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“He’s here,” I heard him say, his eyes shifting to Lincoln.
“Good. Get him up here already, he’s late. And feel free to call for clearance whenever you’re ready.”
I looked back at Lincoln a little confused. “Who’s he talking abou—”
Halfway through my sentence, someone else came up the ramp. He literally jumped on board, wearing an oversized backpack and a big, shit-eating grin.
“Brody!”
Brody smiled back at me with a wink as he began looking upward, presumably for the overhead compartments.
“Drop it anywhere young gun,” Lincoln instructed him, “and take a seat. We’re gonna be taxiing in a moment.”
“Roger that,” said Brody.
Lincoln leaned into me and nuzzled my neck, sweeping my hair back to get at my bare skin. His lips brushed my ear and a whole flock of butterflies took off in my stomach.
“You don’t mind that I invited him, do you?”
My mouth was dry. Almost too dry to speak.
“No,” I practically choked. “Not at all.”
“Good,” Lincoln murmured. “He had no plans for the weekend, really. And after the other night the three of us had together… well…”
His tongue dragged its way along my the rim of my ear. His breath was hot. Steamy. Driving me absolutely wild.
“I invited Donovan too… but he couldn’t make it. Too many clients, too many sessions. He just couldn’t get out of work.”
I was relieved by that and yet disappointed, all at the same time. Handling Lincoln and Brody for the weekend would be challenge enough! I didn’t even know the logistics of how it would work, being away for a few days with the both of them…
But I was more than ready to try.
Brody sank into the couch on the other side of me, with a champagne flute of his own. I felt a flood of wetness between my legs. My body was exploding with heat.
“We’re going to do all kinds of things to you, Holly,” Lincoln breathed.
He had one hand on my thigh already. Brody dropped a hand on the other. They both squeezed.
“All kinds of things.”
Forty-Two
HOLLY
&nbs
p; The climb was quick and choppy, but the rest of the flight remained smooth and beautiful. I spent our two hours in the air basically unwinding. Lounging out across the laps of my two attentive boyfriends, letting go of Malcolm’s bullshit, of the New York crowds, and whoever might’ve been following me in the parking garage.
Lincoln stared at his laptop, playing absently with my hair. He claimed he’d ditch it once we landed, but needed to get a few last minute things done first.
Brody on the other hand, was giving me what amounted to a professional foot massage. I wasn’t sure where he learned his technique, but he soon had me moaning and groaning with delight. I was still twisting happily beneath his firm, experienced grip as the pilot announced we were already descending, ending my far-flung dreams of joining the mile-high club… at least for now.
Once down, the weather was even more brutally cold. The storm about to sweep New England would be something else; the pilots were talking about it on the radio and to each other, all the way to the hangar.
A car had been prepared for us, or rather, an old Ford Bronco. Someone flipped Lincoln the keys, and ten minutes later we were piling into the front bench seat, all loaded and ready to go.
“This was my first vehicle,” Lincoln explained, starting the engine up. “Not sure why I keep her, but she’s well maintained. Nostalgia, probably.”
