Mastered By The Mavericks (9 page)

And yet…he let her.

Wanted
to let her.

He flinched and tensed and grunted but sure as fuck, went ahead and just let her move
in, tracing one eyebrow, over the bridge of his nose and across the next brow. Enduring—no,
goddammit,
enjoying
—the awakening of every cell beneath her questing touch.

Christ. Stop.
Stop.

Don’t ever stop…

She finally did.

Only to utter words that made his inner chaos even worse.

“That’s what makes you a hero, Rebel Stafford.”

His first temptation was to free a laugh. Correction: a bark. An angry, caustic, bite
of sound that would double as the bolt cutter on the lock of his control and let out
the filth that he didn’t even reveal to the brain bakers. The reasons why he was nobody’s
fucking hero—least of all, hers.

He clamped back the laugh—and with it, the bark. The feat was a little tougher than
usual but nothing years of practice couldn’t help him achieve. When most of one’s
soul was off-limits to the world, it got easier to just add on to the fortress.

He spread a smile across his lips like a peanut butter ad. There. A much tastier way
to approach things—especially now that Sam had climbed into the cockpit and started
revving the engines. “Everyone buckled up?” the Scot called over his shoulder.

“Affirmative,” Reb returned.

“Shit-shit-shit!” Brynn gasped.

Peanut butter still in place, he slid a hand into one of hers. “Hey. Just look at
me, okay?” As she clamped her fingers around his, his pulse picked up. Instincts he
could only call primal started to surge. As she complied with his command, the desperation
in her gaze latched onto his and held on, backed by every tense muscle in her body.
“Good,” he praised, lifting his grin higher. “I got you,
cher
. I got you.”

She attempted a nod but looked more like a broken bobble head. As they taxied toward
the runway, she flattened against her seat, her free hand grabbing the armrest near
her window, knuckles bulging against her skin like marbles. “Ohhhhh, god. Oh god-oh
god-oh god!”

Rebel lunged. No sense in trying to loosen her death grip on the seat but he cupped
her face, forcing her wide, wild stare in line with his again. “Hi,” he murmured.

He almost chuckled when her eyes narrowed—if only for a second. “H-h-hi.”

“Remember that part about looking at me?”

“S-s-sort of.”

“It wasn’t a helpful little hint,
mon chou
.”

Her lips compressed. She squirmed a little. Not quite a fume, but as adorable as one.
“S-so…what? It was an
order
?”

Little fires burst in her eyes as she spat that. Damn.
He’d
be the one squirming in a second if she kept that up—though the ordeal would be worth
it. He’d endure two full forest fires from her, if it meant keeping her attention
diverted from their accelerating speed, and Sam’s confirmation for takeoff from the
tower.

He flattened a thumb across her cheek. Tugged her attention deeper with the tips of
his fingers in her hair. “Would you like it to be one?”

He had no damn idea how she’d respond. A growing instinct had jabbed at his gut since
interacting with her last night, even before she’d gone all bad-ass ninja on him.
Until then, he’d assumed that dating a Dom as hardcore as Colton must’ve meant she
was just as intense a submissive—but there was a defiant streak in her that all but
dared a man to push at it. Maybe Dan had just been too messed up physically and emotionally
to sort through that, and missed his window of opportunity.

Or maybe her rebellious streak just needed another rebel to tame it.

The plane lifted off the ground. Climbed up into the sky.

Brynn’s breath clutched. Hard.

He didn’t give her a second to recover. With gravity his new best friend, he pressed
over her, consuming her personal space. She wasn’t a tiny thing like Zoe or El but
her size was…nice.
Very nice
. A stunning combination of curves and muscles, softness and strength…a womanly landscape
he greedily studied now. Her jeans fit in all the right places, accentuating her gazelle-graceful
legs. Even the work shirt was a thing of poetry at the moment, pulled taut across
her chest due to her new position. He glimpsed her bra through a little break between
the buttons. Who the fuck knew seamless beige could be so goddamn sexy? Then again,
with her flawless pale skin underneath, even burlap was instant boner inspiration.

“I—I don’t do orders, Sergeant.”

