The Duets

by Quinn, Meghan

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Thank fuck I wasn’t named Tea Bag, because that was the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She softly bows. “So what about the food out there . . . not the rabbit food you eat in order to maintain that physique of yours.”

  My ears heat from her semi-compliment. I know what it takes to not only be a fighter pilot, but to maintain the kind of body I have. I’ve only gotten stronger and more defined since I graduated from the Academy. Bulking up and shredding. Can’t complain.

  “Las Vegas has everything. I can’t pinpoint a particular cuisine. Unless huge portions count.”

  “Mmm, I love huge portions and pretty much anything that has carbs in it. It’s my downfall.” She pops another chip in her mouth.

  “I like candy,” I candidly admit.

  She lifts her head and examines me. “Really? Could have fooled me.”

  “I didn’t say I eat it often, but when I do, it’s a binge.”

  “Yeah? What’s your sin of choice?”

  Wiping my mouth again, I don’t hesitate when I say, “Kit Kat bites. I can down an entire bag in a minute. They’re dangerous.”

  “Huh.” She nods. “Never expected you to say Kit Kat. You look more like a Reese’s man to me.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, Kit Kat all the way.

  * * *

  “Why are you here again?” I ask Ryan who is getting under the blankets of my hotel bed.

  “Because I didn’t want to go home. Figured you’d want some company as well since you’re here by yourself.”

  I was surprised when she changed into her pajamas, claiming we’re having another sleepover. I was too worn out to even bother arguing with her, and to be honest, I don’t mind the company. It’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t have a dick for a change, especially when they smell as good as Ryan.

  “What’s it like?” she asks, turning to her side to face me. Food has been set aside and now we’re settled on the bed, watching mindless TV.

  “What’s what like?” I keep my body above the sheets. I’m still wearing my jeans and T-shirt from today. I didn’t bring pajamas with me, as I didn’t think I would need them.

  “Flying.” She shifts and puts both hands under her cheek. “In my mind, it’s magical, kind of like you’re floating through the sky where no one can touch you.”

  “Floating is definitely not the right word. Maybe if I was in a glider, but not in a Raptor.”

  “Ooo, is that what you fly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have a picture of your plane?” I look away, feeling embarrassed. A picture. I must have a least a thousand. Call it an obsession. Playfully she pokes my side. “You do, don’t you? You have a picture.”

  “I have a few.”

  “Let me see.” She sits up and scoots closer. “Don’t be shy.”

  Rolling my eyes, I pull my phone from my front pocket and unlock it, turning the screen away. She doesn’t need to know how many pictures I have of my plane. I find a good one and turn the screen toward her.

  Now this is something I’ll never understand, why people find it necessary to not only take your phone in their hands, but to scroll through your pictures without asking. Ryan is totally one of those people, and I should have known.

  “Oh wow, look at this monster.” She glances at me. “You have a lot of pictures.”

  Yeah. It’s my plane.

  “Oh, I like this one.” She turns the phone toward me. A picture of me saluting the tactical aircraft maintenance crew before I make my way to the runway is on the screen, one of my favorite pictures as well. “You look comfortable, like you were meant to be in that position your whole life.”

  “Thanks.” She hands me back my phone where I place it on the nightstand.

  “So you love it? Was it everything you dreamt it would be?”

  “Yeah. It’s more than I expected.” I lean my head against the headboard. “We flew at the Academy, but it was nothing like what I do now. There is so much more knowledge that rolls around in your head. You have to constantly be aware and focused. It’s a challenge, one that keeps my mind sharp.”

  “Have you ever bombed anything?”

  I press my lips together and give her a look.

  She holds up her hand. “Sorry I asked.” She’s silent for a second but then asks, “Do you ever regret parts of your job?”

  I think about that for a second. Do I regret anything? Not really. My only regret is that my grandpa didn’t get to see me fly, that he never came to the airfield and watched me do my thing, the same thing we talked about so many years ago.

  “No, not really. If I think about it too much, I’m not doing my job. I’m given a mission, I execute the mission, then I move on. I can’t think about every detail that doesn’t directly pertain to me, because I signed up to be a fighter pilot for the United States Air Force, to protect and serve my country.”

  Eyes unreadable, she gives me a questioning look before saying, “That’s pretty hot, that little spiel.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Shaking my head, I turn back to the TV and flip through the channels.

  “I’m serious, is that how you pick up all the ladies?”

  Ladies?

  “No.”

  “Really? Because I bet you could get a handful to line up just from saying that.” Cooking show, no thanks. Ghost hunting show, I’ll pass. “What’s your move?”

  “What?” I lull my head to the side to give her my attention.

  “Your move. What do you do to score the ladies?”

  I turn back to the TV and continue flipping. “I don’t have a move.”

  “Come on, you’ve got to have some kind of technique.”

  “Nope.”

  Silence.

  But I can feel her studying me. Those blue eyes burning a hole straight through me, raking up and down my body until . . .

  “Ohhhh, I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  She motions with her perfectly painted nail at my body. “This is your move.”

  I scan my body, taking in my jeans and plain black T-shirt and then look back at her. “What is my move?” I’m so confused.

