Hot Rocket

by Stowe, Dani

  HOT ROCKET

  Boom No. 3

  of

  AMERICAN BADASS

  by

  DANI STOWE

  DaniStowe.com

  ABA, Spotify Playlist

  ***

  WARNING: This book contains material that may not be suitable for all readers due to its sexual content, graphic imagery, and some violence. It has been formatted to fit mature minds.

  ***

  Edited by Kim Burger

  ***

  All rights reserved © 2017 by Dani Stowe. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  ***

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author. This e-book may also not be re-sold, transferred, or given to other people without written permission of the author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT DANI

  FOLLOW ME

  MORE BOOKS & SERIES

  Chapter 1

  This story is told in its entirety by

  Jet

  Fuck. I wish I hadn’t lied. I think I’m in love with this woman.

  It’s unbelievable. This is the last time I’ll be making love to…K. That’s the only part of her real name she’ll give me—an initial. And, after I make love to her just one more time, we’ll both have to say goodbye.

  I let my weight fall heavily on her. I want her to feel like I’m hugging her whole body as tightly as her pussy is hugging me as I enter her.

  “I’m going to miss you,” K says softly, her warm breath in my ear. “I know we’ve only known each other a few days, but I’m still going to miss you.”

  Ah, fuck. This is supposed to feel good, but it hurts.

  “Shh,” I whisper back, “let’s just enjoy this one last time.”

  I can’t tell her I’m going to miss her, as well. If I do, I might break down and my dick will go limp. It’s never happened before, but I don’t think I’ve felt like this about anyone. The thought of not seeing her ever again weakens me. Goddamn it! I feel like I might cry.

  I hook my hands behind her back then over her shoulders and bury my face in her neck. I grind against her hips and into her exactly how she likes it—working my ass and my abs in a controlled slamming but cycling repetitive motion of pound and recede forcing her to feel every stroke of our friction.

  K starts moaning and wraps her legs tight around my waist. I love feeling like she’s clinging to me and doesn’t want to let me go. I slip my hands behind her head, gripping her silky thick, straight, black hair. “I need you to come for me, baby,” I tell her. It’s almost time for me to go.

  “I can’t,” she says. “I’m too sad.”

  Oh God, I’m glad it’s not just me feeling pitiful.

  “Do you want me to stop?” I ask, looking into her dark brown eyes, but I thrust into her even harder, making her body jerk in unison with the hotel bed.

  “Please don’t stop,” she beckons. “Just come, come inside me.” K laces her fingers behind my head of cropped brown hair and looks into my honey brown eyes. “And kiss me while you come.”

  My face feels hot and my eyes feel wet. I don’t want K to see my face so I fist K’s hair and force my tongue into her mouth. The slick wet lips of our mouths and her pussy—Oh fuck! I’m about to erupt.

  I come hard and I can’t help but grunt in K’s mouth and she laughs. I love her laugh. It’s the thing I’m going to miss most, and I love the jiggle and tightening of her body as I spill inside her.

  I look at the clock. “I have to go.”

  I kiss her warm neck one more time because I want to remember her smell. She always smells sweet, like strawberry candy. Even her cunt smells like candy until after we have sex. Then, she smells like sex and candy and I want to lick her all over.

  I reluctantly roll off her and reach for my clothes to get dressed. As I throw on my jeans, t-shirt, and covered shoes, I look at the beautiful half-Asian woman lying naked in the bed—smooth fair skin, long black hair, brown eyes, pretty rose-colored lips that match her cheeks, and umber-colored nipples, which I bend down to suck on and feel it tighten in my mouth.

  K lifts my chin. “Goodbye,” she says, forcing a grin.

  I kiss her soft lips and I feel like I’m pouting. I don’t know how she can be so strong about this. Most girls I’ve had a fling with are usually trying to formulate a plan to stay connected, which never works out when we live so far apart. But not K. We’ve agreed to have our fling and let it go.

  “Bye,” I choke.

  I walk towards the hotel door where my suitcase is standing and ready. I grab the handle, reach for the doorknob, but I hesitate.

  Am I sure I don’t want to get her number? She didn’t ask for my number. Do I really not want to link up with any of her social media profiles to stay in touch? She didn’t request to do that with me and I get the feeling she doesn’t want to.

  I am tempted to turn around and ask her if she’s married or some bullshit like that, though I’m also enticed to turn around and tell her the truth—I’m not really a pilot or an officer in the military, but a lower-ranking enlisted mechanic. Although I do fly airplanes, the military wouldn’t allow me to be a pilot for them. Apparently, my personality test reported I was “too angry” for such a position.

  Of course, she got the glorified version of my status. I wanted to impress her to get under her dress—and it worked. I just didn’t think I’d still be interested after one night, which then led to two nights until we decided to move into one hotel room to share the remainder of our vacation time together.

