12. Lift Off
TWELVE
LIFT OFF
Jackie
“Take me to the bedroom.” It’s my voice, but it doesn’t sound like me. It’s breathless but confident. A result of the words he spoke that were everything I hadn’t realized I’d needed to hear.
My hands drift around to his back, hooking up under his arms, clutching his shoulders.
He drags his mouth from my lips, teeth grazing my jaw and down my neck.
My body presses up against his, but it isn’t close enough.
I grasp his hand, pulling him across the room, past the kitchen and down the hallway.
I pause, not knowing which room is his. I’m hoping Flynn will take over and lead the way.
Instead, I’m caged against the wall by his strong arms, his shoulders bunching under his shirt, his eyes intent on mine. He takes my mouth.
It isn’t slow. It isn’t gentle. It’s everything I want.
He grabs my ass and lifts me, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist. His hips thrust into mine, widening my thighs, rocking into my core.
Oh. My. God.
Flynn is dry humping me. And it’s freaking fantastic. He kisses and thrusts and all I can do is react. Moaning, back arching, needing more friction, more everything.
“Wait.” Breathing hard, Flynn lifts his head.
“Wait?” I can’t wait. I’ve never felt so alive. I don’t care that it’s been forever since I’ve done this, or that our only date was over sub sandwiches. There will be no waiting.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.” I sound indignant to my own ears. But seriously, if this is the reason he’s stopped pressing against me, he deserves it.
“You might not realize you’re drunk.” He lets out a long breath. “I don’t want you to regret this.”
I stick my finger into his chest and jab.
Hard. “First, I realize everything.” Flynn opens his mouth to counter, but I forge on.
“I’ve had four drinks tonight. Three of which I finished.
And two glasses of water. The typical alcohol has, on average, about 80 proof per ounce or shot.
With my body weight of 125...” I shrug. “Okay, more like 130, the alcohol has had a little over three hours to traverse my system, making my blood alcohol level between .06 and .09.” I remove my finger from his chest and bring it up to straighten my glasses that have skewed during our make-out session.
Flynn growls.
I’m not sure what to make of that, so I continue.
“So, although I should not drive, or operate heavy machinery, I am most definitely not drunk.” Hair has escaped whatever clip Trish used, tickling my nose.
I blow it out of my face. “Furthermore, the typical signs of drunken behavior are clumsiness and slurred speech. As proven by this interlude, I believe my elocution to be perfectly unimpaired. In addition, I would like to point out that I am wearing heels.” I lift one leg out and point to my new boots.
“I never wear heels. And as of yet, I have only stumbled once, on the dance floor, which I blame you for, as I told you I didn’t know how to dance. ”
A smile creeps over Flynn’s face. “Is that so?”
Sheesh, that smile does things to me. I shift, making him juggle my weight and push me harder against the wall. Maybe I should feel bad for making it difficult to hold me up, but then I feel his erection against me and I stop feeling guilty.
I clear my throat and fix my eyes on some point over his shoulder, gathering my thoughts. A burgeoning habit of mine, it would seem. “Yes. Because, as you see, alcohol affects several neurotransmitters including the cerebellum?—”
“Jackie?”
“Hmm?” I blink, looking back at him.
“You’re not drunk.”
“Well. Yes.” I tilt my head, not understanding the need for his statement. “Didn’t I just explain that?”
“Oh yeah, darling. You explained it. You explained it real good.” He emphasizes his words with a circle of his hips, making my mind blank, before he steps back, my legs drifting to the floor.
Once I’m steady, he kneels in front of me and begins tugging off my boots. My long hair falls forward like a curtain when I look down at him, closing us in.
Boots gone, his fingers trail upward, circling behind my knees.
“Now, where were we?” He dips his head to the hem of my dress. He nudges my center, inhaling a deep breath. Heat flames over my body.
“ Damn , Jackie. You smell so good.” His hands drift higher. “I love your pheromones.”
“Um, Flynn, I should tell you?—”
Cold air swirls around my hips. “Fuck, Jackie.” He looks up at me. “No panties?”
I should be embarrassed, I should pull away. I should tell him my current underwear-less situation isn’t because I typically go commando, but because thongs are the devil. But I say nothing, just nod, my glasses slipping down the bridge of my nose.
