Jonathan nuzzled her breast, teasing and coaxing with teeth and lips and tongue, using every caress in his arsenal to drive her wild. His hand went behind her back to hold her steady and his other slid to the waist of her yoga pants. The stretchy material was bunched at her waist, and he pushed at it, wanting to shove his fingers into her waiting warmth so close nearby. He imagined the hot feel of her pussy lips over his fingers, slick with need, and nearly lost his mind. His cock was so hard it felt close to bursting, but he’d control it. Violet’s pleasure was more important than his own.
She made a soft mewing sound as he lightly nipped, surprised by the bite of his teeth. He soothed it away with soft licks and kisses, murmuring her name over and over again. His other hand pushed at the yoga pants, wanting them to give and slide down her hips. When they didn’t, he gave up on that and just pushed his hand down into the material and pressed against her skin, seeking the warm cradle of her sex.
She panted as he brushed his fingers over the crinkle of curls shielding her pussy. Jonathan groaned against her breast, nearly overcome, but when she directed his mouth to her other breast, he attacked it with relish, biting and licking and teasing it until she was whimpering and wild in his arms all over again. His hand, paused just above her pussy, then slid downward, and he cupped her mound. This is mine, he wanted to tell her. This is mine and no one else’s.
But he bit those words back and tongued her nipple, sending her into new sighs of pleasure. Ever so slowly, he pressed his middle finger forward . . . and nearly lost control when it slid easily between her soaking wet folds. Holy Christ, she was turned on. He mentally cursed and had to take a moment to compose himself, pressing his forehead against her pillowy breasts and trying to retain control.
Violet shifted on his lap, his hand. “Is . . . everything all right?” Her fingers dragged through his hair.
“I just need a moment. You’re too much. It’s making me lose control, and I don’t want to. I want this to be about you.”
“Take as long as you want,” she said softly. “I’m right here.” And she stroked his hair again, the move almost loving. When she touched him like that, he almost believed she loved him again. Almost.
The realization that this was probably no more than a quick release for her dashed his erection faster than anything. He continued to press his face against her breasts, heartache nearly destroying him. He was touching Violet’s skin, breathing Violet’s scent, his fingers buried in Violet’s pussy.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough. He wanted her heart.
But when she rubbed against his hand, sliding his fingers up and down the folds of her sex, he knew she needed this. Hadn’t he said this would be about her, not him? It should be, and so he’d pleasure her even if it broke his own heart to do so.
So he kissed the sides of those soft breasts and looked up at her, easing a finger forward until it dragged against the hood of her clit.
She nearly jumped off of his lap, crying out, “Oh!”
Now, that? That was beautiful. He rubbed over it again, even as she squirmed against his hand, half trying to pull away and half trying to brush against his fingers harder. When she arched her back again, his mouth latched on to one of her nipples and he sucked hard even as he rubbed her clit, enjoying the tiny wail that escaped her throat. His sensitive, delicious, lovely Violet. He could never get enough of her, never have enough even if he lived to be a hundred years old.
And he wanted more. Jonathan released her nipple with an audible pop, pleased to see the tip wet and gleaming from his mouth, and a dusky red from his sucking. “I want you to lay back on these chairs for me,” he murmured, still gliding his finger back and forth across her sensitive clit.
“W-where?” Violet panted, glancing around the small cabin.
“Here.” Jonathan reluctantly pulled his fingers from her sweet, wet warmth and dragged her off of his lap and onto the seat next to him. She sat there, blinking and dazed, still drugged by passion.
“Do . . . do you want me to lie down?”
“Nope.” He grabbed the waistband of her pants. “But these have to go, because I’m burying my face between your legs.”
She gave a shuddering gasp and fell back against the leather seats, her heavy breasts bouncing with the movement, and for a moment, Jonathan wanted to go back to them, to suck and tease and lick them until she was crying out all over again. But the scent of her arousal was in his nostrils, and he wanted more of her. Fighting his own need again, he tapped her hip. “Lift, please.”
