Fly With Me

by Chanel Cleeton

  He smiled and I might have had a mini-orgasm.

  “Thank fuck.”

  Thank fuck, indeed.

  He reached out, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped behind my ear. His hand grazed my cheek as he released me and I swayed toward him.

  I wanted to lick him, and bite him, and do all kinds of naughty things to that gorgeous body. Multiple times.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, interrupting my fantasies.

  “Jordan.” I held out my hand to shake and then froze, my hand halfway there. Smooth. You’re in a nightclub, not a freaking business meeting. To say it had been a while since I’d dated was a massive understatement. Plus, I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit I had blindingly horrible moments of awkward even on my good days. I pretty much lived in extremes. I either totally rocked it or epically failed, with very little in between.

  His mouth quirked up as he held out his hand. “I’m Noah.”

  Well, now I knew the name I’d be calling out in my dreams.

  Our palms connected, his hand warm against mine. I waited for him to let go, already mourning the loss of his touch. But he didn’t. He just stood there, holding my hand in the middle of the club, staring at me like I was not alone in these feelings.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I squeaked. Really nice to meet you.

  The song changed and the club grew frenzied around us, and then he was pulling me toward him and I was dancing, Noah behind me, his big hands on my hips, fingers laced with mine, his body moving against me.

  Yes, please.

  For such a tall guy, he had good rhythm. Really good rhythm. I loved dancing, but I was more of a dance-alone or with-friends kind of girl. Most guys were pretty terrible dancers, and I hated having to try to match my movements to theirs, unable to let the beat of the song take over. Noah wasn’t like that at all. He molded his body to mine, letting me set the pace.

  And by the way he rolled his hips against my ass, he definitely had some moves.

  Holy hell.

  His hand drifted up my side, gathering my hair, fisting the ends. Arousal pulsed between my legs, the beat steady, strong, a slow ache. He pulled me back toward him, his hard cock pressing against my ass. A tremor ripped through my body as his fingers grazed my nape, tracing the skin there, my nipples tightening beneath the thin fabric of my dress. My body felt overheated, the music and alcohol flooding my senses. Around us, people danced, bodies rubbing against each other, mouths tangling, hands roaming. It was that point in the evening when inhibitions lowered, and it was Vegas—it was a night for letting go.

  Head bent, his arms wrapped around my torso, the curve of my breasts brushing against his muscular forearm. Another tremor throbbed between my legs. His lips grazed my neck, brushing over the sensitive curve where it met my shoulder. I bit back a moan.

  More.

  I leaned into him, reaching out, our fingers threading together, our hands joined. His body behind me called to mind other images—of me naked, on my hands and knees, while he drove into me.

  He was easily the hottest guy I’d ever seen, and tonight was quickly ranking up there with one of the more memorable evenings of my dating life.

  His hold on me tightened and another mini-spasm wracked my body.

  I turned in Noah’s arms, my breasts grazing his chest. His hands moved lower, grabbing my ass, hauling me toward him, his gaze on my mouth.

  I’d never been happier of my single status than I was now.

  NOAH

  Dibs had flown out the window. I didn’t know which girl Easy wanted, didn’t care. This one was mine.

  I feasted on her mouth. She tasted like tequila and mint, her lips soft and plump. Her tongue wreaked havoc on my sanity.

  I’d kissed my fair share of girls; drunken kisses in dark club corners weren’t anything new. But this—this was mind-blowing.

  The second I touched her, she lit up. Her hands pulled on my neck, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging on the ends, yanking me toward her as though she couldn’t get close enough. My hands cupped her ass, squeezing her through the thin fabric, loving how she squirmed against me, rubbing herself over my jeans and my hard cock.

  She was sex in heels, the kind of body that was all curves, made for a centerfold. The beauty mark just above her upper lip took hot to an all-new level.

  I released her mouth, kissing my way down her neck, my teeth scraping her flesh, my dick jerking with the moan that escaped her lips. I nipped her, running my tongue over her skin, the taste of her swirling in my mouth. Jordan gripped the back of my head harder, her body begging for more.

  No question about it, not only was she sexy as hell, but she liked to play. I’d just hit the motherfucking jackpot.

  I shifted so I was behind her again, my hands on either side of her hips, our bodies swaying in time to the music. The girl was gorgeous—long blond hair, big tits, curvy ass, long, shapely legs shown off by the sexiest pink dress. Absolutely gorgeous. And the second our gazes had locked across the club, her brown eyes had looked at me like I was her favorite meal and she wanted me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  Done.

  My hands moved higher, pulling her tighter against me. Her neck arched, her head tipping into mine, and one of the pink penises hit me in the face again.

  I grinned. Fuck, she was cute.

  “Babe, gotta remove the headband. Don’t need pink dicks in my face.”

  Jordan turned to face me, locking her arms around my neck. Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink and she nodded.

  I’d always had a weakness for blondes, and this girl had incredible hair. It fell down the center of her back in a mass of loose waves and curls. I set the headband on the table, my gaze on hers the entire time.

