Authors: Katie Porter
The question in her voice was unavoidable. She was still made of
at least
fifty percent scared little girl. Even a miniscule clue about his reaction would give her the nerve to ask outright.
“Oh, yeah?”
Well, there were way worse replies.
She burrowed her nose, eyes, forehead into the nearest pillow. In her mind she pictured how fantastic he’d looked the other night after she quit Blakely’s. The sleep-mussed hair. The bare feet and the open fly of his jeans. She wanted that. For a good long time. That meant making them more permanent, by tiny steps. He would be
so
worth it.
So in she jumped. Again.
“Do you think you might want to go? I mean, I know meeting my parents is a big thing. I’d understand if you don’t want to.”
“I’ll go.”
“You will?” Her head popped up as if powered by jack-in-the-box springs. The fat, chugging beat of her heart became thin and fast.
Racing
. Giddiness sped around her body, animating each cell. “That’d be great. The last guy I brought around to their place was Tommy.”
“And we both know you’ve upgraded.”
“Ha! Watch the ego, Mister Fighter Pilot.”
He laughed. “That’s
Major
Fighter Pilot.”
“I’m warning you, though. They can be overwhelming. Lots of big personalities. They’re good people, though.”
“I’m not surprised. They raised you, after all.”
“Dang, you’re suave.”
“So you’ve said. Or gasped and screamed, more like.”
Ooh, but he was lowdown. Because gasping and screaming was exactly what she had in mind. He was miles away, which didn’t settle right on her heart.
The movie ended almost in tandem with the return of her restless arousal. It was probably time to sign off and go to sleep. She hugged the phone to her ear, not wanting to end their connection.
She had it bad.
Cass slipped her hand beneath the comforter, touching herself. She was wet already, primed and ready to go. The whole conversation had been one long foreplay session—not because they talked dirty, although the occasional innuendo was unavoidable. It was his voice, his humor, his quiet intelligence. Rarely had she felt so special.
She flipped off the TV. Sure enough, he was right—the question on her tongue became so much easier to speak. “What are you wearing?”
Ryan’s low chuckle was a caress in the darkness, petting along her nerve endings. Languid heat spread across her skin like warm water. “Isn’t the guy supposed to ask that?”
“Go ahead, then.”
“What are you wearing?”
“A pink T-shirt.”
She heard his heavy swallow even over the phone. “That’s it?”
“Oh, and my pigtails. I was thinking of you.”
He moaned softly.
Well, that was interesting. Maybe the either/or option she’d considered earlier didn’t apply. If they
both
enjoyed the roleplaying…
Luckily, this was an experiment she could easily conduct. Just like before, the worst case would be if he didn’t go for it. She had to try. She didn’t want to bury her head in pillows and cloak her fears in darkness. Not with Ryan.
Bold. Daring. She could do that. All she needed to do was consider the potential payoff. They didn’t need to sacrifice amazing on the altar of
safe
. Her fighter pilot deserved better, and so did the woman who wanted to be his.
So all that remained was whether she could sound like a sex goddess. She certainly felt like one when she was with Ryan.
This was it. Time to give it a try. There in the dark, she convinced herself that she had nothing to lose.
“You’ve reached Cassandra’s midweek phone-sex hotline,” she said, pitching her voice to a slightly husky English accent. “How can I help you?”
Silence.
For the first time since touching herself, she pulled her finger away from her clit. She heard his breathing. That was all. Her insides twisted in crazy, hideous contortions. Waiting. Waiting for him to say
anything
. Even just “knock it off” would be better than nothing. At least then she’d know.
She let out a shivering breath. His name was on her tongue, to be followed by an apology—probably one steeped in giggling embarrassment.
Then came his whisper. “Don’t stop.”
A heavy, blazing thrill seemed to press her into the mattress. What she’d felt when he agreed to go to her parents’ Memorial Day barbeque was nothing compared to this relief. It wasn’t just her. She wasn’t alone in thinking this was sexy as hell.
“Hello?” she said, accent in place. “Fellow, this is costing you $1.99 per minute. Either hang up or let’s talk.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Then I’ll make it easy on you,” she said softly. “What are you wearing?”
“Boxer briefs.”
“Take them off, please.”
