here to stay.”
“Women pilots. They like a big, vibrating throttle.”
“You feeling inferior to your multimillion-dollar aircraft, Kisser?”
“Nah,” Eric said. “Pissed. Pairing me with that sick shit, Carlisle? She’s doing it on purpose.”
“Course she is.” Dash shrugged as the meeting adjourned. Soon it would be flight suits and safety checks and at least three hours where any stray thought of Sunny could do serious harm to his concentration. “You two keep riding some old grudge and we all know it.”
Eric shrugged his wide shoulders, unconsciously revealing the power in his hefty build. “Not my fault. He’d say the same. Wish to hell she’d leave it. Opposing teams would make more sense.”
“You’re talkative today.” Dash offered his first genuine grin. Eric was known for being unnervingly succinct.
“And you’re not. What the fuck’s up with you?”
Dash flipped him the bird. With more malice than he’d intended, he returned Eric’s taunt. “Swivel.”
The rest of the day was exactly as he’d pictured, with all the familiar procedures and routines. Dash’s tension ratcheted higher. It shouldn’t be considered routine. He was one of the luckiest men in the Air Force for having been given such a plum assignment.
Instead, he used the moments before flight to indulge the fantasies he’d need to tuck away once he took to the air.
Sunny.
What he’d do to her.
She’d said anything. Bring it. Anything. She’d practically taunted him, which had made leaving her wanting so satisfying. Maybe he’d done it as a test, to see if she was serious. Anything . Forbidden images wrapped around his head, many of them requiring more zip ties. They were wrong thoughts. Fucked-up thoughts. But having Sunny at his mercy would be heaven in his hands. He would have her body—her mind—to do with as he pleased. How far could he push before she pussied out and admitted she only liked the game on her terms?
Maybe it was time to keep pushing. He wanted to. She seemed to. And hell, what did he have to lose?
His marriage. His life.
She needed something else from him, and damn if he knew what that was.
More flight prep. More circling thoughts. More tension.
He gave that warped place in his psyche a few moments to indulge. A plan took shape. If it weren’t for the security cameras, he could snatch her from her office. She always worked late and always walked to the parking lot by herself, even though it bothered him and he’d said as much. Repeatedly. A camera would only catch a genuine attacker after the fact. She was armed to the teeth with martial arts training and could cripple ninety-nine percent of the schmucks who might mess with her, but the idea of it didn’t set Dash any more at ease.
Dash, however… She’d only been able to take him down on a few occasions.
The trick would be to keep her from screaming and cussing, because hell if the woman didn’t have a pair of lungs on her—paired with the language of a salty old bastard trucker. He’d lay bets that none of her lawyer friends, congressional colleagues or what’s-his-fuck Jake knew that about her.
Jake wouldn’t have the chance. Dash knew he was operating on a tight timetable, now less than four weeks. He would keep her attention with the sex, and keep her by whatever means he figured out.
By the time Dash climbed into the cockpit of his F-16, his legs were shaking and he felt as if he’d downed three shots of tequila. What he planned to do was that powerful, that full-on arousing. He was through pussyfooting around the idea of consent. They’d talked when fucking and they’d talked during the relatively sane moments in between.
She wanted their little game as much as he did.
Little game? Piss on that. The scenario he had in mind was dangerous .
Which meant he’d need a gag too.
Chapter Eight
For the fourth night in a row, Sunny stayed late at work. Intentionally late. Like,
“Women pilots. They like a big, vibrating throttle.”
“You feeling inferior to your multimillion-dollar aircraft, Kisser?”
“Nah,” Eric said. “Pissed. Pairing me with that sick shit, Carlisle? She’s doing it on purpose.”
“Course she is.” Dash shrugged as the meeting adjourned. Soon it would be flight suits and safety checks and at least three hours where any stray thought of Sunny could do serious harm to his concentration. “You two keep riding some old grudge and we all know it.”
Eric shrugged his wide shoulders, unconsciously revealing the power in his hefty build. “Not my fault. He’d say the same. Wish to hell she’d leave it. Opposing teams would make more sense.”
“You’re talkative today.” Dash offered his first genuine grin. Eric was known for being unnervingly succinct.
“And you’re not. What the fuck’s up with you?”
Dash flipped him the bird. With more malice than he’d intended, he returned Eric’s taunt. “Swivel.”
The rest of the day was exactly as he’d pictured, with all the familiar procedures and routines. Dash’s tension ratcheted higher. It shouldn’t be considered routine. He was one of the luckiest men in the Air Force for having been given such a plum assignment.
Instead, he used the moments before flight to indulge the fantasies he’d need to tuck away once he took to the air.
Sunny.
What he’d do to her.
She’d said anything. Bring it. Anything. She’d practically taunted him, which had made leaving her wanting so satisfying. Maybe he’d done it as a test, to see if she was serious. Anything . Forbidden images wrapped around his head, many of them requiring more zip ties. They were wrong thoughts. Fucked-up thoughts. But having Sunny at his mercy would be heaven in his hands. He would have her body—her mind—to do with as he pleased. How far could he push before she pussied out and admitted she only liked the game on her terms?
Maybe it was time to keep pushing. He wanted to. She seemed to. And hell, what did he have to lose?
His marriage. His life.
She needed something else from him, and damn if he knew what that was.
More flight prep. More circling thoughts. More tension.
He gave that warped place in his psyche a few moments to indulge. A plan took shape. If it weren’t for the security cameras, he could snatch her from her office. She always worked late and always walked to the parking lot by herself, even though it bothered him and he’d said as much. Repeatedly. A camera would only catch a genuine attacker after the fact. She was armed to the teeth with martial arts training and could cripple ninety-nine percent of the schmucks who might mess with her, but the idea of it didn’t set Dash any more at ease.
Dash, however… She’d only been able to take him down on a few occasions.
The trick would be to keep her from screaming and cussing, because hell if the woman didn’t have a pair of lungs on her—paired with the language of a salty old bastard trucker. He’d lay bets that none of her lawyer friends, congressional colleagues or what’s-his-fuck Jake knew that about her.
Jake wouldn’t have the chance. Dash knew he was operating on a tight timetable, now less than four weeks. He would keep her attention with the sex, and keep her by whatever means he figured out.
By the time Dash climbed into the cockpit of his F-16, his legs were shaking and he felt as if he’d downed three shots of tequila. What he planned to do was that powerful, that full-on arousing. He was through pussyfooting around the idea of consent. They’d talked when fucking and they’d talked during the relatively sane moments in between.
She wanted their little game as much as he did.
Little game? Piss on that. The scenario he had in mind was dangerous .
Which meant he’d need a gag too.
Chapter Eight
For the fourth night in a row, Sunny stayed late at work. Intentionally late. Like,
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