Mile High

by Ophelia Bell

  “So, am I off the hook for being creepy?”

  “Not sure yet . . .”

  I extract my hand from hers and wrap my fingers around her knee. “I also remember that you seemed to like it when I did this.” I tease a fingertip along the tender spot at the back of her knee through her thin leggings. She inhales sharply, then licks her lips, but doesn’t move. I’ve got her now.

  In a breathy voice, she asks, “Oh? So . . . what . . . else did you . . . learn?”

  I set my empty mug on the table and shift, turning to face her. Sliding my hands up the outsides of her thighs over her leggings, I pause with my palms resting at her hips. Her tart apple scent permeates the air between us, but beneath it is an earthy aroma that makes my cock twitch.

  “You mean besides the fact that you scream when I make you come?”

  Her blue eyes flash with humor. “You knew that already. Is that all?”

  “Well, I learned that even if there had been a raging blizzard outside this afternoon, it wouldn’t have stopped me from seeing you again.”

  She leans a little closer, a wry tilt to her lips. “Is that so?”

  I swallow and suppress a primal urge to push her back, rip her clothes off, and mount her. Instead I just murmur, “As true as the night is long, sweetness,” as I brush my lips over hers.

  A soft sigh escapes her throat a moment before I take her mouth. I squeeze her hips while I slide my tongue against hers, tasting the whiskey flavor left behind.

  She leans in, slipping her hands down over my chest, exploring slowly with a gentle, silken touch that stokes the heat building low inside me. Rising onto her knees, she pushes against my shoulders, giving me no choice but to lean back onto the throw pillows at the end of the sofa.

  I swallow hard as I stare up at her, bewildered by her radiant beauty, at how fucking lucky I am to have found her again.

  “What do you like?” she asks, her voice a husky purr. She slips her hand lower, pushing the fleecy folds of the blanket away to reveal my aching cock, hard and desperate for her attention.

  I struggle for coherence, but manage to answer in as reasoned a tone as I can muster. “I like the way you taste. I like the way your tongue feels in my mouth.” But when her gaze drops to my cock, I add, “I think it’d feel nice other places too.”

  She leans in close again and teases her tongue over my lips. I have no idea what she has planned, but I’m not sitting idle. I slip my hands beneath her sweater, then the snug tank top underneath that, caressing her soft belly as I push up to find her breasts. Her nipples are already hard when I begin toying with them.

  Her moan vibrates into my mouth, but she pulls away and I drop my hands back to my sides, then just stare up at her and wait.

  She looks down at me with cheeks flushed and eyes bright, scanning my naked body from shoulders to hips as if trying to decide which morsel she wants to feast on first. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, that blatant hunger in her eyes, knowing I’m the thing she wants to devour.

  My cock and balls ache, all memory of the cold forgotten, but I’m determined to let her take me however she wishes. Kneeling between my thighs, she gazes raptly as her fingertips trace the length of the scar that extends down my sternum. It’s still a pale, un-inked line slicing through the tattoos. Her nostrils flare and a melancholy look enters her gaze.

  “I wish I’d had the chance to talk more then. I would have said yes, you know. To your proposition.”

  “I remember. But it doesn’t matter because we’re here now, aren’t we? I’m yours for the next two days.”

  “Yes. Yes, you are.” Small beads of sweat break out on her upper lip, and it’s all I can do not to lean in and kiss them away. It’s warm in here, though, and she’s still in that bulky sweater.

  “Why don’t you take that off?”

  She obeys without comment, pulling the sweater over her head and tossing it behind her. She leaves the sheer blue tank top on and redirects her gaze to my cock.

  “I want to taste you,” she says so quietly I’m not quite sure I hear her at first, but her actions clear things right up.

  She bends down then, beginning at the top of my scar, and drifts her lips down the center of my chest past my stomach, her tongue leaving a soft, wet trail. Just beneath my navel, when her mouth is a hair’s breadth from the tip of my cock, she takes a detour to my hip and sinks her teeth into the inked flesh there.

