Aced

“Horny is good.” Her lips meet mine as she climbs astride me. Tongues and teeth. Greed and need. Wet against hard. Goddamn she’s hot. Sexy fucking hot. “But it’s going to take a whole helluva lot more to get me to tell you where we are going.”

The stutter in her movement tells me I’m right, know her angle: confession by orgasm. Not a bad way to be tortured but my lips are sealed.

Maybe I’ll wait to tell her though. I’ve been to a lot of places with her, but the mile-high club isn’t one of them.

Maybe it’s time to venture there.

She sits up, a taunt in her eye and determination on her face. But that pout on her lips tells me she’s game to change my mind.

Change away, Ryles.

“Guess I’ll just have to take care of myself then.”

Don’t you dare. My eyes say it but lips don’t. I’m too goddamn focused on her hands traveling over her tits, hard nipples visible through the thin cotton, down to where her fingers pull up her loose skirt inch by fucking inch. And then they disappear beneath the flowy fabric so I can’t see shit.

But I sure as fuck see her head fall back, lips fall open, and hear the sigh fall from her lips as her hands begin to move in a motion I know all too well. Quick strokes of her finger to add friction to her clit.

Motherfucker.

Another quiet moan. Her back arches. Tits push forward. Hands move quicker, harder. Her skirt inches up farther so I can see the slick arousal on her fingers.

She’s playing me and I don’t even have a ball in her court. Playing with fire when I want to be the only one striking the goddamn matchstick.

My stick’s out all right. Now I just need to light the flame.

Within a beat I have Rylee flipped over, hands cuffed beside her head, and our faces inches apart. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” I tease between teeth gritted in restraint.

The scent of her arousal on her fingers fills my nose. Temptation at its fucking finest. Two can play this game, sweetheart. I lower my mouth, take the tips of her fingers between my lips and suck. Tongue laving over them, savoring her addictive taste. Her body squirms beneath me. A moan hums in the back of her throat.

“Don’t make a sound,” I whisper around her fingers.

One final suck. One last taste. One last hit. I look down at her beneath me. Her lips are parted, cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are heavy with desire. Goddamn sex personified.

And thank fuck for that because I’m digging in and taking what’s mine. Her orgasm. Her moans. Her scratch marks. And every damn thing in between.

“Burn, baby, burn,” she taunts with a gleam in her eyes as I release her hands so I can free my dick. And before I can pull my pants down far enough to free my thighs, her hand is pulling up her skirt, and bringing herself back to the brink of climax.

It’s such a turn-on. Watching her own her sexuality. Getting herself off. But it’s too damn much—the need to have, to take, to claim—and so I do just that.

With one hand on her throat and my dick in her pussy, I dive head first into the addiction that is everything about her. And at thirty-eight thousand feet above the middle of nowhere, she comes quickly—legs tensed, eyes locked on mine, and lips pulled tight—with my hand over her mouth to muffle her moans. The look on her face and her pussy pulsing around my dick pulls me over the edge so I can chase her.

When I catch my breath and look down at her all I can do is shake my head. “That’s one hell of an effort,” I whisper, leaning down to press my lips to hers, “but even your voodoo pussy isn’t magic enough to get me to tell you.”

She laughs. That’s all she can do.

Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.

PART 2

THE AIRPORT WAS A THATCH hut. We walked straight from the private jet to the awaiting cars, and the road we’re on is rutted dirt that requires serious suspension. Ben Montague plays on the radio as I take in the foliage, thick and green around us, causing my curiosity to grow with each passing bump along the road.

Where in the hell is he taking me?

I think back to the look on our boys’ faces when we deplaned on the tarmac. Their incessant chatter filled the air. My parents’ laughter as they became caught up in Colton’s mysterious family vacation. The knowing glance between Becks and Colton, and Haddie’s squeeze of my hand before we all loaded into our waiting vehicles. The shower of kisses rained down upon Ace by his adopted brother and his six other brothers—who claim him simply because we unceremoniously claim them—before we separate in three separate car arrangements. The happiness in my heart when Zander looked up and met my eyes. Unspoken words passed between us. Thank yous to Colton and I for saving him and at the same time allowing him to still be a part of the family he’d made with the boys. The slight smile on his lips and lift of his head to ask if it’s okay to ride with them instead of us was all I needed to know we made the right choice. That we didn’t harm the others by saving Zander.

And off we went.

Two vans: one driven by Becks and Haddie with the boys, and the other driven by Andy with the rest of our family. A whole lot of smiles as the doors closed and not much explanation by Colton on the two-way radios other than “we’re almost there.”

And then there’s the three of us in our Jeep. The SUV jostles in the terrain and pulls me back to the sights around us, all the while reminding me how fortunate I am to have everyone here. My boys. My family. My husband.

My everything.

Well, everything except for not knowing where we are, why we’ve been divided, or where we’re headed.