters over and slides her arms around my neck, leaning on her tiptoes to kiss me. “You are so damn cute.”
“I’m not cute,” I say against the pillowy softness of her mouth.
She murmurs something I don’t catch as I deepen the kiss. We stay like that for several minutes, her warm, wet mouth my new favorite place to be.
“Do you want coffee before you go?” I ask once we’ve broken away, but my eyes linger on her lips, loving the way they shine, all swollen and wrecked.
Grinning, she heads to the counter beside the machine and jumps on top. “How can I say no when all those mugs are just for me?”
I roll my eyes, grabbing two pods and starting the task of making the drinks. “How are you feeling about your competition coming up?”
She groans as her head falls back to hit against the cabinet door. “Fine, I guess. We’ve been practicing non-stop. Coach is up my ass like no one’s business, and this bitch of a girl keeps showing me all the negative headlines written about me.”
I freeze, my fingers hovering over the used pod, my jaw ticking. “Why does she do that?”
“She’s jealous I’m Evan’s partner, and she’s not.”
“Report her for harassment,” I say, snatching it out and tossing it roughly into the trash.
Pippa snorts, lifting her legs and crossing them. “Easy there, Captain. It’s fine. I’m used to it by now anyway.”
“You shouldn’t have to get used to it, Pippa. She’s purposely trying to get in your head and psych you out,” I growl. “Your mental health isn’t worth that emotional abuse.”
“I love how riled up you’re getting on my behalf, but someone once asked me why I skate if I don’t find it fun.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye, at the sweet smile on her lips. “And he said that perfection is an unachievable concept. I’m trying to remember that when I’m skating and remember that I’m doing it for me. Not anyone else.” She wraps her hands around her feet and sits up straighter, stretching out her spine. “Besides, Molly isn’t my biggest problem right now. Evan won’t give me back those moon boots he stole.”
I stab the start button a little too hard, keeping my eyes on the stream of dark liquid pouring into the cup. “Tell him to buy his own.”
In my peripheral vision, I see her wave her hand absently. “I’m not really that fussed about it. That was more of me venting out loud than an actual issue.” I pass her the black coffee, and she holds it in both hands. “Thanks. So, will you spend the whole time in California, too?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll fly your father and Nancy out on Monday, then return to pick them up and bring them home on Sunday night after the Exhibition.”
“Will you watch the competition? Like the Grand Prix?”
I nod, and she smiles into her mug. “I like that. Knowing you’ll be watching me skate.”
“How do you not know it’s Evan I want to watch?” I ask, looking at her from over the rim of my cup.
My muscles tighten as I think about her partner. It’s not that I don’t like the guy; he just rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like someone else’s hands on her so much.
Even if it’s needed for their paired routines.
She flicks out her leg, prodding me with her toe. “You’re such an asshole.”
I approach her, sliding my hands up her thighs. “I barely notice Evan. All I see is you.”