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.
On top of that, all he'd been doing for the last two hours was final tech checks, ensuring every machine and program in front of him was speaking correctly to the same on Kellan and El's end in Vegas. His brain was going to explode if he had to look at another line of security coding, or wander around the ranch testing sound levels on mobile mics. Though as mission locales went, the only thing that beat this place had been their special assignment digs in Iraq: a former sheik's palace with fifteen bedrooms and a couple of pools.