Mastered By The Mavericks(12)

Without notice, she blinked her eyes open. Peered at him-then actually  cracked a fast smile. It was such a surprise, Rebel burst into a laugh.

"Not funny." Her chide had no rancor. If he pretended hard enough, he  could almost imagine they were in bed together, after he'd spanked her  into an orgasm then fucked her into a couple more.

Not. Going There.

Too late. His imagination had hammered down stakes and the tent of debauchery was on the rise.

"Of course not," he returned, all mocking smirk and teasing eyes.

"I'm serious, Rebel."

"So am I." And suddenly, he was. Even through the extended moment of  thick silence between them. Even through the lift of his fingers, softly  stroking those errant hairs off her neck as well. Even through the  seconds he took to swallow with purpose, before murmuring, "So what are  we talking about here? Natural heebies about flying in a … ‘tin can' … or  deep-seated childhood trauma I really will need to call the shrink  about?"

She swallowed, too. Leaned her head over a little, toward his hand,  which he'd dipped just a little beneath the collar of her shirt. It was  either do that or try to behave-in which case, his gaze would've  migrated toward her cleavage. Not that the work shirt showed it off  well, though it was much better than her workout attire from last night.  Damn sports bras. They needed to be renamed tit crushers.                       
       
           



       

"Can I pick something in between?" she replied. When he pressed his  fingers to her nape in a wordless affirmation, she went on, "The last  time I was in one of these, Enya and I were on vacation in Costa Rica."

"Enya?"

"My little sister. Well, not that little. Not so little that she didn't  get a wild hair up her backside and sign us up for a ‘ziplining  adventure' in the middle of nowhere. After that plane ride, I thought  I'd be dying in the middle of nowhere, too."

He compressed his features, hoping they spoke his commiseration. "Wish I  could say I don't know how that feels." Even the world's finest pieces  of military aircraft didn't make up for RPGs or missions in shitty  weather conditions.

He was glad to see his reassurance sink into her-though bewildered by  the rest of her reaction. With a little turn toward him, she leaned her  head sideways against the cushion, as if settling in for a warm chat  over tea. "Yet here you are, ready to do it again."

He couldn't help the new quirk of his lips. Well, imagine that. The  smooth little psych major did want a heart-to-heart, disguising her  question as observation. Did she know how thoroughly he knew this drill  already? How many times he'd already had his head torn open by the base  shrinks, being the guy on the team most exposed to the possibility of  watching his guts blown out of his body as his last mortal sight?

But if this soothed her nerves for the flight, he'd be more than happy to oblige.

She wouldn't learn a thing he didn't want her to.

"In my line of work, you learn to live by fear or possibility," he  offered. "If you want to keep serving your country and making a  difference, you have to choose the latter."

There. That should give the little Freuds in her head something to snack  on for a few minutes. He waited for the signs of it-the slight furrow  in her brow, the tentative chew on her lip-though damn it, all she did  was change the angle of her smile and reach for him, too.

As her fingers lifted, Rebel tensed. Shit. She was going for his face.  Not the goddamn face. It wasn't that he hated it. He just didn't  exactly … enjoy it. It was why he'd gotten so good at all the fun of  bondage. Tie them down before the naked stuff started, meaning he  controlled every inch of contact. Yeah yeah; he'd seen the explanations  on paper-mommy issues, intimacy issues, fucked-up-beyond-recognition  issues-like any of that happy horseshit made them easier to deal with.  Only one thing helped with that. Not indulging, period. Not allowing  those special little female touches that all but sucked his soul  straight to his eyes-and the pain back into his heart.

And yet … he let her.

Wanted to let her.

He flinched and tensed and grunted but sure as fuck, went ahead and just  let her move in, tracing one eyebrow, over the bridge of his nose and  across the next brow. Enduring-no, goddammit, enjoying-the awakening of  every cell beneath her questing touch.

Christ. Stop. Stop.

Don't ever stop …

She finally did.

Only to utter words that made his inner chaos even worse.

"That's what makes you a hero, Rebel Stafford."

His first temptation was to free a laugh. Correction: a bark. An angry,  caustic, bite of sound that would double as the bolt cutter on the lock  of his control and let out the filth that he didn't even reveal to the  brain bakers. The reasons why he was nobody's fucking hero-least of all,  hers.

He clamped back the laugh-and with it, the bark. The feat was a little  tougher than usual but nothing years of practice couldn't help him  achieve. When most of one's soul was off-limits to the world, it got  easier to just add on to the fortress.

He spread a smile across his lips like a peanut butter ad. There. A much  tastier way to approach things-especially now that Sam had climbed into  the cockpit and started revving the engines. "Everyone buckled up?" the  Scot called over his shoulder.

"Affirmative," Reb returned.

"Shit-shit-shit!" Brynn gasped.

Peanut butter still in place, he slid a hand into one of hers. "Hey.  Just look at me, okay?" As she clamped her fingers around his, his pulse  picked up. Instincts he could only call primal started to surge. As she  complied with his command, the desperation in her gaze latched onto his  and held on, backed by every tense muscle in her body. "Good," he  praised, lifting his grin higher. "I got you, cher. I got you."

She attempted a nod but looked more like a broken bobble head. As they  taxied toward the runway, she flattened against her seat, her free hand  grabbing the armrest near her window, knuckles bulging against her skin  like marbles. "Ohhhhh, god. Oh god-oh god-oh god!"                       
       
           



       

Rebel lunged. No sense in trying to loosen her death grip on the seat  but he cupped her face, forcing her wide, wild stare in line with his  again. "Hi," he murmured.

He almost chuckled when her eyes narrowed-if only for a second. "H-h-hi."

"Remember that part about looking at me?"

"S-s-sort of."

"It wasn't a helpful little hint, mon chou."

Her lips compressed. She squirmed a little. Not quite a fume, but as adorable as one. "S-so … what? It was an order?"

Little fires burst in her eyes as she spat that. Damn. He'd be the one  squirming in a second if she kept that up-though the ordeal would be  worth it. He'd endure two full forest fires from her, if it meant  keeping her attention diverted from their accelerating speed, and Sam's  confirmation for takeoff from the tower.

He flattened a thumb across her cheek. Tugged her attention deeper with  the tips of his fingers in her hair. "Would you like it to be one?"

He had no damn idea how she'd respond. A growing instinct had jabbed at  his gut since interacting with her last night, even before she'd gone  all bad-ass ninja on him. Until then, he'd assumed that dating a Dom as  hardcore as Colton must've meant she was just as intense a  submissive-but there was a defiant streak in her that all but dared a  man to push at it. Maybe Dan had just been too messed up physically and  emotionally to sort through that, and missed his window of opportunity.

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.