Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (9 page)

He wrapped her wrists in his grip, then pinned them to the pillow. When he kneed her thighs wider, his touch was rougher than he’d normally use for the first night with a woman. But something about Heather made him feel rougher. Harsher. More on edge.

She didn’t seem to mind. Her tits rose and fell on fast breaths, pressed up by her stretched position.

He kissed her. Poured his intentions into her mouth.

Then he slammed his cock home.

She gasped. Her chin lifted, baring the tender length of her pale throat. Her pussy clamped over him—welcoming at the same time. Long legs rose to hook over his hips.

Damn how he fucked her. Jon let go of her wrists to grip her waist. He lowered his head to that tempting circle of gold adorning one nipple. When he tugged it between his teeth, he soaked up the quiet moan that spilled from her throat. Finally.

He thrust into her again and again. Her hips rose to meet every push.

He hadn’t expected her to shove his shoulders. Her legs wrenched tight as they twisted. Then he was flat on his back, watching her body work over his. She lifted on her knees, palms flat to his stomach. Her eyes drifted shut as her head fell back. Dark hair tangled over her shoulders.

Jon slipped his hands up to cup her breasts. She rode him, eyes closed, as if he weren’t there. She used his body. He hooked his fingers over her shoulders. Muscles taut, he yanked her down onto his thrusts.

His hands kept going—almost of their own will.

Eager to reclaim her attention, he pressed his thumbs against her throat. His arms trembled as he held back the impulse to clamp tighter. Such a technique would skyrocket her orgasm.

Heather’s eyes flashed open. He expected her to relent. Call
panda
. She didn’t. She pinched a stronger grip on his stomach, kept working her hips. Her sheath pulled at his cock. Delicious, hot waves clawed up his spine.

Pale blue eyes almost dared him to do it, to squeeze, to cut off her air.

Jon backed off.

Unbelievable.

He’d never been the one to yield. He fucked. He took whatever his partner was willing to give. And he went home happy.

This was more.

Instead he shoved off the mattress, flipping Heather onto her back. Their bodies pressed together. Her clit ground against his pubic bone. He squeezed her ass and jerked up into her. With his face buried between her gorgeous breasts, he took bite after bite of soft flesh.

Sweet Jesus, it was all he could do to hold back his orgasm until her pussy tightened over his cock. His reward though… That was worth every delayed moment of gratification. She moaned quietly in his ear, her fingers twisting across the base of his skull. Sharp nails scored his neck.

Jon let himself go. He tucked his face into the curve of her neck and bit down. Hard. A pure, primal need to claim. His orgasm shocked him with its pulsing power.

They collapsed onto the bed as one, Heather plastered over his lax body. Sticky sweat cooled on their skin.

Jon kept his eyes closed as he tried to figure out when he’d lost the thread. When he’d lost control. Again.

Half of him wanted to get all twisted up over it, but that wasn’t worth the energy. Not when it would take only a little rest before they could have another go. Heather was a fleeting gift he would enjoy until he found her breaking point.

He ditched the condom then pulled down the comforter. Heather protested, but her voice was quieted by the slide toward sleep. She wiggled under the sheet anyway.

After dousing the single light burning in the other room, he hung the
Do Not Disturb
sign and secured the lock. He didn’t want them bothered. Not until they were good and ready to go.

He pulled the curtains shut and froze. He’d unconsciously been planning to settle in for the entire weekend, which was definitely not his style. They’d both gotten their rocks off. By all accounts, he should be halfway to gone.

Heather was already asleep. He slipped into bed and wound a lock of her hair around his finger. Tomorrow he’d break down her shields. All he needed was a plan of attack.

Chapter Eleven

Heather blinked at the sound of a bath being drawn. Lying on her stomach, she stretched slow and deep. Pointed toes tangled in the far-flung sheets. A shiver brought her around toward consciousness. She was nude, of course, but realizing that so forcefully was a full wake-up call.

She tossed the hair out of her eyes and pushed off the mattress. Jon stood in the doorway between the bedroom and the huge white marble bathroom. He wore an appreciative smile and a robe tied loosely at his trim waist. The sight of his bare feet was a priceless daytime intimacy—a bit of commoner from the man who wore a three-piece suit as if it were skin.

