Mastered By The Mavericks

by Angel Payne

  Or maybe her rebellious streak just needed another rebel to tame it.

  The plane lifted off the ground. Climbed up into the sky.

  Brynn’s breath clutched. Hard.

  He didn’t give her a second to recover. With gravity his new best friend, he pressed over her, consuming her personal space. She wasn’t a tiny thing like Zoe or El but her size was…nice. Very nice. A stunning combination of curves and muscles, softness and strength…a womanly landscape he greedily studied now. Her jeans fit in all the right places, accentuating her gazelle-graceful legs. Even the work shirt was a thing of poetry at the moment, pulled taut across her chest due to her new position. He glimpsed her bra through a little break between the buttons. Who the fuck knew seamless beige could be so goddamn sexy? Then again, with her flawless pale skin underneath, even burlap was instant boner inspiration.

  “I—I don’t do orders, Sergeant.”

  He didn’t react to that—at first. Simply evaluated her dilated gaze and slightly parted lips, before letting his regard dip to the wild animal of a pulse still racing in her throat. After another long second, he slid his thumb down atop that thudding artery.

  Her pulse instantly doubled.

  So did his.

  “So that’s why you keep calling me ‘Sergeant’?”

  She gulped, making his thumb rise and fall. And his cock bulge with new pressure.

  “It’s respectful.”

  They ascended higher. Did she notice the city getting tinier and tinier outside the window? Rebel could only account for himself. He didn’t care if the landscape below suddenly turned into a nuclear holocaust zone. This woman already razed the same effect on his senses.

  “‘Rebel’ is just as respectful. I’m not your commanding officer.” He closed the gap between them, now near enough to inhale her. Soap and shampoo and that damn floral body spray once more. Hell, yes. If this was radiation poisoning, it was one awesome way to go.

  “I know.” She started to lick her lips but bit the move into submission, seeming to know just what an effect it had on him. “But Rebel doesn’t feel right, either.”

  He nodded. And actually agreed with her. Though his name was sultry music on her lips, it felt strange. Too intimate? Not intimate enough?

  Wasn’t like he had a decent alternative. Only one of those came to mind and it sure as hell broke more protocols than his proper name.

  That was when The Traitor roared through his head. His not-so-little buddy, doomed to live in his mind since the day Mama and Papa had taken the plunge and legally named him Rebel. The fucker sped in on his typical mental Harley, painted black and red save for the words emblazoned across the gas tank in bright yellow.

  Fuck the rules.

  Who was he to argue with the demon on the Harley?

  He stretched his arm the rest of the way across her seat. Slid his hand off her neck in order to seal it over her fingers, still gripping the armrest like a life preserver. “Doesn’t feel right,” he echoed, softly but purposely. That yanked her gaze straight up again, and he opened up every spigot of sensual force to keep her locked there. “Then let’s try something else.”

  Her mouth parted a little more. Her breaths, heated and shallow, hit his jaw at racing speed. Well, that confirmed it. His diversion was a success. She was distracted, capital fucking D.

  Which didn’t explain an ounce of his own reaction. Swimming senses. Head light as helium. Blood thick as oil. Hot, hot oil. He couldn’t even blame the altitude. He’d flown in hundreds of planes across every corner of the globe. None of those flights had screwed him up like this.

  It was her.

  This woman who’d shot him into the ether from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. Now she was beneath him, needing him…

  Cranking his need for her…

  He wondered if he could bribe Sam to veer their flight off-course by a few hundred miles. Fuck it; he wondered if they could just go to the moon. Not that he wasn’t halfway there.

  “Something else?” Her voice still tremored a little. From fear or arousal, he couldn’t tell—and didn’t want to. Like the depraved bastard he was, he liked the idea of scaring her. Even more, he liked the idea of arousing her. “Like what?”

  Rebel slid his stare to her mouth. “Like ‘Sir’.”

  She gasped. For half a second. Before he stole her breath with the commanding, crashing, dominance of his mouth.

  She moaned. He growled. Plunged in deeper. Took every pliant inch of her tongue with his. Sucked her in, all slick and wet, giving as much as he plundered, rejoicing in the best kiss of his goddamn life.