  At some point we’d stopped dancing, and now we stood in the club with our bodies plastered together, her arms around my neck.

  I stroked her hip, pulling her even closer. We danced for a long time, moving from song to song, our bodies matching each other’s rhythm like we’d been dancing together for years. I’d been exhausted, and with one kiss she breathed new life into me.

  I leaned down, my lips inches away from her ear, struggling to be heard over the loud music.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” I asked, her answer suddenly feeling like everything.

  I hadn’t come out looking to get laid, had honestly been about to call it a night, but the second I saw her, my plans for the evening became whatever put me in her orbit. I didn’t know where this was headed, but right now I was happy to follow her anywhere.

  She nodded, and a knot tightened in my chest as she linked hands with me and I led her off the dance floor.

  TWO

  JORDAN

  We ended up at the Bourbon Room, a bar in the Venetian that played classic rock hits. It was just after two in the morning when we got there, the crowd caught up in the music, drunkenly belting out songs. It was pretty awesome. Noah’s friend, who had bizarrely introduced himself as Easy, entertained the rest of the group as the six of us headed over to the bar.

  With two hot guys and three single girls, I wasn’t sure how things would go down. Easy had been talking to both Stacey and Amber, so I couldn’t get a handle on who he was interested in, but I was definitely sending the message that Noah was off-limits.

  We held hands the whole time, our bodies close together, that same chemistry I’d experienced at the club pinging through my body like an electric shock. We grabbed a big table, Noah pulling me back while everyone else sat down, leaving us on the end, partially blocked off from the rest of the group. He released my hand, putting his arm around me, lacing our hands together with his free hand until they rested on his thigh.

  His really, really muscular thigh.

  Yep, totally wanted to jump him.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I�
�d ever been this attracted to a guy right off the bat. I didn’t really have a physical type; I’d dated a lot—tall guys, guys I couldn’t wear heels around, blonds, dark-haired guys, even a few red-haired guys. But this one? There was a physical energy about him. A raw maleness I’d never seen on anyone before.

  He moved with confidence, taking charge of the group, which was almost as sexy as his body. Hell, maybe more. After fifteen years of dating, I was sick of guys who didn’t know how to lead, who didn’t have their shit together, who made me feel like the man half the time. I was sick of thirty-year-old boys who didn’t know how to act like adults, who seemed to be perpetually overcompensating for a small penis. I didn’t want a caveman, but I wanted a man who knew who he was, and wasn’t afraid to be it.

  And so far this guy had hit every single check mark.

  Noah leaned down and I got another whiff of his cologne. Gah. I had to fight the urge to press my lips to his clean-shaven cheek.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  I didn’t even bother fighting the smile as I cocked my head to the side, my gaze playful, silence descending between us.

  A dimple flashed back at me. The still slightly tipsy part of me wanted to poke him there. It softened his features, giving him a hint of boyishness which was welcome on a face that appeared to have been chiseled in granite.

  “I meant to drink.” He ducked his head, grazing mine. “But I definitely would like to hear what’s going through your mind right now.”

  I grinned. I could be ballsy with the best of them, but even I didn’t have the guts to tell him all the things going through my head right now.

  “Bourbon seems apropos.”

  A waitress came over, Noah ordering for me. While the rest of the group got their drinks, he played with my hand, his fingers exploring my flesh, tracing the lines of my palm, circling my wrist.

  I tried to keep my expression neutral, to hide the fact that each touch set off a fire in my body, but it was pretty much useless. He knew exactly what he was doing and how much I liked it.

  I hadn’t decided if I was going to sleep with him, but the urge to flirt came as naturally as breathing. I leaned forward, the move drawing all of his attention to my breasts. Having double Ds and not using them was pretty much like owning a Ferrari and going the speed limit. Where was the fun in that?

  His gaze dipped for a glorious moment, and then he stared into my eyes, a wolfish gleam shining back at me.

  It felt as though we were playing sexual chess, each of us making a move that took us closer to getting naked.

  His move.

  Noah reached out, his fingers connecting with my skin. Gah. His flesh was warm against mine, his touch light, teasing, tracing my collarbone, a line of goose bumps forming in his wake.

  I froze, held in place by the pads of his fingers, by the whispered promise his touch gave me. I sucked in air, trying not to come undone as I craved more, unraveled by how close his hand was to my breasts and how badly I wanted it to dip lower. My nipples pebbled and another throb pounded between my legs.

  I figured thirty was too old to start making out with someone in the middle of a bar at a table with four other people, even if it was late at night, and it was Vegas, but given the temptation in front of me, I wasn’t sure the odds of keeping my clothes on trended in my favor.

  Noah quirked a brow at me, his gaze knowing, his hands lingering on my bare skin before he pulled back and released me.

  I stifled a frustrated growl. Barely.

  I struggled to think of nonsexual things like polar bears, and avocados, and whatever random shit flew through my head.

  Bananas. Balls. Fuck.

  “So where are you from?” I asked, crossing my legs, the movement drawing his attention down again and giving me a chance to roll my tongue back into my mouth.

