Page 124 of Worth the Fall

EMERSON

I kiss Grant back with a need more desperate than I’ve ever felt before. Right here in the drop zone, I deepen the kiss with my hands gripping the lapel of his flight suit and take every damn thing I need from him.

Leo chuckles somewhere near as he gathers his own chute, but I don’t care. He gets it. He gets this. Post-jump sex is indescribable. Using the high of the adrenaline coupled with the bliss of an orgasm is a major inside joke amongst jumpers.

And more than anything, right now, I need Grant.

He showed up today seeing a broken woman ready to give it all up. Then with his simple request, he started putting my bricks and mortar back into place to prove that I am as strong as I thought I was. Sure there is doubt, and there always will be. But he knew that was what I needed—to be pushed back into my comfort zone so I’d find my confidence again. So, I’d wipe out my skepticism.

Grant leans back, the gold in his eyes dancing with excitement and lust, and I know he feels the same way I do. We shared something up there. I’ve jumped hundreds of times and have had the trust of the people I jumped with, but this was different. We both took what the other offered and used it to conquer something we feared.

I shove the rig off my back, leaving the parachute billowing in the breeze to pick up later, and without care of who else might be looking, I jump into Grant’s arms and wrap my legs around his waist.

Between spurts of laughter, our lips find each other’s, and God, how good it feels to laugh with him and kiss him. How good it feels to know my mom is looking down on me, approving of my taking a chance. How funny it seems that I want him to save me after all.

“I need you,” I murmur against his lips as my hands thread in his hair and the heat of the sun does nothing to rival the fire in my body already burning bright.

“My dick’s already five steps ahead of you.” He chuckles as he begins to walk across the field with me wrapped around him like a monkey.

I wave over Grant’s shoulder to Leo, who just shakes his head at us and rolls his eyes. I think he says something sarcastic like, “Sure, I’ll take care of your parachute while you fuck,” but I don’t care, and I don’t have any shame because it isn’t like he’s never experienced this feeling before.

“Hurry,” I murmur as I nip the tip of his earlobe.

“Where? Keys?” His cock presses against me with each step he takes and makes the walk across the strip tortuous.

“Shit. My keys are in the office.” I laugh as my mind scrambles. “Go to the left. Red hangar. Far side.”

“Christ,” he mutters, but only because with each rub over his dick he lets out a little groan. “Here?”

“Mm-hmm. The door slides,” I say even though he’s already pulling open the large barn-type door. Then we’re into the shadows of the red hangar and he’s shoving the door shut and slamming me back against it. His lips are on mine in a savage union of lust and greed and want and need and every one of the seven sins mixed in there.

There is no finesse. There are no niceties. We are all about how fast we can unharness ourselves from our rigs and step out of them so we can feel and enjoy each other’s skin.

“Christ, Em.”

“I know. Hurry.” A laugh falls from my lips. “Post-jump sex is the best kind of sex there is.”

“Oh really?” he says, leaning back to meet my eyes. His have darkened with lust and suggestion.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You were holding out on me.” A brush of his lips against mine. A cup of his hand against my ass pulling me against his hardened dick.

“Can’t hold out on someone when they are the one refusing you.” I quirk my lips, but then they fall lax as he tugs down the zipper of my suit and yanks down my tank so he can suck then graze his teeth over my nipple.

“I’m not refusing you now, am I?”

“I wouldn’t let you,” I challenge.

There is a quiet moment where our eyes lock and our bodies vibrate from our connection – mental, physical, emotional—and then within a beat, we are back into frenzy mode. Zippers on flight suits sound off. The shimmy of clothes being pushed down. The squeak of shoes on concrete. The begged pleas to hurry. Quicker. I’m desperate.

And then, as we stand in this massive hangar buck naked, his body a mouth-watering sight only serving to encourage my urgency for him, I realize there isn’t really anywhere to have sex in here except for the concrete floor. The walls are lined with industrial shelving units. The tables are covered with plane parts.

“Where are we going to . . . crap.”

He takes in the sparse space save for the Cessna in one corner and a Piper in another before turning back to look at me with a gleam in his eye.

“What?” I ask.