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She stroked his cheek. She loved that he worried so much about her, but it wasn’t what she wanted from him now. She wanted his heat, his passion. “I’m ready?”
It was all he needed. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the plane. He set her down on the wing and stepped between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss. She moaned into his mouth as he cupped her breasts through her shirt, his fingers teasing her nipples to hard peaks. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle flex under her touch.
This was what it was like to be in control, to take what she wanted, and she reveled in it.
Without a word, Connelly kissed her again, harder this time, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth. Veronica opened to him eagerly, her hands fisting in his shirt as he deepened the kiss.
But, again, he pulled away. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”
“Yes.” She nipped at his lower lip. “Stop asking.”
Still, he hesitated. “You know you’re safe with me, right? I’ll never do anything you do want me to. I’ll never hurt you.”
“Connelly.” She captured his face between her hands and stared into his worried eyes. “I trust you.”
“Then get ready to fly,” he said, his voice a husky whisper as he scooped her back into his arms and carried her up the ladder to the plane.
She laughed as he kicked the door shut behind them. “That was so corny.”
“Mm,” he said, too busy kissing her to give a more coherent reply.
The plane was cramped, but it didn’t matter. Connelly’s lips found hers again, and the kiss was even more intense than before. He set her down on the soft leather couch along the wall, his hands lingering on her hips, and then he stepped back, his eyes raking over her body. He looked like a man possessed, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with desire.
But she wasn’t scared.
She didn’t feel unsafe.
This was Connelly.
He’d die before hurting her.
And she was in control.
chapter twenty-six
The sound Connelly made deep in his throat as she slipped her hands under his shirt was that of a man on the edge. It thrilled her. She moved her hands lower, dragging a finger down the bulge at the front of his pants.
“I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse, but he stepped back out of her reach. “But I want to make sure you’re really okay with this. We don’t have to do this now. If you’re not ready, we can stop and wait.”
She was ready. Beyond ready, her sex already slick and aching deliciously to be filled. Even when she touched herself or used her vibrator, she never felt this needy because, alone, her mind inevitably filled with fuzzy memories she didn’t want to remember. But with Connelly, her mind was clear. There was nothing but him.
“Oh my God, stop. I’m ready, but I might change my mind if you keep asking.”
Panic crossed his face. “Okay, we’re not doing this.”
“Wait. I was joking.” She reached for him, but he still stayed out of her grasp.
“I’m not.” He knelt so they were eye-to-eye, his gaze roaming over her face, and she could tell he was searching for any sign of hesitance.
“If you feel at all uncomfortable or want to stop at any time, just say the word. You’re still in control. I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you need, to make this good for you.”
God, she adored this man. Here he was, obviously desperate to get his hands on her, his cock straining his jeans in an impressive bulge, but he was taking the time to make sure she was happy and comfortable. He was willing to wait for her. He was a good man who put his partner’s needs and wants ahead of his own. It was so rare, especially in a world where women were treated as objects.
She could have made him stop.
She could have told him no.
She didn’t want to.
