by Knox, Abby
"Yep. I grew up in this trailer with her. She remarried a couple of years ago and moved across the country. I didn't want to move, so she left me the trailer. She always was supportive of me but never too pushy. I'm pretty grateful she was never the kind of pageant mom you see on TV. Can I get you something to drink?" I look over in the small kitchen. It's not the most low-rent set-up I've ever seen in a camper. She's got a small fridge, a two-burner stove, a toaster oven, and a microwave. "Water? Beer? Go-go juice?"
I watch her move around the kitchen, fetching herself a glass of wine. "What's go-go juice?"
Her eyes smile at me over the top of her glass as she drinks her wine. "Mountain Dew, Five Hour Energy and Monster. Just an inside joke with the pageant girls. Never mind."
I tell her I'll just have a water, and she fills a glass and hands it to me.
Something comes over her, and it feels like her mood has suddenly changed. She looks shy, which seems unlike her. But, having only known her for one day, I realize there are tons of things I don't know.
"Baby," I say, tilting up her chin. "What's cooking upstairs?"
"I don't know where to start."
"Start with what?"
Rocket sighs. "Asking for what I want. I always go after what I want, but not in relationships. What you see all around you is all I have. It's not much. But if what we're doing here is truly a relationship and not just a fling until you get called up again, it might break me. I can't believe I said it, but it's true. I have nothing to bring to this relationship but for me." She smooths her fingers over my shirt. "So I'll understand if, after seeing all this, you're not much impressed with me, an accomplished guy like you. I might be extra up on that stage, but this is the real me. Just me and my tiny trailer and a job waiting tables at a crappy bar."
Chapter Fourteen
Rocket
"Baby, do you want to see what I see when I look at you?" Jet looks at me like I'm crazy, which is a step up from looking down at my humble roots.
"Maybe."
"You have a give-no-fucks attitude that would put the egos of every pilot in my squadron shame. You have more inner strength than every crewman I've ever worked with. But also, you're the sweetest, kindest soul I've ever met."
"You're too much," I say, looking down.
"No, I'm not. I grew up poor as dirt, barely graduated high school. My nana indulged me, never disciplined me. Worked her fingers to the bone just to make sure I was clothed and fed and sheltered. I showed my gratitude for her raising me by fucking around as a teenager and had put no thought into my future. Then she died, and I had no clue what to do other than what my grandpa had done, so I enlisted.
"So don't ever make me have to remind you of who you are again. I won't have any girl of mine running herself down. If you aren't feeling like yourself, we work it out together," he says. "In case I wasn't clear, I'm not letting you go. Those things I said earlier weren't just about getting into your panties. I'm the long-haul guy, and you're mine. I love you."
The intense stare in his eyes is almost too much to bear.
"I barely know you and I already know you're a good man, and I love you, too, Jet."
He smiles as he cups my face, warming me all over. "Good. It helps if both of us feel the same way," he says.
All of a sudden I feel a little lightheaded. Jet catches me as I stumble back to the kitchen to put my glass in the sink.
"Baby, have you eaten anything today?"
I shake my head. "No. I usually don't eat on pageant days."
"Sit down."
I wave off his concern but make my way over to the couch.
Jet looks around the place and says, "Good, now stay parked on the couch and I'll join you in a second."
"So bossy."
He says, "Get used to it."
Wrapping myself up in my granny's afghan, I switch on the TV and cue up some truly terrible reality TV. I'm so engrossed in it that I have no idea how much time passes before Jet is snuggled in next to me on the couch, a plate of chips and salsa, and guacamole in his hand. "Sorry, babe, this is the best I could do. If you want I could head back to the fairgrounds for something special. What do you want?"
I receive the plate he's prepared for me, having forgotten how hungry I am. "I want you to stay put and not go anywhere."
My belly full of guacamole, I eventually fall asleep against Jet's chest, long before my favorite part of the show, when all the real estate agents begin to drunkenly argue in front of clients.
When I wake up hours later, it's dark. And somehow I'm lying in my bed, even though my last memory was that we were sitting on the couch. How in the world did he convert it into the bed while I was asleep? Never mind. Too tired to care. And too comfy and content. I don't think I ever knew what the word "content" meant before. Nothing else in this whole world is as nice as reaching out in the middle of the night and finding your person in the bed with you.
Jet draws me close to his now-bare chest and kisses my forehead. "Thank you for staying," I say.
"I'd be crazy to leave. Now go back to dreamland for a while and save your energy."
"You want me to stay awake with you so we can talk?"
"No. Sleep," he says. "I'll let you know when I want you awake. You'll wake up with my tongue between your legs."
It's not easy falling asleep after being told what he's going to do to me later, but somehow, I manage.
Chapter Fifteen
Jet
As the early morning sun begins to peek through the mini-blinds, my curiosity grows for what Rocket tastes like.
I shoot off another text to Henry, who assures me that Betty is back home with him, safely tucked into the garage, and he has a full few weeks ahead of him to plan out the pumpkin patch and corn maze. "And don't show up here after we're open for business unless that girl is with you and you're joined at the hip."