“It’s nearly noon,” he said.

“Too early, then.”

“Up now. I want to watch you ride me in the bathtub.”

A smirk edged her lips, her token protest. The rest of her body fizzled to life with his blunt words. “Do I have time to brush my teeth first?”

He rolled his eyes. “So finicky.”

“Bet you already brushed
and
flossed.”

After a quick double take, he shrugged. “Make fun if you want, but I’m not the one with rotten cheesecake breath.”

Heather licked her lower lip and made a face. He was right about that. She met him in the bathroom and brushed her teeth as Jon stripped the robe. So insouciant. As if men built like him just walked around all over the place. He seemed to have neither modesty nor pride when it came to his body. It was just a vessel to help his brilliant mind find pleasure.

Heather had no such nonchalance when watching him. He was relatively pale for a guy living in a desert, but she couldn’t imagine a fighter pilot having too many free hours to sun himself. Dark hair feathered over his forearms, thighs and calves, not to mention the thatch that started at his belly button and trailed to his groin. His morning erection was wide awake.

With her thighs a little sore from the previous night—and from the hour just before dawn when they’d found each other through a foggy veil of sleep—Heather relished the idea of a bath.

“Come on,” he urged, feasting on her nakedness. “I’ll sit your pussy over one of the water jets.”

Around her toothbrush she mumbled, “You’d let a tub do your work for you?”

“Miracles of modern technology.”

Heather rinsed. She ran a comb through her hair to make it easier to wash. Then she joined him in the steaming hot water, taking the comb with her.

Scalding sensation grabbed at her ass and thighs. She hissed softly. So tender there, the skin so thin. Jon supported her with his strong hands as she settled in. Their legs alternated. The vanity light bathed gold over their bodies, making her think of beautiful angels with filthy minds.

Maybe she’d harbored the delusion of wanting to talk. Daylight was for getting to know one another, right? Heather didn’t bother.
Limited time only.
Jon’s proud hard-on was just too enticing to resist.

She soaped a washcloth and smiled as she washed, rebuffing his attempts to “help”.

“I do actually want to get clean,” she said.

“You’d get clean. Just some places more than others.”

“I’m an equal-opportunity bather.”

“Hippie.”

Laughing, she splashed his chest. He grabbed up the cloth and quickly mimicked her, tugging away when she wanted to wash his chest. Or his back. Anywhere. The pull and bunch of his muscles as he worked to reach between his shoulder blades was enough to dry her mouth. His sudsy pectoral stretched to accommodate the movement, revealing a wet streak of hair beneath each arm.

While Jon finished, she dipped her head between their tangled legs and wet her hair. She lathered slowly, taking her time because it felt so good to indulge. She lathered, arms upstretched, while he practically panted over her breasts. Whatever he’d been doing with the washcloth stopped mid-motion. Heather bent low again. Her nose nearly touched the water’s surface as she swished the shampoo away. Conditioner. Scrub. Rinse again.

“Get over here,” he growled, catching her wrist.

She flipped the wet hair behind her back, knowing it must look stringy and ridiculous. But Jon’s mind was obviously elsewhere. He pulled her to her knees, angling their bodies so that she straddled his lap. She reached out to grab the condom he’d left on the closed toilet seat. Rolling it on was tricky in the water and with how eager he seemed. Maybe time and familiarity was beginning to wear him down. He was no longer quite so intent on drawing out every moment to its most torturous limit.

With a lift and a shift, she found the right angle and slid down onto his long length. A groan slipped from her throat. She’d been with men whose penises were wider, but never one so long or so damn
hard
. He was absolutely rigid, as if wanting her any more would cause them both physical damage.

She scooped water onto his head and laughed as it dripped into his eyes.

He blinked, his eyelashes dark and spiky. “What are you doing?”

“Washing your hair.”

His hands gripping her hips, he initiated their rhythm. “Go ahead and try.”

Heather poured a dab of shampoo and lathered his short, bristled hair. The coarse texture scraped her palms. His expression was a coy mix of passion and happily pampered. With more scoops of water, she washed him clean. He kept his eyes pinched shut. The pattern of his thrusts had slowed, feeling all the more intimate for just being
in
her, still waiting.

