Into the Blue (A Wild Aces Romance)

by Chanel Cleeton

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, lying down next to me, folding his arms behind his head.

  “Just looking at the clouds.”

  This, too, had been a tradition.

  “Cow, three o’clock.”

  My eyes narrowed as I considered the shape. “It looks like a cat.”

  “How does that look like a cat?”

  I pointed to the sky. “See, those are its ears. And that’s its little cat face.”

  “Nope. That’s its cow face.”

  I grinned. “You always were terrible at this.”

  “Hey, you were the one who lacked imagination. It used to take you ages to come up with shapes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Some of us like to be deliberate. Like to make sure we’re getting it right.”

  “And sometimes you spend so much time trying not to mess up that you miss it entirely.”

  Touché.

  “Do you remember that time we went to the air show at Shaw?”

  I did. That had been a rare good day near the end. I’d never been to an air show before, and he’d been so excited to go see the planes. We’d found a spot to set up a blanket and we’d lain down on the ground, my head in his lap as we watched the planes fly overhead, as he pointed out the different airframes. It had been the moment when I’d realized how serious he was about flying.

  “Sometimes when I’m up in the air, I’ll see a cloud and think of you. Remember the days we spent just looking up at the sky.”

  I turned my head, staring into his blue eyes. Our gazes locked, a hint of a flush beneath his cheeks. I couldn’t fight the smile. He’d always hated those blushes, unable to fight the curse of red hair and pale skin. Of course, it wasn’t fair that he also had a warrior’s body and a face that broke hearts—my heart.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t shut down on me. Not yet. Not this afternoon anyway. Just enjoy this.”

  That was the problem—it was so easy to enjoy it, to lie here and pretend we were young and in love again. The same nerves that had lived inside me then flooded me now, the same questions running through my head:

  Would he touch me? Kiss me? Was it even a question or had we come here for this, the need lingering unspoken between us?

  “Do you want something to eat? More wine?” he asked, his voice soft.

  For all the nerves pinging through me, I’d come here because I wanted to be alone with him, because he’d kissed me and the promise of it had fueled a fire within me, because even though I shouldn’t want it, I wanted him to press my back down into the grass. I wanted what this place had represented for us, what my body recognized now, even as my mind protested.

  I swallowed, the bodice of my dress suddenly feeling tight, my skin electric. “I didn’t come here for the wine.”

  His eyes darkened and he shifted, his bare arm brushing against mine, his skin warm from the sun.

  Hadn’t we been building our way toward this all along? Did it matter that it was just temporary? That it was likely just sex? That I didn’t know where this was going? That I didn’t care?

  His pinkie brushed my finger, the soft touch sending a tremor down my spine, my nipples tightening, a flash of heat building just under my skin.

  More.

  His finger hooked around mine, the breath leaving my body with a soft whoosh.

  We lay there, staring up at the sky, holding hands, but not really holding hands, rewinding time.

  His finger stroked my palm, sending another wave of want through me, a steady throb building between my legs as anticipation built inside me. He shifted beside me, turning onto his side, squeezing my fingers, his gaze raking over me with an intensity that might as well have been his hands shaping, molding, imprinting themselves onto my flesh.

  He started at my face, my eyes, my lips, before moving lower, his gaze hot on my breasts in a move that had me arching my back a little, giving in to vanity, to the desire burning inside me to make him want this as badly as I did. To shatter his control.

  His gaze dipped lower and I swore I could feel his touch on my stomach as clearly as though he’d dragged the pads of his fingers down my skin, dipping into my belly button, goose bumps rising on my flesh, and then lower still, until I did feel him—

  His finger grazing my bare knee with such aching gentleness that for a moment I wondered if he’d touched me at all, if it had all been a figment of my imagination—my filthy imagination that was currently running wild with all the things I wanted him to do to me beneath the sky—or if I’d merely confused the breeze on my skin with Eric’s hands.

  He answered the unspoken question in my head with a soft caress to the hollow spot behind my knee, tickling the sensitive skin there in a move that had me biting down on my lip.

  Fuck me, this is happening.

  It had been a while. More than a while. So independent of the fact that this was Eric, that he’d forever been the yardstick against which I measured all other men, I wanted this, needed it, had to have it. For once in my life, my brain could shut up. I wasn’t interested in hearing all the reasons why this was likely a stupid idea; I knew them all. I just wanted to come, and considering Eric was the Picasso of orgasms, I wanted to come with his mouth on me, his hands stroking me, his cock inside me.

  A girl had only so much willpower. It was time for me to get mine.

  His hand trailed up my leg lazily, each caress unraveling me inch by inch. I stared up at the clouds, the breeze tickling my face, his magic hands releasing the tension that had been inside me for so long. I stretched out on the blanket, my body languid as he turned me into a boneless heap.

  He played with the hem of my dress, his fingers dipping under the fabric and stealing the air from my lungs as he stroked my inner thigh, drifting higher, higher . . .