  We met at my brother’s wedding. K is my new sister-in-law’s friend and was invited at the last minute since by chance K was in town. I was one of the groomsmen, also from out-of-town. Neither of us had dates so it was only a matter of a few drinks before we both eventually ended up at the same table to talk. Of course, I wasn’t really listening considering her small tits still had a nice bounce whenever she laughed under her low-cut, shimmery daffodil-colored dress.

  K caught me checking her out and I guess, between the champagne and soft glances, we both seemed eager to want to leave the wedding reception and start up a party of our own. It didn’t take but ten minutes for us to find ourselves in her hotel room across the street after we decided to jet.

  “Jet. Jet. Jet.” She kept saying my name as I fucked her like she was obsessed with it as much as she was with my cock. I didn’t fuck her too hard though. She seemed like a nice girl and after I got her off, she wanted to know more about my name—how I got it, whether it was my real name or a nickname. When I told her I got my pilot’s license at fifteen, she seemed more eager to learn my past and we both couldn’t believe the coincidence—she, like me, loves airplanes of all things. K, likewise, impressed me with her intellect; she’s studying engineering.

  But more than anything, I was caught up in her eyes always glancing at me with wild excitement. Every glance she made was filled with bewilderment like she had found something—someone truly special. The thought that I might be that special someone made me want to impress her as well.

  When she asked me what I did for a living, I did not want to disappoint, so I said I was a pilot in the military.

  Not. True.

  I
mentioned I didn’t want to discuss it further because I was married to my work, which was “boring and hardly conversational.”

  Also. Not. True.

  And, I added that as much as I loved my job, I needed a break from talking about flight status, which was just a cover so I wouldn’t dig myself in deeper with fictitious details. But despite the lies, she still seemed a little disappointed.

  When I asked K about her life, she said she was focused on her studies. Beyond that, she didn’t want to divulge anything further, either. Like me, she mentioned, she was happy with her life but didn’t mind taking a break from the expectations of the norm. So, we decided not to talk too much about our personal lives. We spent several days just hanging out around town and in the hotel room—laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

  On the first night, I learned K’s college was based somewhere along the East Coast, which is far from where I’m stationed in Hawaii. Plus, K still has two more years before she graduates. So, even if we were both interested in keeping something going on between us, deep down, we knew it would never work out and these five days would inevitably turn into something less memorable. I believe we both felt there was something about our instant attraction that we wanted to preserve, which long distance messaging and phone calls would only destroy.

  I look at the handle of the hotel door—I still haven’t gripped it yet.

  My flight is taking off soon and I can’t miss it because I have to report for duty tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m struggling with this. It’s not the first time I fucked a girl and had to take off. They all know what they’re getting into. I make it clear I’m not going to hang around but they still want to get in bed with me and they still cry afterward.

  It pains me a little K’s not crying about it. I figure maybe I’m just caught up in the moment, like how women get when they watch romantic movies and don’t want it to end.

  Or, for the first time, I’m uneasy because a woman is fine with just letting me go like she has no other option like she’s not interested in other options.

  “Jet,” K calls out from behind me, but I don’t turn to look at her. If I do, I’ll want to crawl back in bed with her. “Jet, you’ll miss your flight,” she says. “You’d better take off.”

  I reluctantly grip the handle and roll my suitcase out the door. I pull the door shut until I hear the lock click and I look across the hall. It seems much longer and narrower than I recall. I take a breath and the air feels stale and empty. I roll my suitcase towards the elevators where I wait in silence and when the doors finally open, I pause before I step inside when I notice my reflection in a mirror along the back wall.

  I don’t just feel like shit; I look like shit.

  My cheeks are flush. I’m fucking red all over and damn. I need a haircut.

  I straighten up and remind myself I’m a soldier—an Airman. When duty calls, there are no questioning feelings, especially my own. So, it’s time to go and I guess I should be glad K made it easy for me to just leave.

  Take off, she said to me. It’s as if she understands my obedience to military service, to Congress, and to my Commander-in-Chief—the President. I follow his orders whether I agree with him or not. And maybe that’s exactly what my problem was from the beginning.

  K is a nice girl. She deserves a nice guy—someone who is always going to be there for her, be nice to her, and always be obedient to her needs.

  The elevator descends and I grin at my own reflection, checking out my dimples.

  Chicks dig the dimples. K said they were nice. She said a lot of things about me were nice and I hate to admit that I might’ve lied about a few other things as well. Ultimately, I think I lied because I didn’t want her to know who I really was—angry and an occasionally overzealous Badass. Instead, I wanted to leave K with a memory of someone who treated her nicely.

  I hear a ding, so I turn around to watch the elevator doors open to a busy lobby with giant glass windows boasting a bright blue sky.

  I still have the taste of K in my mouth and her sweet scent is lingering. None of it is enough to help me go forward—quite the opposite in fact. But the memories—the thought that she was mine for a time is enough fuel for me to pick up my feet and fly.

  Chapter 2

  “I don’t get it, man,” says specialist Chris Bleau, an Air Force mechanic, standing atop the wing of the aircraft on which we are performing maintenance.