  “The short answers, the broody attitude, the dark and mysterious vibe.” She starts clapping her hands. “Well done, Colby Brooks, well done.”

  I push her hands down to cease the clapping. “That is not my move.”

  Reaching to her nightstand, she takes a sip of her bottled water and nods, “Oh, that is so your move.”

  * * *

  “Why is there nothing to watch on TV?” I toss the remote to the side and slouch on the bed. After almost half an hour of flipping through the channels and finding nothing worth my interest, I give up.

  “Finally, you give up.” She takes the remote and opens up the guide. “Let’s watch a movie.”

  “It’s nine o’clock.”

  I regret the words the minute they fall out of my mouth, because Ryan is turning toward me, propping up her body on one arm, a disgusted look on her face. “Okay, old man. Are you going to turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of twelve?”

  “No, I was . . . just making an observation.”

  “It’s not too late for a movie.”

  “I have an early flight,” I counter.

  Shifting on the bed, she crosses her legs, her knee touching my thigh. “You’ll be fine. We’ll find a short one. What are you into?”

  I’m about to answer when she says, “Ohhh, porn!”

  “No.”

  “Oh, we are so watching porn.”

  I turn toward her and try to grab the remote. “We are not watching porn.” Fuck. No. Not with my case of Ryan-induced blue balls.

  She holds the remote out to the side, out of my reach . . . unless I want to climb across her barely covered body.

  “Ryan,” I say sternly, which seems to have no effect on her, because she laughs.

  “What’s the big deal? It’s just porn.”


  What’s the big deal? The big deal is I’ve been trying to keep my head forward for the past couple hours, avoiding Ryan’s pebbled, braless nipples pressing against her thin tank top. I’ve tried to keep my mind off anything about sex, because I’m bordering dangerous territories here.

  I’m horny as fuck.

  Ryan is sexy as sin.

  And I’m trying not to get a hard-on sitting here watching regular TV, let alone porn. There is no way I’ll be able to make it through that.

  But how do I answer her? I don’t want to watch porn because it will turn me on even more, resulting in me having to take another ice-cold shower?

  Not a conversation I want to have.

  “Oh look, an office romance. Bet they do it on the boss’s desk.”

  “Ryan,” I warn, not really sure what I’m going to do.

  “Not into office porn? Okay, let’s see if we can find something you do like.” She starts scrolling through all the options as I squeeze my eyes shut, hating every moment of this.

  “Why do you want to watch porn?”

  “Because it’s fun,” she answers easily. “Don’t even lie to me and tell me you don’t watch porn. Every guy does.”

  “Of course I watch porn,” I admit. “But I watch it alone.”

  “You never watched it with Rory or another girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  She purses her lips and bobs her head. “Hmm . . . interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  She continues to scroll through the movies, pausing to read the descriptions. “Because I’ve always watched porn with every guy I’ve dated. If anything, to pick apart the ridiculous storylines.”

  She always watches porn with her boyfriends? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a girl watching porn with their significant other. Then again, it’s not a question I usually ask my friends.

  “Oh, we are so watching this one.”

  I glance at the TV to see her purchasing the movie without even giving it a second thought. “Ryan,” I scold.

  She pats my leg. “You’ll love it. Massage appointment turns sensual. What’s not to enjoy about that?”

  Exactly. I’m going to like it too damn much.

  Annoyed, I slouch against the headboard and stare at the TV in front of me. Fuck. This is going to be extremely painful.

  The screen fades to black before an instrumental song starts to play. A businessman walks into a massage parlor and talks about the tension in his shoulders. A busty blonde comes into the picture and tells him she would love to help him out with his problem and escorts him to a back room.

  Jesus.

  “Oh, this is a good one. You can tell there is going to be some amazing boob shots. I mean look at those knockers. They’re so big.”

  I’ve seen better, and they’re sitting right next to me, perky and practically calling to me.

  “Do you think she’s pretty?”

  Sighing, I look at the screen and take in the girl who’s dripping massage oil over the guy’s back. “She’s all right. I’m more into natural beauty.”

  “Yeah, she has porn star written all over her, doesn’t she? But I mean, look at those nipples.” Trying not to. “They’re so pointy. The guy is so not my cup of tea though, which kind of ruins it for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not into blonds. Well, not anymore.”

  “Bad experience with a blond?”

  “Yeah, they tend to be more douchey for some reason.” She shrugs it off just as the guy flips over, showing off his massive erection. “Uh, maybe that’s a blond I could make an exception for. Check him—oh, there goes her top and shorts.”

  Shit.

  They get right down to business. Slowly they start to kiss, feeling each other’s bodies up. It’s not frantic, nor is it cheesy. It’s what the movie’s described as—sensual, and that’s my undoing.

  I go hard, my length quickly crowding the crotch of my jeans, pressing against the zipper, making things increasingly uncomfortable for me.

  This was a really bad idea.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Ryan pull her blonde hair to one side, tugging on the strands as she leans back against the headrest too, her legs still crossed.

  She’s silent and for some reason, that makes this even worse, because instead of her colorful commentary, the room is filled with moaning and slapping of skin.