Rocket's beginning to get restless. When she rolls over onto her back, murmuring in her sleep, I have to take my moment.
First I massage her feet, and then I brush sloppy, firm kisses up the inside of her thighs.
I'm so fucking thirsty for this pussy. My mind knows I've already claimed her, but every other part of my body needs more reassurance. More contact. Just more.
She moans sleepily when I kiss her heat through her panties. Deeply. Intensely. With tongue. I breathe her in; she fills me with her heady, feminine scent. My tongue wets the cotton crotch.
"Mm-hmm," she hums, now beginning to wake up. "Jet, is that you?"
I pull her panties to the side and slide my tongue over her wet, hot skin. "I don't know who else you were expecting, but they aren't invited," I say.
Rocket twitches when my tongue grazes over her sensitive folds, savoring their sweetness.
"Oh," she sighs.
"You okay with this?" I ask.
She makes another delicious-sounding hum and replies, "More than okay. I'm in heaven. Just…let me know what I'm…supposed to do here."
I stop my savoring and come up to hover over her in the dim light. "Is this the first time a man has gone down on you, sweet Rocket?"
She nods, biting her lip. I press my mouth over hers and suck her lip into my mouth. "Thank you, baby."
"For what?"
"For letting me be the first and only one who ever made you come with his mouth."
"Sweetheart, you're the first guy who ever made me come, period."
I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I smooth her hair away from her face. "Lovely, we're going to have so much fun. You don't have to do anything but permit me to get a little crazy on you. Your juices have already got me so goddamn worked up."
"You have my permission, love."
She bridges her torso slightly to let me pull her cotton panties off completely, and while she's doing that, I slip a pillow under her to push her hips up.
In the increasing dawn light, I take all of her in. My Rocket is spread out below me in nothing but a T-shirt hiked up to just below her breast
s. I think to myself how incredibly lucky I am. I palm her thighs and gaze at her glistening pink, soaking wet and ready for me.
"Look at you. You're perfect, Rocket." I graze over her skin with my teeth, flicking my tongue across her valleys and curves.
Rocket moans and her fingers caress my hair. "So good I might see stars," she whispers.
I plunge in, drinking her in as if I'm starving and she's my sustenance. My tongue explores her channel; the more I savor, the more honey she makes for me. "Mine," I whisper. "All mine."
"All yours, Jet."
Chapter Sixteen
Rocket
I've never felt anything like this before in my whole life.
I expected it to feel strange and slithery. The way some men joke about eating pussy, I expected to feel a lot of indiscriminate flopping around.
But it's not like that at all. At least, not with Jet. He's incredibly, deliciously precise. His mouth is soft and warm and deliberate, alternating between fucking me with his tongue and then using it to bathe my sensitive spots. Every move pulls a moan from my throat.
Every sound he makes heightens all my senses.
He's enjoying this almost as much as I am. He's making yummy noises like I've served his favorite dessert.
I never thought the sound of slurping could be sexy, but it's driving me insane in the best way. The heat builds and builds. When he stops to tell me, "Sit up a little. I want you to watch me touch myself while I fuck you with my tongue," my arousal reaches such a level I think I could levitate.
I didn't even know this was possible. Jet rolls us both sideways, my legs still splayed out, my body propped up on my elbow to get the best view. And what I see almost has my brain melting. Jet's mouth is on my pussy, he's got one thumb pleasuring my core, and his head rests on my thigh. His other palm strokes up the bottom side of his erect cock, the hard muscles of his wide chest and arms rippling with every stroke. He's so beautiful, I'm at a complete loss for words.
"Now fuck me back. When my tongue goes in, I want you to squeeze it. When you come, wrap your legs around me and squeeze me. I want to drown in you. Breathe in nothing but you."
I've never had more fun doing exactly as a man says. I squeeze down on his tongue when he slides it inside me, inciting a moan from deep in his chest. His hand stroking his cock stops and caresses my backside. The new sensation of his hand on my ass brings me to the breaking point, and I explode, squeezing my thighs together, clutching his head between my thighs.
The noise that escapes him is beyond what I would think was possible for someone who's being suffocated by my cooch, but a girl doesn't ask questions when she's getting pleasured like this for the first time in her life.
The orgasm doubles down when my brain registers that he's sucking my clit into his mouth and moaning at the same time.
I see stars.
Inexplicably, I feel like I might cry. Not from sadness. Not exactly happiness. It feels like something that was blocked is now unblocked. "Kiss me, Jet. I need you."
The words are barely out of my mouth before he has me wrapped up in his arms, kissing me through whatever feelings are rattling through me.
"Did you finish?"
He shakes his head. "I waited so I could come inside you. But we don't have to."
"I want to!"
"You're crying," he says, brow furrowed in worry.
"It's not what you think. It's like I'm high or something. But better."
"I'll wait until you're done crying, though, if it's all the same to you," he says, petting my hair. He's as good as his word. He won't do a single thing more until I finish my stupid unexplained bout of tears.
When that's over, Jet rolls me onto my back, throws my legs over his shoulders, and has his protection on in a matter of seconds. His thick cock is buried to the hilt. This time, the rhythm is a slow, deliberate, delicious torture. I can feel every bump and ridge moving all the way in as deep as he can go and pulling out again.