She did, and he dragged the pants off her hips in one smooth move, until the fabric bunched at her thighs. Her hips were exposed, the sweet, rounded curves of them just as generous and beautiful as he remembered, the thatch of hair between her legs wet with need above her creamy thighs. His mouth watered at the sight.
One more tug, and the pants were at her knees. She wiggled a bit and kicked them off, then pressed back against the seat, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. “What do you want me to do now?”
“I want you to scream my name,” he told her in a low voice, pushing forward. She was seated in the leather airline chairs, the armrest pushed up so they made a little couch, and it didn’t leave much room for him. That was fine. All he needed was a place to kneel. He pushed her legs apart and slid to the floor, kneeling there.
And then her thighs were spread before him, and the lusciousness of her was inches away, and he couldn’t resist. Like a starving man, he dropped his mouth to her and began to feed.
Her gasp of delight was almost as delicious as the taste of her on his tongue. Hot, musky, and just a bit sweet, he couldn’t help his own groan as he lapped at her warmth. She’d always had the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. Soft, beautiful folds that surrounded her clit and her core like it was a flower. He pushed his tongue deeper between those folds and savored each long, delicious lick.
There were few things on earth better than Violet DeWitt’s pussy on his face, and he intended to savor every moment of this. Each flick of his tongue brought more of her slickness to the fore, and he lapped it up as if she were his favorite treat. Each brush of his lips against her skin told him something: where she was the most sensitive, what nips made her shiver in response, what brought more of that sweet honey to the forefront for his tongue. He studied her like he’d studied poetry, analyzing each sound, each phrase, and then memorizing it for later.
But for now, he wanted to worship at her clit, that tiny center of desire. He tilted his face and angled his mouth, heading for it like a beacon, and began to kiss and lick it with small, methodical strokes. He knew from the past that she liked a slow and steady build. Violet never got off fast, but when she did get off, it was magnificent. He wanted to see that again, and so he took his fingers and parted the lips of her sex, spreading her before him like a feast, and focused his attentions on the clit that poked out, begging for attention.
“Jonathan,” she sobbed, and when he looked up from her lap and saw her eyes, he saw need written there. Sharp, clawing need. He could relate. His own erection had returned, full force, and was pressing hard against the edge of the seat as he leaned over and lavished his tongue on her flesh.
“I’m so close,” she begged. “Please, please push me over.”
“I will,” he promised, and returned his mouth to her flesh, teasing the little stiff nub of her clit with his tongue. Her hips bucked against his mouth and his steady, slow licking motions, and he couldn’t resist sliding his fingers between the seam of her sex and searching for her core.
He paired two of his fingers together and teased at her entrance, circling it the way his tongue circled her clit.
She nearly came off of the chair in ecstasy. “Oh, God. Oh, yes!”
“Be still,” he growled at her, though his own hips were thrusting unmercifully, uselessly, against the edge of the chair that he was pressed against.
&
nbsp; She nodded, clutching at the chair she rested on. She was a gorgeous sight, all flushed cheeks and pale skin, her breasts heaving with every gasped breath, her hair a messy nimbus about her face. Her legs were sprawled wide with his face between them, and he wanted to memorize the sight of her like this, so full of need and so utterly beautiful that it made his heart ache.
“Please,” she said again, urgency in her tone.
He set upon her once more, back to the slow, steady licking of her surely aching little clit. He pressed his fingers into the well of her sex, having to stifle his own groan at the way her cunt clenched and pulled at him, as if she were trying to suck him in deeper.
Violet’s moans of pleasure grew louder, and so he began to pump his fingers slowly in and out of her, curling them ever so slightly and dragging them against the front wall of her core as he pulled them out, looking for the spot that would guarantee a deliciously brutal orgasm. The rhythm of his tongue against her clit continued, his pace picking up just a bit and matching her quick, panting breaths as if they were the metronome he had to follow. Gasp, lick, gasp, lick. Her juices covered his mouth, her scent was in his nostrils and coating his fingers, and he was in heaven. He never wanted to leave this spot, ever. If he died at this moment, he’d die a happy man.
