Chapter Fifteen #2
"Focus on me, Mama," he says, voice steady in my earpiece. "Focus on my fingers. My touch. That’s it, Mama. Fuck, that’s it."
His bare fingers press between my folds, sliding through the slick heat he finds there. The sensation cuts through the terror like a blade. My hips jerk involuntarily, and the harness rocks us together.
"That’s it. Right there. You’re so fucking wet already." His middle finger finds my clit and rubs slow, deliberate circles. "Christ, Cece. You’re dripping for me up here."
I can’t believe he’s doing this. Can’t believe his fingers are stroking my clit while we’re plummeting through the sky at terminal velocity. But the panic is receding, replaced by the hot, slick drag of his touch.
"Revel—"
"I know. I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good.
" Two fingers push inside me, curling against my inner walls as his thumb keeps working my clit.
The harness straps bite into my skin with every movement, the wind whipping around us, but all I can focus on is the relentless rhythm of his hand between my legs.
"Focus on me, Mama," he murmurs again. "Focus on my fingers. My touch. That’s it, Mama. Fuck, that’s it."
My head falls back against his shoulder. The fear is still there, humming beneath my skin, but it’s drowned out by the building pressure in my core. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the wet sounds of my pussy barely audible over the roar of the wind.
“Forget the ground, Mama. We’ve got fourteen thousand feet to fall and I’m about to give you a whole fucking different reason to scream.”
His words come through the headset, cocky and completely insane, but they do exactly what he wanted.
They drag my attention back to him.
The wind is still roaring around us, the earth spinning impossibly far below, but Revel is solid against my back, his body strapped securely to mine. One arm keeps me anchored against him while his voice stays in my ear, talking me through the panic until my breathing starts matching his.
The fear doesn’t disappear. It gets tangled up with everything else—the adrenaline, the weightlessness, the absolute insanity of falling through open sky with him behind me.
Then pleasure hits hard enough to scatter the rest of my thoughts.
My body locks against his as the orgasm crashes through me, my cry disappearing instantly into the wind. For a few seconds, there’s nothing coherent left in my head.
Just blue sky, rushing air, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, and Revel’s voice in my headset telling me he’s got me.
He keeps me tight against him while I shake through it, his voice coming through the headset until I finally manage to drag in a full breath.
Then another, and somewhere between the adrenaline and the sheer fucking insanity of what just happened, a laugh tears out of me.
Holy shit.
I’m still falling.
Fourteen thousand feet above Miami, nothing beneath my shoes but open fucking air, and somehow the fear isn’t swallowing me anymore.
The ocean stretches out in every direction, impossibly blue beneath the midday sun, Miami spread along the coastline in tiny white buildings and strips of green.
From up here, everything that felt huge this morning looks ridiculously small.
The roads. The beaches. The boats cutting little white lines through the water.
Even my problems.
For a few seconds, I forget to be scared.
I just stare.
The wind tears at my clothes and whips loose strands of hair around my face while Revel stays solid against my back, and suddenly I understand why this crazy motherfucker keeps chasing shit like this.
It’s fucking incredible.
The parachute eventually catches above us, jerking us out of the fall, and my stomach tries to relocate itself for the second time today. I laugh again, louder now, half delirious from the adrenaline as we drift toward the ground.
By the time my shoes finally touch grass, my legs have apparently resigned from their position as functional parts of my body.
My knees buckle.
Revel catches me around the waist before I can eat shit, already laughing while they start unclipping us.
“Good thing I got the circulation back in those fingers you were trying to fucking amputate earlier.”
I turn in his arms and smack his chest. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said I could afford to lose a couple.” His grin turns filthy as he flexes his fingers between us. “Pretty sure you’re fucking glad I kept all ten now, though.”
Heat hits my face because I know exactly what he’s referring to.
“Revel.”
“What, Mama?” He laughs, catching my wrist when I try to smack him again. “You seemed real fucking appreciative of them about when they were taking your mind off how high up we were.”
“I hate you.”
“Yeah?” He pulls me closer by the waist. “Sure didn't sound like it up there.”
I grab his face and kiss him before his ego gets any fucking bigger.
That finally shuts him up, at least for a few seconds.
When I pull away, his hands are still around my waist and that stupid grin is already coming back.
“Shit, is that how you punish everybody you’re mad at?”