  She let go of the armrest. Used that hand to reach for his face again.

  Not this time.

  He wrapped hard fingers around her wrist, forcing her arm to the cushion next to her head. “Keep it there,” he snarled against her lips, before dropping his hand beneath her shirt. “I want to explore. And you’re going to let me.”

  Her eyes flared with shock. Rebel grinned. He was enjoying the crap out of this. Surprising her like this. Exposing her like this. Taking all those new arousals…and making them his.

  Full justification—at least to him—for the harsher growl he let out, when her eyes flickered toward the cockpit. Sam seemed thoroughly engrossed in the controls, despite how he’d leveled them off at full altitude, in a crystal blue sky.

  She flicked her tongue nervously over her lips. “Sam—”

  “Knows to mind his own business.” To emphasize, he slipped his hand beneath her bra, pinching over the perfect nipple that waited. As her eyes flew back to him, he turned on his evil grin. “I’d say he’s even grateful.”

  “Grateful?” She made a play for outraged—at least with her tone. By the time she got around to considering a glare, she emitted a gasp, instead. Could’ve had something to do with him scraping her erect tip with his thumbnail.

  “Mmm hmm.” He trailed his hand to her other breast. “Pilots appreciate it when the flight is kept peaceful.”

  Her breath snagged audibly. It had to be one of the sexiest sounds he’d ever heard. “I don’t feel…very peaceful.”

  “Neither do I.” He’d never meant anything more. “You don’t make me very peaceful, cher.” He answered the question in her eyes by flowing his hand down her body, on top of her clothes, trying to memorize every inch of her curves even with that goddamn barrier. “I tried hiding it. Then I tried just avoiding the temptation altogether. You belonged to Colton…and I carried all these fantasies about touching you like this. Arousing you like this…”

  “And controlling me like this?” Oh, how she fought for defiance with that one. Jerked up her chin, set her lips, rekindled the fire in her eyes. Did he dare tell her all of it only underlined her real need to him? Her true desire…to make him challenge her even deeper?

  “You think I’m controlling you?”

  She worked her lips against each other. “I think you’re trying.”

  He pulled away for a second, searching the storage compartment behind them and finding exactly what he needed. With a quick flick, he had the fleece blanket spread over them both. As Brynn crunched a look of perplexity, he pushed close to her again, yanking her hand back into his beneath the soft cover.

  Her gasp covered his lips as he formed her fingers around his crotch.

  “You really want to know who’s in control?” He let her watch his tortured swallow. “Christ, Brynn. You make me crazier by the second.”

  “Oh…my.” She wetted her lips again. Gaped wide at him, appearing a little confused. He bit back a whoop of triumph. He had no right. This was dirty tactics. The blood of pirates and warriors ran in his blood, and his…finer attributes…matched that rugged heritage.

  “That’s because of you,” he grated. “And I’m only half hard.”

  She stroked the strained denim, exploring his contours, gasping another time. “Oh, my.”

  “Want to test my point?” Her openness made him bold. He went for it, unsnappi
ng the button and guiding her hand right in, over his swollen flesh. “Say it, Brynna. Just once. Call me Sir…and feel what you do to me.”

  Before she could climb back into her head and summon a protest, he kissed her again. Deeply. Thoroughly. Unrelentingly. Rolling their tongues together until they danced in unison, and her sweet, perfect taste filled not only his mouth but every cell of his senses.

  By the time their mouths left each other, her fingers had closed around the throbbing crown of his dick. She circled him tighter before rasping, “Sir.”

  He groaned. Pre-come roared up his shaft, as his skin strained to hold the arousal that throbbed hotter, bigger. “Fuck.” He pushed deeper into her grip, then ordered, “Again. Say it again.”

  Damn it. Her taunting little smile delivered another matchstick to his blood, tempting the flames of his lust and fury. “But you said only once,” she sing-songed.

  He inhaled hard. Again. Goddamnit. She had him in the palm of her hand—literally—yet who else could he blame for it but the desperate bastard reflected back from the ombre depths of her eyes, jaw grinding and nostrils flaring?

