Chapter 11 #3
And he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
She couldn’t say the same.
“Pick up your damn controller and fly,” he said.
Her hands mindlessly followed his orders, fumbling for the controller until she had her thumb back on the throttle, blinking at the various knobs and buttons and trying to remember which ones were rudders and ailerons and the tail.
“More thrust,” he ordered.
Her thumb pressed upward.
“Good. Now ease off—that’s enough—and hold it there.”
He tossed his controller aside. She forced air into her nose while he stood and unhooked the button on his jeans.
Her nipples went painfully hard.
In one swift motion, he had his pants down at his ankles.
He sat on her couch in his black boxer briefs and tugged the jeans the rest of the way off, tossed them onto her coffee table, then lounged back.
His legs were long, lean, sculpted perfection, and his white gym socks added an odd, almost cozy sexiness to him.
She had an inexplicable desire to lick his kneecaps.
But what truly had her heart sputtering was the thick bulge in his boxer briefs.
If he could use that joystick half as well as he righted video game airplanes…
“Left rudder,” he said. “You’re veering off course.”
Was he kidding?
She couldn’t have operated a door handle, much less control a video game airplane.
And he hadn’t yet picked his controller back up.
“Pay attention to the screen.” He was still using that I am a pilot god voice, but this time, instead of her body instantly snapping to attention and taking orders, her rebellious streak roared back to life.
She let her gaze linger over his body. The sinewy muscles in his forearms. The flat copper nipples on his hard pecs. His stubble. His treasure trail. His erection.
“No reward until you land the bird,” he said.
“Oh, sugar, you sure you want to do that?”
He reached down and whipped off one sock.
She dropped her controller on the floor, stood, and slowly popped her button and slid down her zipper.
Miss Higgs crawled into her cat bed with a sigh and turned her back on them.
Kaci arched her back, tucked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans, and took her time pushing them down first one hip, then the other.
Lance’s eyes went coal black. His boxer briefs visibly strained, and his biceps bunched again.
She stepped out of her jeans.
His lips parted.
Apparently he liked her matching pink lace boy shorts.
“Your plane’s crashing.” His voice was low and husky, his eyes on her.
And a remarkable thing happened.
Kaci didn’t panic at his words. She didn’t go light-headed. She didn’t hyperventilate.
Instead, she straddled him on the couch, put her hands to his face, and hovered with her lips a whisper from his. “We’re doing this.”
“Damn well better be good.”
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
He snorted again. “You’re not making the rules on my time, Dr. Boudreaux.”
She’d let him believe that.
For now.
Because much as she enjoyed a good debate with Lance, she liked his lips on her more.
She licked his lower lip.
His eyes slid shut. He gripped her hair, thrust his hips against hers, and claimed her mouth.
She forgot everything except her desperate, driving need for release.
He pushed her onto her back, kissing her, stroking her, igniting every nerve ending she possessed, from her roots to her toes. Her skin was too tight, her muscles clenched too hard, her burning desire too big.
She was going to explode.
She shoved at his boxer briefs until she’d freed his erection and held him, hot and silky and heavy.
He yanked on her panties. Something ripped and cool air rushed around her most sensitive parts.
Her breasts ached in her bra, but it was a good ache.
A needy ache. An I’m ready ache. Lance’s hot body and his wicked-talented mouth and hands swirled in one big, chaotic jumble of feelings over her body, in her brain, burrowing into her heart and soul.
“I need—” she started.
“No talking.”
She caught a flash of silver. He guided her hands, still holding his cock, and she helped him roll on a condom.
And then finally—finally—he pushed at her entrance and slid into her, filling her, stroking her, thrusting into her.
Her feet dug into the cushions and she lifted her hips to take him in deeper, fuller, closer.
She couldn’t tell if that was his ragged breathing or hers, and she didn’t care.
That sweet wave was building deep inside her, bigger, stronger, closer—
The world exploded around her, and suddenly she was falling, sparks erupting behind her eyes, her body pulsing out of control in the most intense climax she’d ever felt.
He moaned, and she felt him coming inside her, his shaft pulsing against her inner walls.
He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, his chest heaving against hers, his breath hot on her skin.
She couldn’t speak.
Because that wave inside her had carried beyond the basics of coupling. It made her chest squeeze, her heart spin as though it were locked in a centrifuge, and put a big ol’ lump at the base of her throat. Her stomach rolled. Her eyes stung.
Never had she felt so powerful yet so helpless.
Because this hadn’t just been sex.
That hadn’t been a normal orgasm.
It had been more.
She’d wanted sex with Lance to take the edge off. To work out this weird attraction. The tension.
Instead, she wanted more.
More talking. More understanding. More accepting.
More Lance.
And she wanted more without fighting. Without orders. Without pretense.
But as far as she could tell, the pretenses were exactly what he liked about her.
Lance’s eyes were so crossed he was honestly concerned he wouldn’t be able to fly for a week. His sated limbs were heavy, and he had his nose buried in the sweet smell of satisfied woman.
Firecracker was an understatement.
And that was before she’d gotten all the way out of her clothes.
The woman rose to every challenge and left him struggling to keep up.
She took a shuddery breath beneath him. He struggled to lift his head, which felt like an anvil on his neck. About as useful too.
“Are you—” he started, but before he could finish, Kaci grunted and rolled.
While he was still on top of her.
His limp arms refused his commands to move. His body shifted. She gave him one last shove, and he tumbled off the couch and landed ass-first on the carpet. “What the hell?”
The last thing he saw was her wiping her nose on her way to grab her cat and shut both of them into her bedroom.
He gaped at the plain wood door.
On the screen, the plane was still burning.
Maybe ordering her out of her clothes had been an asshole move.
But Kaci Boudreaux didn’t take orders unless she wanted to. She’d crashed the plane on purpose.
Twice.
She’d wanted to play along.
So what the hell was her problem? She’d gotten off just as much as he had.
Unless she’d been faking.
Would she…?
No, he decided. Not Kaci.
She’d much rather give him shit for not getting her off than fake her way through it for the sake of his ego.
And she’d initiated the kissing.
She’d wanted this.
Hadn’t she? Had he missed some signal? Some sign?
He rose to his feet and tugged his underwear back up. “Kaci?” he called through her bedroom door.
She didn’t answer.
He knocked. “Kaci?” he called again.
“Thanks for a nice time, sugar,” came the response, albeit more strained than her normal flippant sass. “Turns out I got something to do, so we’ll have to take care of your rings some other time. I’ll call you later.”
“Still owe you twenty minutes of flight prep for our hour today.”
“We’ll call it good enough.”
The hell they would.
He twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. “Kaci—”
“Don’t worry about locking the door on your way out. It’s automatic.”
Leaving would be smart. This thing with her wasn’t about a relationship. It was about mutual sexual attraction. Her emotional state over their grown-up decisions wasn’t his responsibility.
But he liked her. As a friend. She amused the hell out of him, and he had a lot of respect for what she’d obviously accomplished professionally.
Plus, he knew if he walked out her door, he wouldn’t be coming back.
Did he care if she got on her plane to Germany? Sure, he cared.
But one woman had already screwed him up enough for his commander to worry over him. With Lance leaving for a deployment in a month?
No way in hell could he keep coming back for a woman who wouldn’t even look at him after sex. She was either in this friendship, or he was done.
He yanked on his clothes and stalked to the door. And when it shut, he let it slam good and hard.
She wanted to make a statement?
He’d damn well make one too.