  I turned my head, staring into his blue eyes, the lust there sending another tremor between my legs. I reached out, my fingers tracing his full mouth, and then I watched, arousal flooding me, as he sucked my fingers between his lips, his tongue joining the party and sending a message that had my clit tingling in anticipation.

  Yes. So much, yes.

  I pulled away, my hand falling to my side, my fingers clutched in a wet fist.

  With his free hand he lifted my dress, the warm sun hitting my bare skin. I spread open, any shyness that might have reared its ugly head taking a backseat to how fucking good it felt to have him touch me. He lay there, propped up on his arm, his gaze on me as he lifted my dress to my waist, baring the white scrap of lace that, if I were totally honest with myself, I’d definitely worn for him.

  His breath grew ragged, and for a moment I thought he’d speak, but then it passed, as if he’d realized that, in this case, words would break the connection between us. I didn’t want to be reminded of reality, didn’t want anything to spoil this. If this was wrong, I didn’t want to be right.

  He stroked me through the lace; if there had been any doubts in his mind about how badly I wanted him, they’d just been answered. My eyes closed, my head falling back on the blanket as I gave myself over to the only sensation I wanted to feel—his hand between my legs bringing me closer and closer to ecstasy.

  His knuckles grazed me as his fingers hooked under the band of my thong. I lifted my hips and he pulled the lace from me, his big hand resting on my hipbone, the warmth of his touch a brand on my flesh, his fingers inches from where I wanted them to be. And then I felt it—his breath on the inside of my thigh, tickling my skin, sending another shiver down my spine, and then another as he teased me, those little releases of breath nothing and everything at the same time.

  I wanted, needed, more.

  His breath hovered over my skin, the little puff of air blowing directly onto my clit, my body aching and tight, needing relief, grasping for pleasure even as it slid through m
y fingers like sand.

  “What do you want?”

  The words sounded rough falling from his lips, as though his control hung by a thread just like mine.

  My eyes fluttered open and I stared up at him, looming over me, his mouth a harsh slant across his too-handsome face. Holy hell, in this moment, his call sign seemed totally apropos. He looked like the god of thunder and lightning, like a warrior who commanded and men followed. If I hadn’t been close to coming before, the look in his eyes and the sheer beauty of his fucking face propelled me to the edge. The arrogance in his voice had me teetering there.

  He didn’t ask the question for anything other than to make me answer, because there was no way he could have any doubts about what I wanted. But he was definitely going to make me say it.

  Fine.

  “Your mouth on me.”

  No shame. No point.

  “You want to come,” he drawled, his lazy tone another silken caress.

  I managed an eye roll, no easy feat when you were strung as tightly as I was. “Gee, what gave you that idea?”

  He rewarded me with a grin, his dimple making an appearance that had me squirming beneath his gaze. I’d forgotten how playful he was in bed.

  “I thought you hated me,” he teased.

  Holy hell. I was thisfreakingclose . . .

  “Can we not talk? Maybe there are other things your mouth could do right now.”

  His smile deepened, a chuckle escaping those beautiful want-them-on-my-body lips. His answer was to dip his head down, his mouth closing down around my clit—

  I bit back a moan, and then his tongue dragged across my swollen flesh, and I gave up all pretense of silence.

  He didn’t play around, didn’t tease me; instead, he feasted on my body like I was a banquet laid before him, sating himself with the arousal that flowed through me, the sighs that escaped my lips, the way my body quivered and shook as he took me closer and closer, that familiar sensation building in my body, except this time there was a sharpness and an intensity that hadn’t been there before with him and all the guys in between.

  I reached down between us, my fingers threading through his hair, holding on to him even as my world shifted and I lost control. I came hard, my hips bucking beneath his body while he held me down, his mouth swallowing every tremor, his tongue laving my swollen, aching, dripping flesh.

  As quickly as it had come on, the orgasm slid out of me, leaving me hollowed out and spent, way too smug with pleasure to make room for doubt or regret.

  Maybe we sucked at love, but we definitely knocked this out of the freaking park.

  Eric stared down at me, a lazy smile on his face.

  I reached out, touching my fingers to his lips again, feeling myself on his skin. Our gazes locked, a conversation passing between us without the need for words. His fingers closed around my wrist, pulling my hand away and bringing our hands together until we were joined palm to palm.

  He lay back down on the blanket and hooked his arm around me until my head came to rest on his chest, my cheek above his heart, the steady beat lulling me to sleep beneath the cloudy—cat-filled—sky.

  THIRTEEN

  BECCA

  “You did what?” Lizzie screeched, her eyes wide as she stared at me across the couch.

  I flushed. “Come on, have you seen him lately? Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

  “I saw him running yesterday. I would climb him like a jungle gym, but that’s beside the point.”

  I snorted, taking another sip of wine. The alcohol was definitely getting to Lizzie. Girls’ nights were few and far between since she’d had her son, but we still managed to get together every once in a while, even on a Tuesday. This was one of those nights when I needed my best friend.