  Maybe his estimation about her had been all wrong. Maybe the woman was born to be dominant herself. In which case, he was in a lot of trouble.

  Nothing like a definitive litmus test to find out.

  Raising his hand back up, he dove his fingers into her hair, compressing against her scalp and twisting the silken red strands…harder. Harder. Her gorgeous gaze popped wide again—for just a second. As her eyelids dropped heavily, her mouth went slack…setting free an aroused little gasp.

  Oh…yeah.

  He dipped his face over hers again. Let his breath mingle with hers again. But didn’t kiss her again.

  Instead, in a growl he summoned all the way from the heat consuming his balls, he commanded, “Say it again, mon chou. And mean it.”

  She licked her lips—as she looked down to his. “Or else?”

  Just the barest of whispers…that grabbed his dick tighter than her fingers. Despite the torment, Rebel actually laughed and repeated, “Or else?”

  One side of her mouth lifted. The sly little pussy cat actually thought she’d called him on his shit. “Simple question. But it’s all right if you don’t have an answ—ohhh!”

  Damn, her little yelp was cute, coming a few seconds too late to stop him from yanking down her jeans, after making short work of the button and fly. But because the fucking things were created to hug her curves, it took a second tug to slide them down far enough for the discipline he was determined to deliver. As he did that, she merely mumbled and grunted in confusion—until he swept his hand in, directly over the cotton candy-colored boy shorts covering her crotch, then drew back a little. A little more…

  “Oh, hell n—”

  He kissed the rest of it into silence, as he swatted her pussy without mercy.

  Brynn screamed into his mouth as he did it again, then again. Drew breath to unleash another shriek into him—

  But moaned against his lips, instead.

  As he turned his next spank into a long, savoring caress.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Her trembles.

  Her gasps.

  Her little jerks against his fingers, silently pleading for more…

  Fuck. Fuck.

  “Hey.” Sam’s shout from up front was edged with humor. Damn bastard had likely been waiting for the moment with calculated glee. “Everything all right back there?”

  Brynn’s face turned the color of her panties. Reb nipped at the crests of her cheeks, letting a shit-eating grin fly before yelling, “Yep. Fine. Okey dokey…asshole.”

  Sam chortled.

  Brynn seethed. She bucked her hips, only to realize how that positioned her even better for his fingers. “Get your hand out of my pants, Stafford.”

  “Not a problem.” He offered it as if she’d just asked him to pull his elbow off the armrest—while working his cock deeper into her grasp. “Ladies first. You cease and desist, and so will I.”

  “I never asked for a free grope!”

  “Which is why you’re still enjoying it?”

  The fire in her eyes intensified. She took a second, formulating a comeback. Fatal mistake. Rebel moved faster, slipping his thumb beneath her panties, pressing in against the nerves that waited in trembling, wet readiness.

  “Oh my God!” she rasped.

  “No.” he brushed the word into the curve of her jaw. “Not exactly. But ‘Sir’ will do just nicely.”

  She growled.

  Moaned.

  Seized into complete silence—as her clit vibrated beneath his touch.

  Rebel lifted his head, watching her eyes roll back in her head. He angled his face over hers, unwilling to miss a single second of her descent to surrender…and then the ascent he’d bring her.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered to her. “Ma minette doux. Take me higher. Surrender to me…deeper now…oui, petite chatte…oui.” As his own senses were sucked into their sensual vortex, his lips and tongue surrendered to the language he’d first dreamed, babbled, and spoken in. The pressure in her sex drew out the need in his own, engulfing him in a haze of pulsing primal sensation, until he felt her body swooping and soaring on the same sexual currents. As she panted harder, so did he. As she edged closer to explosion, so did he. As she lost more of her mind, so did he.

  Not yet.

  Not…yet…

  To emphasize the point, he spanked her again.

  “Oh!” She breathed it more than anything, the sound husky and hot. “Shit. Ohhhh, shit.”