  “Jesus,” I blurt as the sensation sends a jolt straight to my cock, which twitches between us. Finally she shows mercy and wraps her fingers around my length. I’m powerless to do anything but watch now, and after one slow, reverent stroke up my hard shaft, she takes me into her mouth.

  “Fucking hell,” I groan, tilting my hips up toward her as she wraps her lips around me and teases the tip of her tongue against my underside.

  She takes me deeper, and it’s all I can do not to jack up into her open mouth. I dig my fingers into the cushions, flexing my stomach and arching my back against the sofa. Another low groan escapes me when she slips her free hand between my thighs to cradle my balls.

  I’m transfixed by the sight of her lips wrapped around me, by how absorbed she is in the act, her gorgeous mouth evidently made for pleasure like this. She’s in complete control, sucking and stroking, setting the rhythm I’m powerless against following. I rise to meet her when she descends, then holy fuck, she begins to hum deep and low at the back of her throat, the vibrations travelling straight to my spine each time she takes me deep.

  And she does. Sweet fuck, she opens up and swallows me all the way to the back of her throat, that hum a torturous melody flooding my entire body with pleasure. What she can’t take into her mouth she deftly strokes with one hand while the other keeps toying with my balls.

  I’m fucking lost, every thought of what I intended to do to her fleeing in the wake of what she’s decided to do to me. I can’t do anything but surrender, dropping my hand to her head and threading fingers through her silken hair in some effort to steady myself. But I’m too far gone, and it takes just one more delicious suck before I lose it completely.

  My hoarse cry escapes as my cock erupts against her tongue. And fucking bless her if she doesn’t tap into my filthiest fantasies. She swallows some, but spits the rest back onto my cock, continuing to stroke my own spend down my entire length, then coating my balls with it too.

  “Looks like I made a mess of you,” she croons. “How do you like that?”

  22

  Callie

  Mason’s feral look is the only warning I have before he topples me back, pins me down, and kisses me hard. I moan a weak protest; my mouth is still coated in him. But he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it gets him hotter.

  He shoves his hands under my tank top again, then with a growl, yanks it up to reveal my breasts. I’m breathless as I arch into his teasing, sucking mouth, then lose track of how to move when he cups me between the legs, rubbing the heel of his palm against my core through my leggings, which are no doubt soaked through.

  Sucking him off got me worked up more than I’ve ever been going down on a man before. But he can’t be ready to fuck already, can he?

  Within the next two seconds, he has my leggings yanked down my thighs and tossed aside, then he drops to the floor on his knees and hauls me to the edge of the sofa.

  Oh. God yes, it’s this again.

  I barely have time to readjust for comfort when he buries his face between my thighs and devours me with every bit of enthusiasm as I just sucked his cock. A surprised cry escapes me at the hungry way he sucks my clit before plunging his tongue deep inside me. It’s like I’m on a runaway train, barely holding on but exhilarated all the same by how fast I’m hurtling to the end.

  Just when I’ve surrendered wholly and I’m close to orgasm, he stops and rises up, his big, tattooed body looming over me. He’s rock hard again, and I have a mere breath to utter “Yes” before he plunges into me in one fast, brutal stroke.
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br />   It’s like the first time all over again, frantic and desperate. He kisses me again, growling into my mouth as he grips me by one hip, holding me stable to take his punishing thrusts, his other hand braced on the back of the sofa. And it’s all more than I imagined, the pleasure of each stroke driving me to the precipice so fast I can’t think.

  “That’s it, baby. Scream my name. Fuck yes, Callie.”

  I’m already there and barely register his words of encouragement over the howl of pleasure erupting from my throat. I shudder and buck against him, writhing in time with his rhythmic thrusts. He doesn’t give me time to come down beyond slipping out of me for just long enough to urge me to turn over. In a daze, I move, getting on my knees on the sofa cushions, with my elbows braced on the back. He grips one thigh, lifting my knee to the arm before plunging in once more with a groan.