  I try to look anywhere but the TV and find myself looking to my side. Ryan’s eyes are fixed on the TV, her mouth partially parted, and her fingers gradually floating down her neck, to her collarbone, and then to the swell of her breasts.

  I tell myself to look away, to not pay attention to the abundance of cleavage she’s showing off, or how hard her nipples are . . .

  But I can’t.

  I can’t will myself to look in any other direction. Her chest rises and falls, her lips wet and glistening, her skin tan and smooth.

  Through heady eyes, I look her up and down, licking my lips and telling myself this is bad, that I need to turn the other direction, leave the room, do anything other than stare her down.

  The girl on screen moans loudly, drawing my attention away for a brief moment. The guy is lying across the massage table and she’s lying flat against him, moving her hips against his dick while she makes out with him. They kiss softly, their hands roaming.

  Ryan’s knee presses against my quad, her legs spreading apart so her feet are touching rather than crossed. My hand is inches from her knee, and with one little movement I could stroke her skin with my pinky finger.

  Impulsively, my hand moves closer to her, my face no doubt flamed from the movie, my dick practically throbbing in my jeans, aching to be stroked.

  Still quiet, she wiggles in her seat, her knee brushing against my hand briefly.

  So fucking close.

  What would she do if I caressed her skin? Would she shy away or is she thinking the same as me—let’s fuck.

  I can’t have a relationship with her, not when she lives in Colorado and I’m in Nevada. Then again, she hasn’t had the best luck with men, so I don’t want to lead her on, make her feel used. What a fucking tangled web. Having a one-night stand with my best friend’s wife’s best friend. Would she tell Stryder and Rory?

  She and Rory are close. I’m sure Ryan knows a hell of a lot more about me than I know about her, so would Ryan confess to Rory if we fucked?

  Honestly, would I care if she did? I don’t owe her anything. I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions.

  “Oh, just like that,” the woman moans, as she lifts up off the guy’s chest and starts riding him, her body writhing, her tits bouncing in a wave motion with her hips.

  It’s erotic.

  It’s hot.

  It’s making every sensory in my body heighten.

  Ryan’s perfume is stronger, sexier.

  Her breathing is more erratic.

  My body tingles, my arousal at an all-time high.

  I need release, and I need it bad.

  I eye Ryan, barely moving my head, just taking her in. She’s turned on. She keeps shifting, her breathing is heavier, and she keeps caressing her skin. I want to do that.

  Is she wet?

  What will I do if she is?

  Fuck, right now, I’ll do anything, including spreading her across this bed and licking every inch of her body.

  My pinky moves, gliding over her knee very slowly. The air in the room turns heavy as I wait for her next move.

  She doesn’t do anything, so I stroke her knee again, this time my finger moving slower, longer.

  Her breath hitches in her chest, her eyelashes flutter, before her head turns toward me. I keep my eyes cast down for a second before I lean my head against the headboard and barely tilt it in her direction.

  I lick my lips.

  Another pass of my pinky.

  A shift in my shoulders.

  A tilt to my head.

  Sultry eyes connect with mine when Ryan turns
to face me, a questioning look in her expression. Not confused, but more like, is this happening?

  Even though I know it shouldn’t, that I should get up and walk away, I can’t seem to move my body. Instead, I casually bite down on my lower lip, scan her body up and down, and give her a nod, one single nod that says get over here.

  One single nod that changes the mood of the room.

  Unfolding from her position, she moves stealthy along the bed, straddles my legs, and presses her hands into my shoulders as she hovers above me.

  Hair framing her face, her tank top dipping low, and her eyes fixed on mine, she moves one of her hands to my chest where she plays with my collar.

  “What do you want, Colby?” she asks on a whisper.

  I lick my lips and look down her shirt, my hand going to her hair where I tug on the strands. “I want you.” The words rumble out of me before I can stop them.

  She takes in a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before she sits on my lap and reaches for the hem of her shirt. I stop her.

  “Let me.” I scoot her closer so she can feel how turned on I am. My bulge pressing into her thinly covered center.

  Her eyes shoot up to mine, her mouth parts open in surprise, while my hands slide under her tank top and roam up her sides, gliding along her beautiful curves until I reach her ribcage.

  I pause and feel the way her lungs expand and constrict, falling in line with the beat of her heart. Mimicking my touch, she slides her hands under my shirt and dances her fingers over the ridges of my abdomen. Crevice after crevice she guides her hands up, dragging my shirt until her hands reach my pecs. Her thumbs seductively graze over my nipples causing me to let out a low groan from deep within.

  “I want your shirt off,” she says, pulling on it. Releasing my hands from her ribcage, I grab the back of my shirt and pull it over my head, revealing my chiseled chest.

  I toss my shirt to the side and let Ryan get her eyeful. Eyes wandering all over, from the V in my hips, to my six-pack, to my broad and built chest, she takes me in, lust building inside her.

  “Your turn.” Before she can say anything, I take hold of the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head, revealing the sexiest pair of tits. God, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about these since this morning. Just bigger than a handful, with pierced nipples, she sits there and thrusts her chest out as she plays with her long blonde hair, twisting it to the side, a nervous habit of hers.