While he does this, his mouth makes love to my breasts. "You are the perfect handful, and so soft. And your nipples…"
"Are huge and weird," I say.
"But look," he says, sucking one into his mouth. "The perfect size, just for me. Thank you for this," he says. As if he needs to thank me for ruining every inch of my body.
Absolutely ruined.
I honestly believe this to be true until I realize just how pent-up this man has been while serving our country. Because when he finishes, he's never far from reaching for me again. We spend the rest of our day together talking, cuddling, fucking, cuddle-fucking. At one point he bends me over the little kitchen table with one finger in my butt. There's truly nothing this boy doesn't love when it comes to the bedroom.
Most importantly, there's nothing this boy loves more than me, or himself with me.
It's enough to convince me he loves me for more than my body.
It's a good thing, too. Because if he's deployed again, I'm going to need all the assurances I can handle.
Chapter Seventeen
One year later
Jet
I hate that I'm gonna miss the Butter Queen pageant this year. I don't hate that I'm not a judge this time, but I just know this time, my girl is gonna win that title.
She has to. Rocket is 24 years old now. It's her last chance, and she's been practicing her heart out.
What she doesn't know, though, is I'm missing out on her big day not because my flight got delayed. It's true what I told her: that my annual training as a reservist took me overseas for a humanitarian mission. But today, I have a secret surprise in the works.
It took everything in me to not skip out on my big secret plan, head straight to the pageant, and not carry her off like a caveman before she could claim her crown.
The title means a lot to her, so I can't do that. And my secret project means so much for our future that doing what my body and lizard brain wants is a really bad idea.
The bank has scheduled my closing date on the same day as the pageant. I couldn't set the date earlier because of other people's scheduling conflicts combined with how long it took for my trip back here.
After I pick up the ring I ordered from the artisan jewelry maker downtown, I hit the bank and the lawyer's office, and everything goes fairly smoothly.
If I hurry, I can make it to the fairgrounds before they announce the winner.
On the way to the fairgrounds, once again behind the wheel of my beautiful Betty, I imagine all the things I wanna do to my girl when I see her. I'm gonna bury my face in her hair, taste her neck, and feel her laugh against me. It's only been a few weeks but my god, I've been missing her laugh. I'm going to hold her so tight my rod might rip a hole right through her evening gown.
If she accepts my offer, I'm looking at a lifetime of falling asleep holding on to that ridiculously perfect woman every single night.
I call her one last time to make sure she's in the right state of mind because if I know my girl, I know she could use a pep talk.
It's also a good enough excuse to hear her voice. Every time I've talked to her over the phone, even at great distances, her voice is like warm honey covering my soul, filling in the cracks, and smoothing over all my rough edges.
She asks almost nothing of me. She has this annoying habit of never asking for favors, never complaining about anything more than missing me when I have to report to training.
She's so goddang independent it's truly aggravating sometimes.
Today, she's going to finally understand the lengths to which I will go to to make sure she knows she can depend on me.
I have it all planned out.
Chapter Eighteen
Rocket
This is it, this my last chance to win it.
I'm standing on the stage at the state fair for the final time, vying for the title I've been coveting since the age of 18.
Now that I'm 24, this is the last year I'll get the chance. Next year I'll be 25, and I'll have aged out.
&
nbsp; I hate that I'm going through all of this and he won't be here to see it, as his flight home from training has been delayed.
My voice is smaller than I intended it to sound when he calls. I do my best to sound strong for him because I don't want him to worry. "I'm doing okay."
"Don't even try that out on me, I know you. You're fighting your negative self-talk again. You tell that voice to go fuck itself because you are the prettiest, coolest, most badass fire twirler that ridiculous pageant has ever seen. Damn, girl, you don't even have to worry about that Paris witch trying to fuck things up for you or anyone else this year. Didn't you tell me she's been banned from all forms of pageants and now she can't even get pageant moms to hire her for their kids' acting lessons?"
I snort a laugh at this reminder. Maybe I shouldn't enjoy the fact that Paris, no matter how hard she tries, can never get back into the pageant circuit in any way, shape, or form. But I do enjoy it. I relish it because it might be the only petty thing about me.
"Yes, that's true," I reply, and I hear the confidence in my voice returning. Amazing how Jet can talk to me like one of his crew, and I respond so positively. He inspires me at every turn.
"All right then. Now gird up them loins and go get that fucking crown."
How does he do that? How does one man manage to make me laugh, fire me up, and rattle me apart in the same breath?
"Baby, you know that saying, 'find a man who ruins your lipstick, not your mascara'? Well, you're ruining my mascara."
"Then what's my Rocket gonna do about it?"
The way he says it makes my spine straighten in attention. I stare in the mirror as he speaks, my eyes wide.
"Rocket's gonna fix her makeup," I say.
"Fuck yes, because Rocket is not soft. She's strong. And then what's she gonna do?"
I blink in the mirror. "Baby, can I stop referring to myself in the third person now? It's getting weird."