  “I’m going to come all over you again. There’s nothing more beautiful than seeing your sweet pussy coated in me, baby.”

  Why does his promise make me so fucking hot? I moan a reply, my ability to use words obliterated by his perfect cock spearing me hard and fast. Then he reaches around me and begins teasing my clit and I lose it again, but this time my scream is joined by his guttural yell and his fingers dig hard into my ass as his cock spasms inside me.

  I try to reclaim control of my body, but he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. “Don’t move yet. Let me come down,” he pants into my ear. A second later, he eases back onto the sofa on his side, pulling me down against him and tucking my head beneath his chin.

  I heave a satisfied sigh, mind drifting on a haze of endorphins, then hum in sated pleasure as he drifts a hand down my naked side. His fingers stray to my pelvis, then between my legs where he dips into the lake of wetness that’s half his fault.

  “What is it with you and the messes? Is it still a turn-on even after you’ve spent your load?”

  He snorts a laugh. “I couldn’t tell you for sure, but yeah. Some part of my lizard brain must get off on seeing you flooded with my cum. It was never a thing for me until . . . well, until the other night on the plane, so I haven’t had time to ponder what it means. I only know it’s fucking hot as hell. And I have the sense that it gets you hot too.”

  He keeps teasing me as he talks, drifting light strokes through the wetness pooled between my legs. The pleasure builds enough again that I start to lose the thread of conversation. I ask, “Oh? What makes you think that?”

  “The way you seemed to rev up when I told you what I was about to do. And the fact that talking about it now is making you even hotter. You like the idea that I’m rubbing your clit with my cum right now—that you’re covered in me—don’t you?”

  “Mm . . . I like everything you do.”

  It’s like last night all over again. We’ve already both come twice, but the hunger still aches inside me and the slightest taste makes it surge strong again. He nuzzles the back of my neck, grazing teeth over the flesh at the juncture of my shoulder. His cock stirs and hardens against my ass.

  “You’re like a fucking addiction,” he says, breath gusting over my ear as he lifts my leg and pushes into me from behind. The sweet friction of his thick cock filling me again makes me gasp and I push back, powerless to tamp down the need.

  He resumes teasing my clit as he fucks me. He does it slowly this time, hips rocking up and in with each deep, solid thrust, all the while murmuring filthy fantasies about what he wants to do to me later.

  After we both come once more, I finally have the presence of mind to suggest we bathe. I’m losing focus and energy, and I haven’t eaten since the bagel and banana I snatched from the hotel buffet during mine and Nina’s walk of shame.

  By the time we make it under the spray, we’re ready again, and he fucks me hard against the wall while hot, soapy water courses over us both. Afterward we both agree that we should put on clothes if we intend to do anything besides fuck.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” I say as I pull a long-sleeve shirt over my head. “But it’s the time apart that makes it all the sweeter, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mason slips up behind me and presses his nose to my ear, arms coming around to pull me against him. He inhales deeply against the damp skin of my neck. “This craving of mine has aged three years. I’m not sure it can get much sweeter.”

  I close my eyes, a dangerous ache building deep inside me. This is so much more than a rebound fling. On the contrary, I can’t help but think that by staying with Barnaby I was only biding my time. Or in actuality I was settling because I thought Mason was dead. The reminder makes my body involuntarily stiffen.

  Mason senses my stillness and releases me, turning me to face him. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

  Emotion strangles me and I shake my head. “I think part of me must have known back when I first talked to you after your surgery. Deep down, I think I knew it could be this good. God, I wish . . .”

  He shushes me with a finger to my lips and pulls me close again. “Me too, Callie. Me too.”

  I stare up into those steel-gray depths, eyes that truly see me in a way no man ever has. “I want to ask what happens after this weekend, but . . .”

  He flinches. “I can’t make you any promises right now. All I can say is that if it goes well, I’ll find you. I know exactly where to look. I hope that’s enough.”