  “Originally, California. I live in Oklahoma now.” His hand moved lower, stroking my arm.

  My scalp tingled, more goose bumps rising up, my skin flashing hot and cold. Somewhere between the dancing and leaving the club, my buzz had slowly begun to wear off, sharpening my senses, my body humming with awareness.

  So much for not panting after him like a horny teenager.

  “How about you?” he asked.

  Use your words.

  “Florida. A small beach town a few hours north of Miami.”

  He gave me another lazy smile. “How long are you in Vegas for?”

  It definitely wasn’t a casual question. We both knew where this was heading. Would this be one night? Two? Were we going to indulge this fire crackling between us?

  “Until Monday. We’re here for my sister’s bachelorette.” I pointed out Meg, who was on her phone, probably drunk texting her fiancé.

  “And you?”

  “Another week,” he answered. “We’re here for work.”

  The waitress set our drinks in front of us and I took a long pull of the bourbon. Yum.

  “What do you do?” I asked, shifting in my seat. Our legs pressed against each other, my body as close to his as I could manage without being in his lap.

  Fuck me. I hadn’t been wrong about the muscles.

  I considered shopping a solid workout routine and counted chocolate as a major food group. But right now I thanked the fitness gods for the biceps skimming my breasts, the broad shoulders next to me, the outline of his pecs through his T-shirt. His body was a gift I wanted to unwrap.

  And then the next thing I knew, Noah’s arms looped around me, hauling me onto his lap as though I barely weighed anything at all, my back cradled to his front, my ass in his lap, arms of steel encircling me.

  Words failed me.

  He reached out, adjusting me slightly, again like I weighed nothing at all—which was a seriously impressive trick considering I was far from dainty—tipping my face up to meet his.

  I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I pretty much curled into him like a cat waiting to be stroked.

  “We’re fighter pilots.”

  I blinked, momentarily blinded by that smile.

  After years of meeting guys in bars, hearing lots of I’m a doctor or I’m a lawyer, that was one I hadn’t heard before.

  I wasn’t one of those girls who was typically turned on by a guy in uniform. I mean sure, I’d crushed on Tom Cruise when I’d first seen Top Gun, but it wasn’t a thing for me. I was more pirates than pilots. I dated nice guys, but I definitely had a bad boy fetish.

  I wasn’t sure where he fit in.

  The military career explained a lot, though. The fine state of his body, for one. The way he carried himself, the rugged air about him. The confidence. Okay, fine, maybe it was a little sexy.

  And by the cocky glint in his eyes as he announced his profession, he knew it. And just like that, the attraction I’d felt for him went electric.

  Cocky guys were sort of my crack. If you lined up all my exes in a row, the common thread would be that most possessed an overabundance of swagger. Confidence, even to the point of being arrogance, was a major turn-on for me. Not because I thought arrogance was sexy on its own, but because those were the guys you could play with.

  I liked a challenge, and there was nothing better than taking a guy who thought he was hot shit down a peg or two. And then reaping the rewards later.

  And just like that, I made the decision of whether or not I was going to sleep with him tonight.

  Game on, fighter boy.

  NOAH

  I played the fighter pilot card earlier than I normally did. Some guys like Easy led with it, because it typically led to an easy lay. I usually waited a bit before going in hot, but this girl was a fucking fantasy, so I went with it. I wasn’t sure where this going, but I knew where I wanted it to go. Needed it to go.

  Her naked in bed. Against the wall. Bent over the couch. In the shower.

  Jordan
blinked and then a smile spread across her face. It wasn’t the smile I expected, the one I usually got from women. The one that led to innuendo and confessions of uniform fantasies. No, her smile had an edge to it, like a cat that’d found a mouse to play with.

  She leaned forward again, and my mouth went dry at the sight of her perfect tits thrust forward in her little pink dress.

  Why was I starting to feel like the mouse?

  “Like Top Gun?”

  “That’s Navy. We’re Air Force. We fly F-16s.”

  Everyone asked about Top Gun, so I’d expected that one. What I hadn’t expected was the way she asked the question. Her voice as interested as if I’d said, I fill cavities all day.

  Where were the wide eyes? The shirtless volleyball fantasy? Sure, the reality didn’t exactly match the glossy, Hollywood image, but it worked. Usually.

  She jerked her head toward the end of the table. “Is that why he introduced himself as Easy?”

  Fucking Easy. I was definitely not the only one who’d noticed Jordan. Easy’s eyes had gleamed when I’d introduced them, but it had only taken one look for me to lock that shit down. There had been other times when we’d gone after the same girl; sometimes I didn’t care and let him swoop in.

  This was not one of those times.

  “Yeah, that’s his call sign.”

  Call signs, also, usually a panty dropper.

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Alex.”

  “Why does everyone call him . . .” Her voice trailed off as she watched Easy wrap his arms around a girl on each side. She smirked. “Right.”

  I laughed. “It’s also a flying thing. He’s really laid-back in the cockpit. But yeah, his—uh—way with the ladies might have come into play.”