But his Violet needed to come.
He crooked his fingers inside her and rubbed hard, and was rewarded with her choked cry of surprise. Ah yes, that was a new trick he’d picked up in the intervening years. He’d never done that to her before, and he was guessing that her other lovers had never bothered to try and find it. For a moment, he was filled with a vicious jealousy that gave way to a possessive sort of pleasure at the way she arched and sobbed when he brushed his curled finger against it again.
She was his. This was her, and she was all his. No man had touched her like him, and he was going to fucking give her the best orgasm she’d ever had.
So, fingers rubbing against her inner wall, he bent over her clit with a new fervor, increasing the strokes of his tongue to a new rapidity.
She made a wordless sound, noisy and completely unmindful of the fact that her cries were echoing in the cabin even as he sprawled between her legs, eating her out at thirty thousand feet in the air. Her hips moved, jerking, as if trying to follow his fingers, and he knew he couldn’t let up now. To do so would mean she’d have to chase her orgasm all over again, and the way she was clenching around him, the lips of her pussy swollen with need, she was close. So close. So he continued, mentally chanting his own poem.
Come for me, Violet. Come on my face, on my lips, and let me taste your sweetness.
A few more rubs and arches of her back, and he felt her entire body shiver, and then she gave a little cry of release. Her legs jerked on his shoulders, and he felt her pussy clench hard at his fingers, felt her clit quiver under his tongue.
Perfection. He groaned his own pleasure at her response and kept licking and stroking, dragging out the orgasm to enhance her pleasure for as long as possible. She writhed against him, his name dragged out of her lips like a benediction. “Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan.”
“This pleasure’s all for you, Violet,” he rasped against her soft, dewy skin. “I’d give this to you every day if you’d let me. There’s nothing better than making you wet with need, and watching you squeeze around my hand.”
She moaned, her hips riding his fingers as she lost herself in the orgasm, and he felt stark pride at how disheveled, pleased, and thoroughly fucked she looked.
He’d done that to her.
He pulled away from that sweet cradle of her hips, bitterly reluctant but knowing he couldn’t stay there all night. At least, not yet. Maybe in a week or two she’d let him feast between her legs for hours on end. For now, he’d be content with whatever scraps of attention she gave him.
But most of all, he had to act as if this were no big deal. As if they were just friends. Friends with benefits.
His lip curled at the thought.
He’d give his “friend” so many benefits her head would spin. He’d give her so many goddamn benefits that her legs wouldn’t be able to hold her upright.
And then he’d see if she just wanted to be friends with him.
So Jonathan got to his feet and licked the taste of the woman he loved off of his lips. “I’ll get a towel for you.”
Under the pretense of retrieving a towel, he left to go jerk his cock in the airplane’s tiny bathroom so she wouldn’t see his need and feel obligated to reciprocate.
He hated that fucking word, obligated.
—
Violet stared at Jonathan’s bronzed shoulders as he stalked toward the airplane bathroom at the back of the jet. She was dazed, and breathless, and just all over . . . wow.
Okay, so he’d learned a few things since they’d last had sex together. The sex had always been great with Jonathan. But that right there? That right there had just blown her ever-loving mind. She’d never come so hard. Hell, she was wondering if she could ever walk again. She felt deliciously, thoroughly used.
And she felt really, really good.
And yet . . . as she watched him disappear into the bathroom, the old doubts resurfaced. Oral sex on an old flame and demanding nothing in return? That wasn’t how friends acted. This? This was a one-way trip back to heartbreak. Some of the things Jonathan had said to her in the heat of passion weren’t the words of a man just having a casual diddle with his “good buddy.” And now that her mind was clearing, she remembered each groan he struggled to hide, the way his lips clung to hers as if he wanted to memorize every caress.
