feel bad about my little hissy fit. It was just a kiss and probably not the best timing on my part. Did I really expect him to reciprocate in the back of a helicopter?
Yes. That’s exactly what you expected.
“Not right now. They have to maintain a sterile field.” It takes a second before I realize Ryker is responding to my question about going to Four and not the little conversation in my head about that kiss.
“How can anything be sterile with us in here?”
“Air flows from the cockpit back. It’s how we maintain cabin pressure. All planes do that, but it works to keep any germs we may breathe out, or stir up, from moving in that direction.” He looks over at Skye. “It’s going to be awhile. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Let’s get you settled. Some water? A cookie?”
“A cookie?”
“We have the best.” A smile fills his face and lifts my spirits. “The chairs recline all the way back if you want to snooze for a bit. As soon as Skye’s done, I’ll wake you.”
“You promise?” The thought of sleep doesn’t appeal to me, despite the exhaustion tugging at my body, but if I can’t be with Four, I might close my eyes for just a little bit.
“Promise.” Ryker settles me in one of two seats near the very back of the plane. The jet is the size of a commercial airliner, with every seat a first-class experience. He adjusts the seat all the way flat, gives me a pillow, blanket, fuzzy socks for my feet, noise-cancelling headphones, and a sleep mask.
I settle into the seat and snuggle under the blanket. My entire body feels sluggish, like it’s at the end of what it’ll handle. Since I can’t be with Four, I close my eyes for just a moment, trusting Ryker will wake me.
Fifteen
Moira
A sudden jarring and the roar of the engine wakes me from a dreamless sleep. I push back the sleep mask and blink against the bright interior lighting of the cabin.
“Four, what’s going on?”
“It’s Griff, and we just landed, little minx.”
Four’s, oops, I mean Griff’s, deep voice rolls across the space between us, tightening my nipples as it rumbles across my skin. How is it possible for a voice to do that?
I tug my blanket around me, hiding my traitorous nipples from Griff’s gaze. Not that he’s looking at my chest. My Guardian stares deeply into my eyes.
“We’re landing?”
“Yes.” He helps me untangle the sleep mask from the matted mess that is my hair. “We’re home.”
Home?
“How long have you been sitting there?” My question is more clipped than I intend, but I’m still hanging onto residual anger. I’m like a damn bulldog with a bone and refuse to let it go. Isn’t it sad I find anger a comforting emotion?
“You’ve been asleep since we took off.” Griff lounges beside me like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Thanks for nothing, Ryker.
When did Griff drift closer? Or am I somehow, unconsciously, leaning in? I give a shake of my head, dispelling the direction of those thoughts.
“What happened to your leg?” I feel every inch of him as electricity sparks in the space between us, joining our bodies with a crackling, nerve-shivering sensation. There’s that odd vibration again, humming through my veins. I rub at my arms as goosebumps lift and my skin tingles. He does this to me.
Always has.
From the day he rescued me in Manila, I’ve had a thing for the man who saved me. Some might call it an unhealthy attachment; I call it destiny.
He makes it hard to think, especially when all I want is his body wrapped around mine. I want to feel him touch my face, soft and gentle to start, then more demanding. Maybe run his fingers through my hair until he reaches the end and gathers it all together for one sharp tug. A thrill runs through me, thinking about how that might feel.
Self-taught in the art of giving pleasure—a matter of survival on the streets—then later trained in the erotic art of sexual servitude, I not only know what gets men off, but what gets me off as well.
Dominance, in all its insidious forms, both terrifies me and drives me wild. I’m looking forward to exploring some of that with Griff because my spidey-senses tell me he’s a ferocious lover.
I slip my hands between my thighs and squeeze my legs together as tingles of anticipation shoot through me.
“Doc stitched