“Obviously. Though, now that you mention it, we do have a baby on board.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “North Carolina is a forty-hour drive from San Francisco. If that is what you want to do, I’ll support it. Full disclosure: I’ll probably rant, grumble, and have road rage for at least thirty-nine of those hours, but for the rest of the trip, I should be fine.” He flashed me a brilliant white smile.
I swallowed hard. As much as I did enjoy making Cranky Evan uncranky, forty hours in the car was really going to cut into our mountain vacation getaway. It was rare when Sam, Levee, Evan, and I could all find time in our busy schedules to spend time together like the family we truly were. If I forced them all to drive, I had a feeling those times together were going to go from rare to extinct.
“Oh God.” I groaned, knowing he was right.
Evan grinned in victory. “You gotta trust me, babe.”
“No. What I need to do is get drunk.”
He rose to his full height and offered me his good hand. “Come on, I’ll clear out the mini bar and play bartender in the terminal.”
The image of my man serving up drinks while wearing nothing but a bowtie popped into my head. His chiseled pecs and sculpted abs traveling down to the delicious V that drove me wild.
He pulled me to my feet, and I purposely stumbled forward, landing hard against his chest.
“Hey! Easy there, tiger. You already drunk?” he teased, steadying us both.
Trailing my finger across his chest, I inched my way around the planes small interior until I was standing behind him. At six two, Evan was a few inches taller than me. But when he was bent over a seat, his tight ass up in the air, that wasn’t the size that mattered.
Pressing up on my toes, I nipped at his ear. “You know what sounds more relaxing than a drink?”
“Oh, fuck.” He moaned as his head lulled to the side to allow me more access.
I laved my tongue up the side of his neck. “Yes. Exactly that.”
“Henry,” he murmured, reaching over his shoulder to palm the back of my head. “Baby. We can’t.”
I rolled my hips, my thickening cock seeking its way home. “Oh, but we can, Evan.” I purred his name just the way he liked. “Last I checked, I own this plan, which means I’m bound by legal obligation to fuck you on every surface.”
“I’m not sure that’s a legal obligation.” He arched his back, circling his ass against my length unfortunately still hidden beneath the denim.
We both groaned at the friction.
“You want to break out a magnifying glass to read the fine print or”—I glided a hand around his trim waist, popped the button on his jeans, and drove a hand inside—“do want to drop your pants and let me fuck you.”
“Jesus, Henry.” He moaned again as I started working his shaft. “Baby . . .” He leaned back against my chest. “We can’t… Fuuuck.” He slapped his good hand down on the leather seat beside us for balance. “Henry, wait. ” It was safe to assume I did not wait. He had this nasty little habit of putting the brakes on sex, using some ridiculous excuses like, “The priest might see us,” or, “The paparazzi is outside our window.”
Using his casted hand, he grabbed my wrist. “Henry, stop. There’s another plane going out soon, so we need to hurry up and move off the tarmac.”
“Then I suggest you hurry up and get naked.”
Suddenly, he turned in my arms, forcing my hand to slide out of his pants or risk injuring us both. I could deal with him only having one hand for the next few weeks, but if any harm came to the real Captain Roth, we were going to be in some serious trouble.
He palmed the side of my face, his blue eyes boring into mine as his unbelievably expert mouth tipped up at the corners. “Relax, babe.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s what I was trying to do until someone, who shall remain nameless . . . cough you . . . decided to cock block me.”
His lips came to mine in a deep and dizzying fashion.
I reached around and grabbed his ass—strictly for balance, of course. “Cock blocking hurts us both, ya know?”
Smiling, he opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue sneaking out like the welcoming committee. In the grand scheme of things, Evan and I hadn’t been together long. Our time measured in months rather than decades. But morning, noon, and night, I took his mouth every chance he gave me, and each and every time, it set me ablaze.
I threaded my fingers into the dark hairs at the nape of his neck, slanting my head to take our kiss deeper. And he gave, because that what was Evan did. He was a real humanitarian if you asked me.
All too soon, his mouth was gone. “I know what you’re trying to do. Sex as a distraction because you’re freaking out about the flight. But you don’t need worry. You know I won’t let anything happen to you.” He winked. “King Kong always takes care of his lady, remember?”
“Does that include a blow job in whatever empty room we can find?”
He started to shake his head, but I kissed him again, mumbling against his mouth, “Come on . . . say yes. It’s a private airport. There’s got to be a secluded little spot somewhere.”
And even though Evan was slightly more reserved about when and where he cashed in the multitude of perks that came with being in love, he smiled and replied, “You offering or asking?”
Two
Henry
When we got off the plane, I made a beeline into the airport searching for any space that my sexy-as-sin a lover could possibly construe as private.
Places I’d come up with: Nofuckingwhere.
The bathroom was crazy nice but also crazy public so there wasn’t a deadbolt on the door, just the keyed door handle. However, like a sexual terrorist, Evan refused to allow me to call a locksmith.
Then the single solitary office I could find was locked—again, no keys. I considered breaking the window and just paying to have it fixed later, but a shattered window seemed counterproductive to privacy. Also, destruction of federal property was likely frowned upon.
And for some damn reason, Evan shot down my suggestion of hanging up our shirts to make a curtain under the table that held the coffee and various accouterments. My man had no sense of adventure.
Eventually, I was forced to give up and face reality. I was going to die with blue balls.
I was standing by the window, staring out at the empty runway, when I felt Evan sidle up beside me.
“You still freaking out?” he asked, extending a no doubt expertly made gin and tonic in my direction.
“Well,” I let out a deep breath as I took the drink from his hand, “my nerves are shot and my mind is spinning in a million directions, most of which end with me in a fiery grave. But, to answer your question, no, I am no longer freaking out. I have officially accepted my untimely demise and an afterlife in sexual purgatory.”
He chuckled, throwing an arm around my shoulders and curling me into his front. “You are quite possibly the most dramatic man I have ever met.”
Mumbling into his chest, I replied, “I’ve heard Styles is worse.”
“Good to know. If you two ever end up on a tour together, I’ll be sure to catch the Bubonic plague or something.” He gave me a tight squeeze. “I hate it when you’re scared. What can I do to help you through this?”
Guilt soured my stomach. “Stop being such a good guy, you’re making me feel guilty.”
“Then this is about to get a lot worse for you.”
“Fantastic,” I murmured, inching deeper into the curve of his muscular body, careful not to spill my drink.
His lips came to my ear, his smooth, clean-shaven jaw scrubbing with mine. “Do you remember the day we met?”
I smiled at the memory. “How could I forget, Maverick? I called you the Doogie Howser of pilots.”
“Yeah, you did,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement . . . and something else.
I leaned away to try to get a read on him, but I was in no way ready for what I found.
He was smiling, but his eyes were sparkling with emotion, and his brows drawn together as though he were anxious.
It set me on edge immediately. “What’s wrong?”