  Rebel snarled low as he stroked her clit, circling steadily. “I’m so ready, mon chou. My cock wants to explode for you. Does your pussy want to come for me?”

  “Y-yes. Ohhhh, yes. Please!”

  He kissed her, finishing with a long lick along her bottom lip. She was salty with sweat and sweet with desire. “Then say it. Just for me. The power is yours, Brynna. Say it and make us both fly. Now. Fuck! Now!”

  Her pussy quivered faster.

  Her head fell back farther.

  Her lips opened on the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

  “Sir!”

  She came apart beneath his hand.

  “Ohhhh! Sir! Yes!”

  He came apart beneath hers.

  “Oui, minette. Oui. C’est bon. Je jouis. Je jouis…”

  The sky might have been zooming beyond the window, but his senses spun into heaven, occupied by one angel alone. White heat, blinding ecstasy, fulfillment like he’d never known, all inside this cocoon beneath one thin blanket, in one fleeting minute, with this one blazing surprise of a woman.

  When he was able to process words again, he pressed in and kissed her…somehow needing to hang onto this feeling…to her.

  What the fuck?

  No. Uh-uh. That wasn’t the way things worked. He wasn’t the one who tried to “hang on.” Ever. Sure, a purpose had been met. They were well into the flight now, and he doubted Brynn would care if they really were zooming along in a soda can—which meant it was time for a little sweet aftercare and a lot of emotional disconnect.

  The safety of the thought pulled him away from her.

  Only to gaze into the reticence already entering her gaze. Then turning back out as a blade…slicing smooth as a scalpel into his chest.

  He smirked to hide the pain. Kissed her again—on the nose. “Thank you.” At least he meant that part.

  Brynn tilted her head, clearly confused. “Hrrrmm. I think that’s my line…Sir.”

  He stiffened.

  That still wasn’t supposed to feel that good.

  “Brynna…look…”

  She smacked his chest, almost playfully. “Calm down, buckaroo. I was just ribbing you.” She shrugged. “It was a diversion tactic, right?” She waved a hand toward the window. “And it worked. So…thank you.”

  While she spoke, he eased her jeans back up her hips then offered a tissue for her sticky hand. Christ, even the act
of helping her clean up fed something deep inside him, as if taking care of her was exactly what he’d been made for.

  Lethal waters, Stafford.

  The sharks are circling.

  The worst sharks of all, too. The invisible ones…from the places he couldn’t get to. The places best left hidden inside.

  A warning that did him no damn good, as Brynn tugged the blanket up, curled it beneath her chin then burrowed into the crook of his shoulder, her eyes blinking in slower and slower rhythm. “Yep,” she murmured drowsily. “Very good. Perfect plan. Nice idea, pirate hottie.”

  His heartbeat tripped. He didn’t know whether to attest that to shock or pleasure—but why was a choice necessary?

  He dragged his hand through the ends of her hair, and brandished a provocative smirk. “‘Pirate hottie’? Have you been digging into my pedigree, Miss Monet?”

  “Hmmm? No. Just ogling your tatts. And your hair. And your ass. And maybe…a few other things.”

  He grinned into the top of her head. “And came up with ‘pirate hottie’?”

  “Has a nice ring to it, oui?” She lifted a slow smile too, as if to complete the tease. Instead, she burrowed deeper against him. Rebel dropped a hand to her shoulder, holding her there. Funny little kitten. If he didn’t know better, he’d peg her as drunk…or lost to subspace. Neither was remotely possible, though a sole truth surely rang true: the woman had enjoyed the hell out of what they’d just done.

  I don’t do orders, Sergeant.

  If she weren’t half-asleep already, and looking so goddamn delectable about it, he’d have laughed aloud in her face.

  And I don’t let subbies doze off in my arms, cher.

  So today proved to be a first time for many things.

  Now he just had to make sure there would never be seconds.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  “THANK FUCK,” RHETT muttered. The rumble of Rebel’s rented SUV couldn’t have come a moment too soon. For a guy who’d spent his childhood shuttled between New York and London, the conversation of tree frogs and cicadas was as stimulating as listening to paint dry.