Even though Jonathan was giving lip service to being her friend, he was still the same intense, possessive Jonathan Lyons who had broken her heart the last time.
Violet sat up and straightened her hair, tried to get her racing heart back under control.
No matter how good he was at sex now, fooling around with him could only lead to more hurt. She needed to tell him that they couldn’t do this again. Not if they wanted to maintain their fragile, newly rebuilt friendship.
But as she pulled her shirt over her breasts, she felt suddenly so very tired of the walls she kept erected to keep herself safe. Couldn’t she just relax for one day and not worry about emotions? Couldn’t she just enjoy?
Violet pulled her pants on and lay back in the seat, thinking.
She’d tell him in the morning, when both of them had clear minds and a few hours of distance. Tonight, she’d allow herself to wallow in pleasure for a bit.
TEN
When the plane landed at Santorini’s airport, Violet was roused from her nap by Jonathan’s gentle caress. “Come on, sleepy,” he murmured as he woke her. “Let’s get you to the hotel.”
She might have protested or said something about working on the envelope hunt, but her brain was mush after the intense orgasm she’d had earlier. She’d fallen asleep before he’d even emerged from the bathroom. Now, it was late at night and Santorini was lit up and beautiful, but her eyelids were so heavy they wouldn’t stay up.
She vaguely remembered a taxi ride to the hotel and checking in to the hotel while leaning against Jonathan’s arm, and then sleep. Blissful, delicious sleep.
When Violet awoke the next morning, she was in a room by herself. That was . . . a little disappointing. No, it isn’t, she chided herself. He’s giving you space like you’re always demanding. Still, she glanced around the room, frowning. Where was Jonathan if not with her?
Her gaze fell to a note on the bedside table, scrawled in his familiar bold handwriting.
I’m in room 211 if you need me. Call me when you get up and we’ll have breakfast & plan our next move.—J
She studied the note, looking for hidden meanings, some signal about what they’d done on the plane. Any regret? Any declarations of love? Did “plan our next move” refer to something relationship-wise o
r was she reading too much into it? Violet didn’t know. It seemed . . . awfully casual.
She showered and dressed, opting for jeans and a blousy, off-the-shoulder top with a tank underneath. The time for her schoolteacher armor was past, she supposed. Tucking her hair behind her ears in a nervous habit, Violet dialed Jonathan’s room.
“This is Jonathan,” he answered.
“Hey, it’s me.”
A pause. “Good. You up for breakfast?”
For some reason, his nonchalant tone bothered her. This was Jonathan, Mr. Born-and-Bred-Intensity. Wasn’t he supposed to be reciting poetry to her beauty and vowing that he loved her above all others? That was his normal MO. To have him so casual after the mind-blowing incident on the plane rattled her. She cleared her throat, settling her thoughts. “Breakfast is fine.”
“Downstairs, then? I can be there in ten.”
“See you then,” she said, and hung up, vaguely disgruntled and not sure why. She got up, slicked on a bit more lip gloss, and added a touch of mascara so her eyes would seem bolder, and headed down to the hotel lobby.
The Kallista Hotel hadn’t changed much in the last ten years, and as she walked through the lobby, the Greek columns and tiled floor reminded her of times past. She crossed her arms, feeling vulnerable, and waited for Jonathan in the lobby.
He arrived a few minutes later in his usual casual blazer, T-shirt, and jeans. He was unshaven and his hair was a bit tousled, as if he hadn’t bothered to fix it since it was just Violet he was meeting. She wasn’t sure if that irritated her or if she wanted to run her fingers through his hair and smooth it into place.
“Shall we eat?” Jonathan asked, gesturing at the doorway to the hotel restaurant.
She nodded and let him open the door for her, lost in thought.
They got a table and sat down, ordering a pair of coffees. Jonathan glanced at the menu and set it down, then pulled a small tablet out of an interior pocket of his jacket. “I had scans made of our newest letters while we were flying,” he told her, tapping the screen. “Now that we’re here at the hotel, maybe we can figure out our next move.”