“Fuck.” One hand palms my ass, while his other goes for the nucleus of my being, finding me wet and wanting. “Oh, Jackie. You naughty girl.”
I jerk from that one touch, so unused to this kind of pleasure. This desire. There’s so much feeling. Too much feeling. My legs start to shake.
He leans in and lightly kisses the small patch of curls before his hands leave me. I open my mouth to protest, but I’m up in his arms, being carried down the hall before I can speak.
I don’t even get to look around before I’m tossed onto the center of the bed.
But honestly, at this point, all my attention is on Flynn.
The mattress dips as he kneels on the bed, looming over me on all fours.
He stays there, bracketing me in, staring.
It’s like he’s trying to memorize my features, although for the life of me I don’t know what he finds so interesting.
Then one hand rises to remove my glasses.
Sitting back on his haunches, he carefully folds the arms of the frames and stretches back over to lay them on the nightstand.
I blink a few times, refocusing. Flynn makes it easier for my nearsighted eyes by leaning in, his weight on one arm, his other hand sweeping the contours of my cheek before sliding down my neck.
He pauses there, squeezing for a moment.
It’s deliberate and though at first odd, I feel that dominant pressure reverberate through my body.
His hand continues down, stroking the side of my breast before palming it.
He pets and caresses until my nipple feels like it’s cutting through the thin fabric of my dress.
I squirm, raising my legs higher, trying to appease the ache he’s building.
His thumb brushes over my budded nipple, lulling me further into the erotic daze I’m swimming in. The hard pinch and roll comes as a surprise and I buck, my dress now rucked up over my hips. Fully exposed, his attention leaves my breast, his hand cupping my sex.
I can’t help it, I whimper. I need more. And if the smile on his face is anything to go by, he knows it.
Light pressure and whisper-like touches. It isn’t enough, but it’s everything. His fingers are slippery from my growing desire and they glide over my sex, making me crazy.
Slowly, he slides one finger inside. I moan. Once seated, he curls the tip of his finger, hitting that secret spot that not even my favorite vibrator can find with any consistency. My eyes roll back in my head.
His thumb circles my clit as he increases the pressure inside.
He’s tearing me down, breaking me apart with every stroke and touch.
While his fingers continue their maddening pace and pressure, his mouth finds the pulse at my neck.
His lips linger there, at first softly and then in pulls, sucking my tender flesh into his mouth.
The rough shadow of his beard grates around the silken touch of his mouth and tongue—the opposing sensations making my body shudder.
Unsure of what to do and overcome with sensations, I run my fingers through his hair. He catches my eye, and we stare at each other. In that moment, I see with a startling clarity that has nothing to do with my eyesight. I see him, and in doing so, I know he sees me. All of me.
He pumps harder, his fingers continuing their dance on my sensitive flesh. He croons out sounds of encouragement when my hips lift in time to the rhythm he’s set.
I close my eyes to concentrate on the looming explosion, but he pushes his forehead to mine whispering, “Open,” fisting my hair in his other hand.
My eyes meet his. The green in his is more intense, though his beauty goes unappreciated in this moment as the solar flare under my skin builds, heat infusing my bones.
And then it hits, the sudden flash of brightness blinding me to everything but the feeling of energy ripping through my body, curling my spine.
I scream as I come apart, Flynn’s soft kisses and easy touch milking the last of the tremors from my body. An unquantifiable amount of time passes before I come back to myself.
The reality of where I am and whom I’m with gradually invades my brain. Still, nothing makes sense. What just happened usually only happens to heroines in books, the damsels saved by cowboys, and to women other than myself.
My eyes focus on Flynn, to his soft gaze before he rubs his nose against my own. The simple, endearing move nearly brings me to tears.
I rarely do anything without analyzing the outcomes, studying the variables. Outlining the procedures.
But right then, looking into the unfathomable depths of Flynn’s eyes, like the black holes they remind me of, I don’t think. I simply push him to his back, straddle him at the waist and pull my dress up and over my head. He gave me an orgasm that rivaled the sudden flash of a solar flare.
It’s only fair that he see stars.
Flynn
Holy freaking hell.