“Keep talking and I’ll try something else.”
His brows lift.
“Violent?”
“Extremely.”
“So fucking hot,” he adds, shamelessly adjusting the hard-on straining against his pants.
“Ay, cállate.”
His grin only gets worse. One hand comes up, gripping my face and pulling me straight back to him before I can say anything else. His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing whatever insult I had ready while his other arm locks around my waist and keeps me against him.
****
By that night, my nervous system has mostly forgiven him.
We spend the afternoon doing absolutely nothing productive.
We order food, shower, crawl back into bed and put on a movie neither of us really watches.
I answer a few emails while Revel stretches across half the mattress scrolling through videos, and at some point I fall asleep with my head on his stomach.
It’s dangerously easy.
That’s becoming a problem I’m choosing not to examine.
Tonight, at least, I have a distraction.
I step out of the bathroom in a black leather mini skirt that barely makes it past my ass and a matching bralette top, both simple enough to look effortless while showing enough skin to make the entire outfit a terrible fucking decision.
My thigh-high heels add another few inches, silver hoops catch beneath my ears, and my hair is slicked back into a high ponytail that falls almost to my waist.
Revel is halfway through buttoning his shirt when he looks up.
His hands stop.
I bite back a smile and walk toward the mirror like I don’t notice his eyes following every step.
“Well, fuck, Mama.”
There’s enough appreciation in those three words to make me feel even better about my outfit.
I pick up my lip gloss. “You okay over there?”
“Not even a little bit.”
His gaze drags from my boots, up my bare thighs, catches on the tiny strip of leather pretending to be a skirt, then takes its sweet fucking time getting to my face.
“Good.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Getting dressed?”
“Trying to make me act like an asshole before we even leave the room.”
I swipe gloss across my bottom lip. “Pretty sure you manage that without my help.”
“True.” He finishes the last button and comes up behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him against my bare back. His hands settle low on my hips while his eyes meet mine in the mirror. “But walking around Miami looking like this sure as fuck isn’t helping.”
I turn in his arms and smooth the front of his shirt, pretending his reaction isn’t doing wonderful things for my ego.
“Then you better make sure it’s clear who I’m here with.”
His brows lift, and the slow grin that spreads across his face tells me I’ve just handed him way too much ammunition.
“Oh, Mama.” His hands tighten around my hips. “You sure you wanna give me permission like that?”
“Permission to behave yourself? Yeah.”
He laughs. “That is not what you fucking said.”
“It’s what you heard.”
“Liar.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “But I’ll make it real fucking clear.”
***
The club is pure Miami excess—violet neon, mirrored walls, VIP booths overlooking a packed dance floor, and bass heavy enough that I feel it through my heels before we’re even fully inside.
Revel keeps one hand against my lower back as we move through the crowd.
It’s become such a normal thing lately that I barely register it until his touch disappears.
I follow his stare across the club toward the raised VIP section overlooking the dance floor.
Two guys stand behind the railing, and judging by the way Revel’s attention locks onto them, I’m guessing they aren’t random.
“Who are they?”
“Ajax Sawyer and Dimitri Petrov.” His jaw shifts. “Deadly Diablos.”
I’ve heard the names. I just haven’t had faces to put to them until now.
Ajax is the first one I notice. Built, tattooed, messy brown hair, with the kind of rough face that looks like smiling is something he does strictly when necessary.
He’s broader than I expected, dressed in black, and carries himself less like some polished professional racer and more like the guy security should probably be keeping an eye on.
Dimitri looks like he belongs in an expensive fucking cologne ad.
Taller, leaner, blond hair pushed back from sharp features, black shirt open low enough to show the chains at his throat. Even from down here, he somehow manages to look bored.
“Those are the guys from the Miami team?”
“Yeah. Ajax is the one I beat in the race that Andre suspended me for.”
Ajax catches Revel looking.
For a second, the two of them just stare at each other across the club, and I can practically feel the testosterone poisoning the fucking air between them.
Then Ajax surprises me.
He lifts his chin toward the stairs and motions for us to come up.
Revel’s brows pull together.
“Is he inviting us up?”
“Looks like it.”
Ajax leans toward the massive bouncer stationed at the entrance to VIP and says something in his ear. The guy glances down at us, then nods and unhooks the velvet rope.