When she’d cleared away all the soap, she kissed each eyelid. “You can come out now.”

She was done cleaning him, not done teasing him. Taking comb in hand, she pressed it hard against the base of his neck and scraped up to his crown. A hard shudder shook his shoulders.

“Again,” he rasped.

Heather complied. His features tensed at the first bite of the comb’s teeth, then eased and relaxed as the pain washed over his senses.

“God, Jon, that’s sexy.”

“No shit.”

With a growl he found her hips again, guiding a faster fuck. Water lapped the tops of her thighs and the curve of her ass. Heather braced her hands on the marble wall behind his head. Her breasts hung forward, swaying, their weight so noticeable in that position. Every bounce radiated down to her nipples.

She reached around and turned the water back on, which started the jets. High-pressure streams of hot water burst against her legs. Jon grunted as two jets powered around his lower back and burst against Heather’s kneecaps.

“Damn hot.”

“Suck it up, Captain.”

He grabbed her hair in retaliation, twisting the wet strands into a knot at the base of her neck. Christ, he had fierce hands. Lean and strong. She couldn’t move her head unless he wanted her to—which he didn’t. The force of his pulsing cock picked up. She could only brace her upper body in a way that didn’t pull too far from his unforgiving fist.

Even as his mouth opened to drag in quicker gulps of air, he wore a beautiful, depraved smile. He hadn’t given up his need for control, only decided to exercise it during a new phase of their encounter—while fucking, rather than before. Her every dirty thought was reflected in his eyes.

Still he tested her, dragging her hair back, harder, arching her body. Jon lifted away from the sloping wall of the tub and caught one of her nipples with his lips. She was trapped by his hands, his mouth, his cock. The water streamed over her in hot, torrid jets. A lash of his tongue sent jolts from her breasts to where he pounded.

He snagged her golden ring between his teeth. Each thrust forced a tug. He sucked deeper, taking the whole nipple into his mouth. His tongue looped and swirled until she winced against that beautiful pain.

Her orgasm was like the sunrise, slow in coming but visible for a long way off. She reached for it, her body tense and greedy. The rhythm, the water, the heat…

“Heather? Heather, come on. Stay with me.”

But Jon wasn’t inside her anymore. He was sitting up, with a solid grip on her forearms. His face was pinched with an intense look of concern. The water was off, but steam hung in the humid bathroom.

“Hey, good.” He exhaled heavily. “There you are.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Heather, you about passed out.”

The seriousness of his expression said he wasn’t lying. Worry furrowed his forehead, the first time she’d seen him truly upset.

“That’s it,” he said tightly. “You’re clean enough. Come on.”

Despite Heather’s protests, he would not be deterred. He hauled her gently to her feet then toweled her off. His actions were so innocent that she gave up trying to fight. Being on the receiving end of his concern was a surprising luxury. The world still spun, the edges dark, but her breathing slowly returned to normal.

Jon led her to the bed and pressed her back. He smoothed wet hair away from her face, his caress whisper soft. The length of his body nestled alongside hers. His penis, at half-mast, tucked against her thigh. Tension in his arms and belly had yet to disperse.

“You were really worried,” she whispered, smoothing his cheek.

Apparently reassured, Jon leaned close and touched his lips to hers. Small kisses. Delicate kisses. She wanted to shout at him for such unexpected tenderness, to stop him from unleashing a wholly different sort of danger.

“A woman with her eyes rolling back into her head is not sexy.”

Nope. Didn’t help. Even his quips didn’t take the edge off how badly she’d spooked him. And he was spooking her. Wanting real warmth from a guy like Jon was like wanting cuddles from a porcupine. Eventually she’d bleed and cry.

“I’m fine, Jon. Really. I’m sorry I scared you, but I was having a good time.”

“
Too
good,” he muttered, sitting up halfway. “If you’re going to gasp for air when getting fucked, at least do it safely.”

A memory from their previous night quivered over her. His hands had been at her throat. The feeling of being under his control, with her safety his to dictate, had been as intoxicating as any drug. He’d hesitated, then backed away from a boundary that was apparently too remote.