Mastered By The Mavericks(13)

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,  unsnapping 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.