Page 48 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

18

JANNA

He didn’t move. Not at first. His eyes locked on mine, and I could see the war raging behind them. I didn’t know which side would win, but I wasn’t about to back down. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it, but I held my ground, my chin tilted up in defiance. I wanted to kiss the man. I didn’t care if it was a mistake. I just needed to know if the desire I felt was real. Maybe it was all in my head and he wasn’t the god I had built him up to be.

He was just a man.

I had kissed many men. Okay, maybe not many, but there was something about him that I could not resist. It was like a moth to a flame and I knew I was going to get burned but it wasn’t enough to stop me. I was about to beg him to kiss me when he moved.

His lips crashed into mine with a hunger that took my breath away. It wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was raw, desperate, and all-consuming. His hands found my waist, pulling me flush against him. I melted into the heat of his body. The kiss was so much better than I had fantasized about. His stubble scraped against my skin, rough and grounding. I tangled my fingers in his hair to keep him close.

He pushed me against the plane. His lips were relentless, demanding, and I gave in completely. Between his hard body and the solid plane behind me, I was smashed in the best way possible. His hands roamed, one sliding up my side to cradle my face, the other gripping my hip like he was afraid I’d slip away. I wasn’t going anywhere.

I kissed him back with everything I had. My fingers tightened in his hair as I pulled him closer. His tongue brushed against mine, and a low groan escaped him, vibrating through me. Every nerve in my body was on fire, every thought drowned out by the feel of him. I couldn’t get enough.

His hand slid from my hip to my ass. He squeezed and pulled me against him. I could feel every hard line of his body, the way his muscles tensed under my touch. My other hand found its way under his shirt, skimming over the warm skin of his stomach. He hissed at the contact, breaking the kiss for just a moment to catch his breath before diving back in.

The world outside didn’t exist. It was just us. My heart was racing with the knowledge we might get caught at any second. This was reckless and impulsive and everything I didn’t know I needed.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. We both struggled to catch our breath. “I need you,” he groaned.

“Fuck me, please.” The words were out before I could think twice. I didn’t mean to beg. I sounded like a needy bitch. I couldn’t help it. The man had me twisted up. I had never wanted someone so badly. Want wasn’t the right word. Need. Demanding. My body required the man like it required air.

Dalton’s lips curled into a smirk. He stepped back, his eyes piercing right through me. Without another word, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into one of the small storage rooms nearby. The door slammed shut behind us, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t see a thing but I could feel his presence all around me.

His hands moved over my body before he jerked my shirt up and over my head, revealing my lace-covered breasts. He groaned softly, his hot breath tickling my skin. His mouth trailed kisses down my stomach toward my waistband. “Be patient,” he whispered against my skin, his voice rough with desire. “Let me take care of you.”

Before I could respond, he undid my jeans and pushed them down my hips. He knelt in front of me, pushing my jeans until they hit my ankles. I was about to tell him I needed to take my boots off when he pulled my panties aside. His warm breath caressed the sensitive flesh between my legs and he took me into his mouth with a force that made me gasp.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned as his tongue danced around my clit, driving me wild with need. I thrust my hips forward, grinding against his mouth. He slipped two fingers inside me, stretching and filling me in the most exquisite way possible.

It was just like him, attacking without giving me any warning. I would have fallen backward if it wasn’t for his hand on my hip, holding me upright.

The room spun around me as pleasure built up inside me like a storm gathering force. Every nerve ending was on fire, every thought drowned out by the feel of his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony.

I called out his name like a prayer as I came apart in his hands, my body shaking uncontrollably from the intensity of the orgasm that rocked through me.

When I could finally think straight again, I pulled at him. I was so not done with him. He slowly stood and I grabbed his face and kissed him, tasting myself on him. It was the best aphrodisiac. I ripped at his shirt, jerking it up and over his head. And then I pushed him hard. I had to taste him. Feel him. The man consumed my every cell. He was embedded in my DNA.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light.

“Shit,” Dalton muttered.

I realized he accidentally turned on the light. But holy shit. I got my first real glimpse of the man shirtless.

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight of him. The man was a work of art. Holy shit. Every muscle defined, every line carved with precision. But it was the tattoos that made my mouth go dry. Intricate tribal flames licked up his left shoulder and wrapped around his bicep, the black ink standing out against his tanned skin. On his right shoulder, a pair of aviation wings spread wide, detailed and bold, marking him as one of the sky’s own.

But it was the piece across his chest that stopped me cold. A shadowy silhouette of a Hercules C-130 stretched from one side to the other, the aircraft rendered in stunning detail with shading that made it look like it was flying right off his skin. The plane seemed to emerge from clouds of ink that swirled around his ribs, disappearing and reappearing like it was cutting through real storm clouds.

My eyes traveled lower, taking in the defined ridges of his abs, the V that disappeared into his jeans. My mouth watered. I wasn’t big on giving head, but I had to consume the man.

I jerked at the button of his jeans and quickly unzipped. I dropped to my knees and yanked his pants down. I froze. I saw the scars—angry, raised lines that ran down his left leg, clearly from burns. They should have been ugly, a mar on perfection, but instead they just made him more real, more human. Less godlike and sexier than any man I had ever laid eyes on.

“Shit,” I breathed, my hands hovering over his chest, afraid to touch something so beautiful. It might disappear. “You’re…”

“Scarred up,” he finished, his voice rough.

“Perfect,” I corrected, finally letting my palms flatten against his skin. “Absolutely perfect.”