Page 73 of Fly Boy
She crushes her mouth to mine, and I groan as she sucks my tongue. Grinding her wet pussy on my cock, she blindly reaches for my nightstand, opens the drawer, and lifts out another condom. Fumbling with the foil, she tears into it, throwing the sheets off us, and deftly slides the latex over my hard length before sinking down.
Her mouth parts, her eyes fluttering shut as she silently screams, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room while my head chantsmine. Mine. Mine.
Something has changed between us—something tangible in the space of a few hours—and I have no idea what to do about it. We’re still employer and employee, pilot and passenger, and I hate that I’m now trying to figure out ways to make this work.
We can’t sneak around forever.
I don’t know how she feels, but I do know what I feel. Pippa isn’t some fling; she isn’t some girl I picked up in the restaurant bar and fucked without care. I’m opening up to her, telling her things mybrothersdon’t even know. But it’s not only that. The way she handles herself isn’t like anyone I’ve met before. She doesn’t play games, she doesn’t bullshit, she takes what she wants and owns it.
My issue about our ages is only evident when we’re flying, the short trips a reminder of our stations. But when we’re together behind closed doors, there’s no gap, there’s no boss’s daughter. She’s mature, sweet, kind.
Compatible. And I want to keep that.
“I cannot believe you,” Pippa says, standing in the middle of my kitchen with her hands on her hips.
I frown, glancing around the room, trying to figure out why she’s mad. Only she doesn’t sound it or look it. In fact, it appears as though she’s struggling not to smile.
When I don’t answer, she whirls around and opens the nearest cabinet. My face flushes, and I suddenly want to look into face tattoos, anything to cover the awful shade of pink I know it’s been taken over with.
“You got more dishes.” She points to the stack of plates and bowls, far too many than I’d ever need. Then she opens the next door, gesturing to the different style mugs—latte glasses, little espresso cups, mugs that your whole hand can wrap around. When I asked Sadie to stock my kitchen, she might have gone overboard.
“They were Christmas presents,” I grumble.
“Uh-huh.” She purses her lips, not convinced. “Are you sure you didn’t buy more because I kept teasing you?” She’s smirking as she saunters over and slides her arms around my neck, leaning on her tiptoes to kiss me. “You are so damn cute.”
“I’m not cute,” I say against the pillowy softness of her mouth.
She murmurs something I don’t catch as I deepen the kiss. We stay like that for several minutes, her warm, wet mouth my new favorite place to be.
“Do you want coffee before you go?” I ask once we’ve broken away, but my eyes linger on her lips, loving the way they shine, all swollen and wrecked.
Grinning, she heads to the counter beside the machine and jumps on top. “How can I say no when all those mugs are just for me?”
I roll my eyes, grabbing two pods and starting the task of making the drinks. “How are you feeling about your competition coming up?”
She groans as her head falls back to hit against the cabinet door. “Fine, I guess. We’ve been practicing non-stop. Coach is up my ass like no one’s business, and this bitch of a girl keeps showing me all the negative headlines written about me.”
I freeze, my fingers hovering over the used pod, my jaw ticking. “Why does she do that?”
“She’s jealous I’m Evan’s partner, and she’s not.”
“Report her for harassment,” I say, snatching it out and tossing it roughly into the trash.
Pippa snorts, lifting her legs and crossing them. “Easy there, Captain. It’s fine. I’m used to it by now anyway.”
“You shouldn’t have to get used to it, Pippa. She’s purposely trying to get in your head and psych you out,” I growl. “Your mental health isn’t worth that emotional abuse.”
“I love how riled up you’re getting on my behalf, but someone once asked me why I skate if I don’t find it fun.” I glance at herfrom the corner of my eye, at the sweet smile on her lips. “And he said that perfection is an unachievable concept. I’m trying to remember that when I’m skating and remember that I’m doing it for me. Not anyone else.” She wraps her hands around her feet and sits up straighter, stretching out her spine. “Besides, Molly isn’t my biggest problem right now. Evan won’t give me back thosemoon bootshe stole.”
I stab the start button a little too hard, keeping my eyes on the stream of dark liquid pouring into the cup. “Tell him to buy his own.”
In my peripheral vision, I see her wave her hand absently. “I’m not really that fussed about it. That was more of me venting out loud than an actual issue.” I pass her the black coffee, and she holds it in both hands. “Thanks. So, will you spend the whole time in California, too?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll fly your father and Nancy out on Monday, then return to pick them up and bring them home on Sunday night after the Exhibition.”
“Will you watch the competition? Like the Grand Prix?”
I nod, and she smiles into her mug. “I like that. Knowing you’ll be watching me skate.”
