Page 99 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
She narrows her eyes at me. “Actually, you were about to tell me the correct term for cattle farming.”
“Ranching. And it isn’t just from cattle. The Wests are the wealthiest oil family in Houston. That’s where the money comes from, actually.”
“Ranching?” She pinches her brow. “But that doesn’t give a clear indication of what goes on. At least when one farms, there’s a direct correlation to a business that deals in growing crops and raising livestock. Ranching just means to run a ranch. That’s so ambiguous.”
I’m amazed, but somehow not surprised, that she is more concerned over correct terminology than oil rights. “I love how smart you are.” I lean down and run my stubbled cheek along the sensitive column of her throat. “It’s so damn sexy, darling.” I pull back when Jackie squirms in my hold, watching a pretty blush spread down her neck. “I also see that you truly don’t care about my millions.”
Peering up at me, she asks, “Why? It’s not my money.” She purses her lips for a moment. “Although I do like how this new fact fills in a lot of gaps.”
She’s got that far-off look in her eyes, like she’s running through her mental file cabinet.
“What gaps?”
“The fact that you own a million-dollar house on an oversized lot in one of the most coveted neighborhoods in Clear Lake and drive a half-million-dollar car.”
I actually sputter. “How do you know all that?”
“I’m looking to buy a house and a car,” she states, like it’s the most obvious answer. “You can’t do any of those things properly without researching.”
“Research.” I run my hand through my hair. “I should’ve known.”
“Yes. And as cars are fairly important to you, I’ve also watched numerous car movies and done extensive research on all the makes and models I saw in your garage.”
“You did?” No one has ever taken an interest in my work before. Beth sure as shit didn’t. Holt and Rose support me, but that’s as far as it goes. But Jackie, a NASA flight controller, and now astronaut, has taken the time to learn about muscle cars. For me.
“The most recent 1969 Mustang Boss that was sold, fixed in what car enthusiasts term ‘cherry’ condition, was auctioned off for five hundred thousand dollars in Naples, Florida earlier this year. Although it was black, which I think is a cop-out. Your green, called Black Jade, is a much more unique, yet original, color.”
It’s like my dick has wings and wants to fly.
“What? Did I get something wrong?” Jackie asks, taking in my shocked expression. “I’m pretty sure my sources were highly credible—”
I crash my mouth against hers, my hands tunneling under her shirt. No more talking, no more revelations. My dick can’t take it anymore. My heart either. I tell my brain to shut the hell up and savor this moment. These feelings.
I tug her shirt up and over her head. I reach one hand over my shoulder to yank off my own shirt, while Jackie reaches back and unclasps her bra. As soon as it falls away, my hands wrap around her tits, her skin so warm, so soft.
Her hands make quick work of my belt while I palm her breasts before feasting on them with my mouth. But when she starts to shove my jeans and boxers down, I reluctantly let go of her breast to reach back and grab my wallet. I flick it open with one hand and slip the condom out.
She watches, licking her lips as if hungry, as I roll on the condom over my cock.
I set her down, just long enough to grab her waistband with two hands and yank. Her top button pops off and her zipper wrenches open, allowing me to jerk her pants and panties down her long, strong legs. She manages to step one foot out before I’m on her again, lifting her against the wall and thrusting home.
“Fuck.”
My curse is met with her moan. Jackie’s head tilts back, her long neck exposed, the cords visible as she arches back in pleasure. Her eyes are closed and her hair creates a wild, tumbleweed-like halo around her face. My chest tightens like a rubber band pulling taut around my heart.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
Jackie lifts her head and looks at me, her gaze focused but soft. One of her hands cradles my cheek, her thumb swiping lightly against the scruff on my jaw. “Flynn,” she whispers. “I’ve missed you, Flynn. So much.”
The band around my chest snaps, as does my control. I lift her higher in my hands then release her, the fall of her weight thrusting me deeper inside her.
She screams my name, her fingertips biting into my skin.
“Christ, Jackie.” I pause, enjoying the moment of her clenched around me before an urgency to move has my hips pounding into hers hard and fast.
I tangle my hand in her hair, twisting until her face is at just the right angle for my kiss. My tongue dances with hers while she uses her hands to push up on my shoulders, helping me thrust harder, deeper than before.
We find a rhythm, wild though it is, and ride it out. It’s better than racing, better than riding. Fuck.