  “It is for now,” I say, closing the distance and kissing him.

  We order takeout and sit in front of the gas fireplace, not speaking for a while as we both fill our bellies. Eventually I sit back with a fresh glass of wine and relax while he continues working his way through the enormous pile of seasoned fries that came with our burgers.

  “Do you have a photo of Zoe?” I ask.

  He slows his chewing and nods, grabbing a napkin to wipe the grease off his fingers. He reaches for his phone where he left it sitting on the end table and swipes the screen then presses his thumbprint to the sensor. The screen lights up and he holds it out to me.

  Taking it from him, I look down to a scrunched-up face beneath a thick mop of jet-black hair. She can’t be more than a few hours old in this photo, her face still purple and pissed off, which is how most babies look immediately after leaving the warmth of their mothers’ wombs. I can’t help but smile at the defiance in that tiny face.

  “She’s beautiful. Is this the only photo you have?”

  “That’s the only one I took myself, right after she was born. There are others . . .”

  He goes quiet, his brow creased as he reaches for the phone again. When he hands it back to me, I’m looking at a dark-haired Mexican woman with a stern face holding an older Zoe for the photo. She isn’t cradling her, but holds her beneath the arms, brandishing her for the camera. The baby’s old enough to hold her head up—maybe eight or nine months old—and looks unharmed. She’s wearing a clean jumper, but is clearly distraught by the callous handling. My throat tightens at the clear resemblance I see between her and her father. She has his eyes.

  “Proof of life,” Mason says curtly.

  “Oh god. Poor thing. They wouldn’t hurt her, would they?”

  He shakes his head, but grimaces too. “Zavala’s a heartless fucker. As long as he thinks she’s valuable, he’ll take care of her, but the second she isn’t . . .” He bares his teeth and flexes both fists until his knuckles crack.

  I reach out and squeeze his forearm. He relaxes a little, then sighs and swipes his hands over his face. “I’ve been at the mercy of someone else’s whims most of my life—my dad, then the military, now the DEA and this fucking cartel leader. I’m just so fucking done with it. I hate that she’s part of it, but getting her away from him isn’t enough. I keep asking myself, what the hell am I bringing her home to? There’s a fucking price on my head from the man we’re trying to take down. Until that’s gone, I don’t even have a life. How the fuck am I going to give her one?”

  His desperate tone wrenches at me and I set dow
n my wine, scooting over to him on my knees and slipping my arms around his neck to look down into his eyes. “One thing at a time, okay? You have to fix the most critical issue first. Getting her out and safe is paramount. You said your brother knows you’re alive—maybe he can help. Once she’s taken care of, you can focus on what comes next.”

  He curls his arms around me and presses his face into my chest. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t found you. Probably spent this next week out of my mind over being so goddamn helpless. You’ve given me something to look forward to. A few moments to think about something else so I can clear my head.”

  He pulls me into his lap and kisses me, his hand automatically slipping under my shirt. Fresh desire surges and I groan, forcing myself to pull back and extract his hand from its slow trek up my belly.

  “We can take a break from that for a little while. I appreciate the need for distraction, but I want this weekend to be about more than sex.”

  He sighs in resignation but relaxes, looking me in the eye. “I guess I want to try to squeeze as much lovemaking as possible into the next two days, since what comes after isn’t exactly something I can predict. What if you get back to LA and meet someone else?”

  I huff a laugh and shake my head. “I like you, Mason. I liked you from the first second we spoke. Even though you were high on morphine at the time, you were still coherent enough to ask me for a date. That might have been the thing that impressed me most. I liked you when we met again, even though I didn’t realize it was you. I’m pretty sure I’m still going to like you once you’re finally ready to come back to LA. I was in the same dumb relationship with the same asshole for five years, and half the reason I didn’t leave him was because he gave me an excuse to turn down other men. If I’d wanted to start something with someone in LA, I’d have done it already. I can wait.”

  “I won’t ask you to do that. It’s been less than a day . . .”