He didn’t react to that—at first. Simply evaluated her dilated gaze and slightly parted
lips, before letting his regard dip to the wild animal of a pulse still racing in
her throat. After another long second, he slid his thumb down atop that thudding artery.

Her pulse instantly doubled.

So did his.

“So that’s why you keep calling me ‘Sergeant’?”

She gulped, making his thumb rise and fall. And his cock bulge with new pressure.

“It’s respectful.”

They ascended higher. Did she notice the city getting tinier and tinier outside the
window? Rebel could only account for himself. He didn’t care if the landscape below
suddenly turned into a nuclear holocaust zone. This woman already razed the same effect
on his senses.

“‘Rebel’ is just as respectful. I’m not your commanding officer.” He closed the gap
between them, now near enough to inhale her. Soap and shampoo and that damn floral
body spray once more.
Hell, yes
. If this was radiation poisoning, it was one awesome way to go.

“I know.” She started to lick her lips but bit the move into submission, seeming to
know just what an effect it had on him. “But Rebel doesn’t feel right, either.”

He nodded. And actually agreed with her. Though his name was sultry music on her lips,
it felt strange. Too intimate? Not intimate enough?

Wasn’t like he had a decent alternative. Only one of those came to mind and it sure
as hell broke more protocols than his proper name.

That was when The Traitor roared through his head. His not-so-little buddy, doomed
to live in his mind since the day Mama and Papa had taken the plunge and legally named
him Rebel. The fucker sped in on his typical mental Harley, painted black and red
save for the words emblazoned across the gas tank in bright yellow.

Fuck the rules.

Who was he to argue with the demon on the Harley?

He stretched his arm the rest of the way across her seat. Slid his hand off her neck
in order to seal it over her fingers, still gripping the armrest like a life preserver.
“Doesn’t feel right,” he echoed, softly but purposely. That yanked her gaze straight
up again, and he opened up every spigot of sensual force to keep her locked there.
“Then let’s try something else.”

Her mouth parted a little more. Her breaths, heated and shallow, hit his jaw at racing
speed. Well, that confirmed it. His diversion was a success. She was distracted, capital
fucking
D
.

Which didn’t explain an ounce of his own reaction. Swimming senses. Head light as
helium. Blood thick as oil. Hot,
hot
oil. He couldn’t even blame the altitude. He’d flown in hundreds of planes across
every corner of the globe. None of those flights had screwed him up like this.

It was her.

This woman who’d shot him into the ether from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.
Now she was beneath him, needing him…

Cranking
his
need for her…

He wondered if he could bribe Sam to veer their flight off-course by a few hundred
miles. Fuck it; he wondered if they could just go to the moon. Not that he wasn’t
halfway there.

“Something else?” Her voice still tremored a little. From fear or arousal, he couldn’t
tell—and didn’t want to. Like the depraved bastard he was, he liked the idea of scaring
her. Even more, he liked the idea of arousing her. “Like what?”

Rebel slid his stare to her mouth. “Like ‘Sir’.”

She gasped. For half a second. Before he stole her breath with the commanding, crashing,
dominance of his mouth.

She moaned. He growled. Plunged in deeper. Took every pliant inch of her tongue with
his. Sucked her in, all slick and wet, giving as much as he plundered, rejoicing in
the best kiss of his goddamn life.

She let go of the armrest. Used that hand to reach for his face again.

Not this time.

He wrapped hard fingers around her wrist, forcing her arm to the cushion next to her
head. “Keep it there,” he snarled against her lips, before dropping his hand beneath
her shirt. “I want to explore. And you’re going to let me.”

Her eyes flared with shock. Rebel grinned. He was enjoying the crap out of this. Surprising
her like this. Exposing her like this. Taking all those new arousals…and making them
his.

Full justification—at least to him—for the harsher growl he let out, when her eyes
flickered toward the cockpit. Sam seemed thoroughly engrossed in the controls, despite
how he’d leveled them off at full altitude, in a crystal blue sky.

She flicked her tongue nervously over her lips. “Sam—”

“Knows to mind his own business.” To emphasize, he slipped his hand beneath her bra,
pinching over the perfect nipple that waited. As her eyes flew back to him, he turned
on his evil grin. “I’d say he’s even grateful.”