  Bleau’s name is just as unusual as mine. It’s spelled funny and looks like it belongs to a sharp cheese, but it’s pronounced “blow.”

  Bleau is a funny little fucker—short, close-set eyes, thick black glasses, big ears, and too many freckles. Dumb, too; he’s an idiot when it comes to the usual everyday stuff and even dumber about chicks, but he’s smart as hell when it comes to engines—especially aircraft engines.

  “Why do people always refer to America, aircrafts, and such as being a woman?” Bleau asks.

  Oh no, Bleau’s thinking again.

  “What the hell are you babbling about now?” asks Win Vollmer, a half African-American and half Caucasian smart-ass that chicks fly towards almost as fast as they fly to me.

  Vollmer dusts his hands along the front of his camouflage uniform, appearing as though he regrets asking, and wipes his brow of beaded sweat.

  “Why is America considered a female?” Bleau asks. “If America is so great, then wouldn’t we refer to America as being a man?”

  “Why are you so stupid?” ask Vollmer. “Get serious.”

  Bleau smirks. “It’s not stupid. It’s a valid question and I am being serious. I want to know why we as Americans say we’ll ‘stand beside her, and guide her.’ Why are countries always considered female?”

  “Look around, man,” says Vollmer turning his head. Bleau turns his head to look around and I can’t help but let my eyes wander in admiration as well. We allow our eyes to follow the green ridgeline of the unyielding steep mountains reaching the blue sky and spanning the full length of our island to the west. We then turn to gloss over the opposite mountain, which spans the entire eastern length of our current island home.

  “America is a sexy chick,” continues Vollmer. “Just, look at where we are! We’re in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on the most gorgeous plot of land on the planet. This is Hawaii! For Christ’s sake, Bleau, just think about the mangoes I brought in this morning from my backyard. They remind me of the apple tree my grandad had in his backyard up north in New York where I visited as a kid. So many apples! I used to think they were the greatest thing a kid could sink his teeth into until of course, I sunk my teeth into my first titty.”

  Bleau chuckles as Vollmer laughs.

  “America grants sweet treats when she’s in full bloom,” smiles Vollmer. “But even when she’s barren, like in a desert, you have to admit, she’s still something to look at. It’s natural to think of America as having feminine qualities.”

  Bleau scratches his head with his Philips screwdriver. “So, if America is a sexy chick, then why are we always saying God Bless America? Isn’t that strange to say, ‘God Bless the sexy chick?’” Bleau teases, “Hey guys, let’s all learn combative techniques and go to war to fight for a sexy chick.” He laughs at himself, but we are not amused so he smirks back at us. “C’mon, you guys don’t think that sounds a little weird—that we’re going through all this trouble of being in the military with some guys risking their lives on the frontline for the sake of a sexy chick?”

  Vollmer gives me a weird look, but I can see it in his eyes. We are in agreement.

  “Nope.”

  “No.”

  “I’d fight for a sexy chick,” reports Vollmer.

  “Me, too. That’s not strange at all,” I agree.

  Bleau looks confused and defeated.

  “Do you know what your problem is?” Vollmer asks Bleau who is noticeably reluctant to respond. “You just haven’t met the right girl yet. Hey Badass,” Vollmer shouts at me.

  I never get ti
red of hearing my last name.

  “Let’s take Bleau out for a night on the town,” he says. “I heard about this new club in downtown Honolulu a few blocks from the beach. We should go.”

  A warm breeze blows past us and I throw the tools from my hand into my toolbox. “No,” I say as I bend down to close the lid.

  Vollmer huffs. “What the hell is wrong with you? Ever since you came back from your brother’s wedding you’ve been a fucking hermit. Do you even have a date for the ball?”

  “No date,” I announce.

  Vollmer whines, “Man, two months is plenty of time to get over some dumb chick.”

  “Don’t be an asshole,” I snap. “And don’t call her dumb! She was studying to be an engineer.”

  “What the fuck, man? You act like you were married to the girl and you knew her for a whole—what? Four days?”

  “Five days.”

  “Jeez,” sighs Vollmer. “She really fucked up your shit.”

  “She didn’t fuck up my shit. I just miss her. Okay?”

  “Listen, man. Chicks dig you. You know this. I know this. And I miss that we haven’t been out to party lately. So, in all seriousness, you need to get the bitch off your mind. She passed you over and I think that’s why you’re a little obsessed with her. As a friend, I have to tell you I think it scared you a little bit to like somebody so much and that’s why you didn’t get any of her contact information. Plus, I know you have all those anger issues, which probably scared you more.”

  “I didn’t know you had anger problems,” mentions Bleau.

  “I don’t have anger problems,” I clarify as my face flushes.

  I know it’s probably gotten a bit red since starting this conversation and I see Bleau is frowning.

  “Then, why didn’t you try to stay in touch,” he asks.

  I try to calm down. “She’s on the East Coast—an entire ocean plus a continent away. You know how long-distance relationships don’t work out and besides, Betty would be jealous.”