  “So how was it? Scale of one to ten.”

  “Four hundred and twenty-two.”

  “Damn. Have you talked to him since?”

  “He texted.”

  “And?”

  “And he wants to go out on Friday night.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I’d think about it.”

  “Why? You don’t think about a four hundred and twenty-two.”

  “You do if he broke your heart.”

  “True. It’s a shame you can’t just enjoy his body without all the emotional stuff getting in the way.”

  “Amen, sister.”

  “Wait. Can you?”

  “Can I what?”

  “Just enjoy his body without all the emotional stuff getting in the way?”

  That was the million-dollar question.

  “I don’t know. I want to. It’s so good with him. I mean, better than I remembered, and he was always the best I’d ever had.” I took another sip of wine. “But the problem is, just as easy as it is to imagine falling back into bed with him, it’s just as easy to imagine slipping back into our old habit patterns. Into the relationship we had.”

  “Have you guys talked about what he wants? I mean, he’s back. He’s never been back before. Surely that means something.”

  I wanted to tell myself that. I wanted to believe it. But unfortunately, I didn’t know how much I trusted him anymore. Or my own instincts.

  “He’s going through a rough time. I get it. And I feel badly for him; I do. But I don’t want him to use me like I’m some kind of Band-Aid. To come back here because he can, or because it’s safe. To have me fix him and then leave again.”

  I wanted the upper hand here, wanted him to feel the way I felt—

  “What do you want?” Lizzie asked, echoing my thoughts.

  “I want him to want me so badly that he’s desperate for it. Begging for it.”

  Maybe not actually begging, but close enough. For once, I didn’t want him to sweep me off my feet. I wanted to bring him to his knees.

  “So you want to have sex with him?”

  So badly. The idea of stripping Eric naked and getting him between my legs had burned itself in my mind and refused to leave. I just didn’t know how to get him there on my terms. I knew he wanted me, that whatever burned between us burned fiery hot, knew he found me attractive, and still, I’d never been that girl.

  For one night, I wanted to be a fantasy. His fantasy. I wanted to grasp the power in my palm, right alongside his dick and his heart.

  “Yeah.”

  “Like hate sex?” Lizzie asked, the expression on her face a mask of confusion.

  Maybe I sounded like a crazy person. I didn’t know how to explain it to someone who’d only been with one guy, who’d treated her like a princess their entire relationship.

  “I don’t hate him. I just want to break him.” I winced. “Not the way it sounds.”

  It was official; I was a horrible person. Poor Lizzie—married-for-a-dozen-years Lizzie—looked at me like I’d started the slippery slide into insanity.

  “And have sex with him?”

  “Yes.” I sighed. “I want to give him a night that he can’t forget, a memory that will haunt him every single time he’s with someone else. I want to feel good, to make him feel so good his mind is blown, and then when it comes time to say good-bye, I want him to stand there, watching me walk away, feeling like I’ve left a void in his life that he can’t fill.”

  “Because that’s what he did to you?” she asked, her voice soft, eyes sad.

  “He didn’t—”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “It wasn’t like that. We were together for over five years; it’s not like it was wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.”

  “But he left.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re angry.”

  So much, yes. I kept trying to move past the anger, to let go, to forgive, and I just couldn’t. So now I’d given up on letting go of those feelings; instead I wa
nted to harness them for something else. I wanted to fuck my heartbreak away.

  I took a long gulp of my wine, draining the glass dry.

  “Maybe he regrets it,” Lizzie suggested. “Maybe he wishes he could do things differently, go back in time and make another choice.”

  Maybe. But it truly was too little too late. I didn’t tell her the saddest part, how I’d had that same stupid fantasy for years after he’d left. That there had been a part of me that hadn’t been able to believe he was really gone, that we were really over, and had waited, convinced he’d come back.

  “I don’t think so. He’s just visiting; he’s only here for another week or so and then he’ll be back in Oklahoma. He made his choice and he has the life he always wanted. I don’t think anything is going to change.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t get involved with him. I’m worried you’re going to have sex with him and history will repeat itself. It seems like you still have a lot of feelings about all of this. I’m not sure sex is your best play here.”

  All good points, but our trip to the Eggers farm had changed everything.

  “I’m not twenty-one anymore, and I know who he is now. I thought our relationship was the most important thing for him, never imagined he would dump me for a fucking plane. I now know differently.

  “Have you ever looked back on a part of your life with regret? Like if you could have a do-over, would you take it?” I asked, struggling to explain it.

  Lizzie grinned. “Sure. I would have gone out with Matt Adams when he asked me to the eighth grade dance.”

  “You did have a huge crush on him.”

  “It’s not like I would have wanted for it to go anywhere past eighth grade, but I guess it would have been nice to have that moment, you know?”

  “I do. This is my Matt Adams moment.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Somehow I don’t think you wanting to screw your ex blind is the same thing as me wanting to have a few awkward dances with my eighth grade crush.”