“Grateful?” She made a play for outraged—at least with her tone. By the time she got
around to considering a glare, she emitted a gasp, instead. Could’ve had something
to do with him scraping her erect tip with his thumbnail.

“Mmm hmm.” He trailed his hand to her other breast. “Pilots appreciate it when the
flight is kept peaceful.”

Her breath snagged audibly. It had to be one of the sexiest sounds he’d ever heard.
“I don’t feel…very peaceful.”

“Neither do I.” He’d never meant anything more. “
You
don’t make me very peaceful,
cher.
” He answered the question in her eyes by flowing his hand down her body, on top of
her clothes, trying to memorize every inch of her curves even with that goddamn barrier.
“I tried hiding it. Then I tried just avoiding the temptation altogether. You belonged
to Colton…and I carried all these fantasies about touching you like this. Arousing
you like this…”

“And controlling me like this?” Oh, how she fought for defiance with that one. Jerked
up her chin, set her lips, rekindled the fire in her eyes. Did he dare tell her all
of it only underlined her real need to him? Her true desire…to make him challenge
her even deeper?

“You think I’m controlling you?”

She worked her lips against each other. “I think you’re trying.”

He pulled away for a second, searching the storage compartment behind them and finding
exactly what he needed. With a quick flick, he had the fleece blanket spread over
them both. As Brynn crunched a look of perplexity, he pushed close to her again, yanking
her hand back into his beneath the soft cover.

Her gasp covered his lips as he formed her fingers around his crotch.

“You really want to know who’s in control?” He let her watch his tortured swallow.
“Christ, Brynn. You make me crazier by the second.”

“Oh…my.” She wetted her lips again. Gaped wide at him, appearing a little confused.
He bit back a whoop of triumph. He had no right. This was dirty tactics. The blood
of pirates and warriors ran in his blood, and his…finer attributes…matched that rugged
heritage.

“That’s because of you,” he grated. “And I’m only half hard.”

She stroked the strained denim, exploring his contours, gasping another time. “Oh,
my
.”

“Want to test my point?” Her openness made him bold. He went for it, unsnapping the
button and guiding her hand right in, over his swollen flesh. “Say it, Brynna. Just
once. Call me Sir…and feel what you do to me.”

Before she could climb back into her head and summon a protest, he kissed her again.
Deeply. Thoroughly. Unrelentingly. Rolling their tongues together until they danced
in unison, and her sweet, perfect taste filled not only his mouth but every cell of
his senses.

By the time their mouths left each other, her fingers had closed around the throbbing
crown of his dick. She circled him tighter before rasping, “Sir.”

He groaned. Pre-come roared up his shaft, as his skin strained to hold the arousal
that throbbed hotter, bigger. “Fuck.” He pushed deeper into her grip, then ordered,
“Again. Say it again.”

Damn it. Her taunting little smile delivered another matchstick to his blood, tempting
the flames of his lust
and
fury. “But you said only once,” she sing-songed.

He inhaled hard. Again. God
damn
it. She had him in the palm of her hand—literally—yet who else could he blame for
it but the desperate bastard reflected back from the ombre depths of her eyes, jaw
grinding and nostrils flaring?

Maybe his estimation about her had been all wrong. Maybe the woman was born to be
dominant herself. In which case, he was in a
lot
of trouble.

Nothing like a definitive litmus test to find out.

Raising his hand back up, he dove his fingers into her hair, compressing against her
scalp and twisting the silken red strands…harder. Harder. Her gorgeous gaze popped
wide again—for just a second. As her eyelids dropped heavily, her mouth went slack…setting
free an aroused little gasp.

Oh…
yeah
.

He dipped his face over hers again. Let his breath mingle with hers again. But didn’t
kiss her again.

Instead, in a growl he summoned all the way from the heat consuming his balls, he
commanded, “Say it again,
mon chou
. And mean it.”

She licked her lips—as she looked down to his. “Or else?”

Just the barest of whispers…that grabbed his dick tighter than her fingers. Despite
the torment, Rebel actually laughed and repeated, “Or
else
?”

One side of her mouth lifted. The sly little pussy cat actually thought she’d called
him on his shit. “Simple question. But it’s all right if you don’t have an answ—
ohhh
!”