Fly With Me by Chanel Cleeton Page B

me.
    I’d been asleep when he’d gone to work in the morning, so I’d missed the opportunity to see him in a flight suit. Now that I’d made up for that and experienced him in his full glory, I knew it was an image I’d likely never forget.
    Noah opened his mouth to speak, staring at me kneeling on the bed, and I held up a hand in the air, cutting him off.
    â€œI’m gonna need you to just stand there for a moment.”
    He cocked his head to the side, a gleam entering his gaze.
    â€œYou know how guys get off on pictures of topless girls with their legs spread and like a cherry hanging from their mouth?”
    His eyes went dark, a delicious tension filling the air around us as he nodded slowly.
    â€œThis is my version of a
Playboy
magazine and you’re basically Miss February.”
    Noah’s lips curved. I wasn’t kidding.
    I came up on my knees, crawling to the edge of the bed, sinking back on my heels, his body close enough that I could reach out and touch it if I wanted to. Which I didn’t. Not yet, at least. Right now I wanted to burn this image into my brain.
    He wore a green flight suit covered in patches and Velcro and all kinds of interesting zippers and pockets that hugged his tall frame in all the right places, his legs seeming longer, his shoulders broader. His sleeves were rolled up to expose tanned, muscular forearms, his wrist adorned with the watch I had previously thought capable of conducting missions to the moon, and now knowing what he did for a living, probably wasn’t that far off.
    His feet were covered in rugged green boots, a blue hat in his hand, which I figured was another part of his ensemble. His flight suit was unzipped a bit, exposing a khaki-colored T-shirt underneath, the zipper that ran down the entire front of his flight suit, from neck to crotch, a temptation I couldn’t ignore.
    His eyes locked on to me like he was devouring me, even as he stood as I’d asked him, his lips firm, his jaw tight, his hair just a bit messy.
    I rose up on my knees, crooking a finger at him, beckoning him closer, my nipples already pebbling with the promise of what was to come.
    Noah stalked toward the bed, his gaze intent on me dressed in his T-shirt, which I’d slept in the night before. He stopped so close that our bodies touched and I swayed a bit toward him, unsteady on my knees as I reached outand stroked the patch on his shoulder, a gold leaf-looking object.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œMajor rank.”
    I trailed my hand down to his chest, tracing the stitching on the patch with his name, Noah Miller, and his call sign, Burn. I moved over to his shoulder, to the patch with the lettering that said “Aces Wild” and had a picture of an F-16 on it.
    â€œAnd this one?”
    â€œSquadron patch. Our squadron is the Wild Aces.”
    I touched the patch on his other shoulder, reading the words there.
    â€œThis one?”
    â€œIt says that I graduated weapons school.” He grinned. “And yes, as much as it pains me to admit it, it is kind of like the Air Force’s version of
Top Gun
.”
    My eyes gleamed. “So you’re kind of a badass.”
    His hand reached out, skimming under the hem of the T-shirt, palming my ass, squeezing, molding me against his cock.
    A hiss escaped my mouth.
    He quirked a brow at me. “If I said yes, would it help me get laid?”
    I gave him a teasing smile, my eyes smoldering. I leaned in closer, my lips grazing his ear, my words a whisper.
    â€œYou were always going to get laid. The flight suit, and the patches, and your general badassness just mean that later on, when I’m by myself, turned on and needing relief, it’s going to be your face I see when I have my hand between my legs.”
    He groaned, his grip on me tightening, and then the nextthing I knew, my back hit the mattress and six feet, two inches of aroused fighter pilot mounted me and took the