After a quick rustle, his breathing became ragged in her ear. She closed her eyes, picturing him lying in the dark, his hand stroking that thick miracle of a cock. Her fingers returned to the slick folds of her pussy. She let a sultry smile shine through in her voice.
“You have quite the prick, I’m sure. You’re hard for me, yes, my darling?”
“Very.”
“If I were there with you right this moment, I would watch you work. The tendons of your wrist as you stroked. The flare of your nostrils as you inhaled. The fast rise and fall of your magnificent chest. My pleasure would be in soaking up each detail, everything that says you’re utterly mad for me.” She didn’t know about Ryan, but the frankly sexual talk was doing a serious number on her head. The slip-slide of her arousal had flared to a backdraft. “Are you there, my big boy?”
“Yes.” He was breathless now, the word harsh.
“Oooh, good. Because I’m so very hot for you. I’m touching my pussy.”
Another moan. That rumble brought her closer. So close now.
“Do you know,” she said hoarsely, “what we English girls like best in the bedroom?”
“Tell me.”
“Why, my good fellow, we simply
adore
a good…hard…spanking.”
Ryan grunted the word “fuck” and sank into another groan, this one long and unmistakable. Letting go of all her tension, Cass dedicated herself to her own pleasure. Lordy it came fast. Every giddy, crazy, sexy thing they’d shared came crashing down—especially his last satisfied groan.
She’d
done that. A rush of power threaded through her desire, higher, until her orgasm left her gasping his name.
The bedroom shadows eased into focus. Oh, but she felt good. Rather than spoil the moment by trying to analyze what they’d done, she said, “Lovely, my darling boy. So lovely.”
And hung up.
This was definitely an experiment she needed to try again. Cass eased toward sleep with her body sated and her mind awash in possibilities.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Whitman home was a sprawling tract house in the tidy suburb of Henderson. Red Spanish tiles covered the roof. The walls were a brownish stucco, and dark green trim surrounded the doors and windows. The front yard had been carefully landscaped with pea gravel and arrangements of desert plants. There was even a white picket fence, though it was in miniature and surrounded a cactus garden nestled along the walls.
With Cassandra’s hand snug within his, Ryan had a weirdly nostalgic feeling as he walked up the flagstone pathway to the front door. He’d always wanted a house like this one. Nothing huge. Just a neatness that said the owners cared about their home and family.
Meanwhile, he was about to walk in holding the hand of their daughter—with whom he’d had kinky phone sex. Not just phone sex, but a serious mind fuck when she’d slipped into a naughty English accent and worked him like a pro.
Again
. As if she had a direct line to exactly what wrenched him into knots—what he’d been trying to ignore for weeks.
“You ready?” she asked.
He shifted the huge bowl of fruit salad propped under one arm. Cassandra had prepared it, but he’d insisted on carrying it for her. “I fly planes and bomb the hell out of bad guys. Why wouldn’t I be ready for your family?”
She patted his biceps. “It’ll be okay. You don’t have to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” he said, but even he heard the tension threading through his voice.
Parents loved him. They always had. They’d loved him way back in high school, when anyone in their right mind would have kept their daughters way away from him and his trashy mother. Not many had looked past his role as the school’s quarterback hero. He’d been able to charm them too by being forthright about his intentions. Since he had a plan—going to college and then flying—he hadn’t been about to screw up anyone else’s life.
This was different. Explaining why was beyond him, but it was.
Cassandra didn’t knock, instead just throwing open the door and calling out, “We’re here.”
A middle-aged, slightly faded copy of Cassandra emerged from what must’ve been the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Hey, darling.”
The women hugged, then Cassandra stood with an arm looped around her mother’s shoulders. “Mom, this is Major Ryan Haverty. Ryan, this is my mom, Betsy.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Major Haverty, happy to meet you.”
They shook hands. “Please, call me Ryan.”
“Only if you promise to call me Betsy.” Her bright smile was an exact mirror of Cassandra’s. She was still slim too, probably from regularly leading hiking trips.
“I see where Cassandra gets her good looks.”
“Oh, you are a smooth one, aren’t you?” She laughed and shook her head as she led them down a hallway lined with pictures of Cassandra and another girl. “Did Cass tell you how happy we were that she dumped that scumbag and quit the restaurant? So far you seem like a definite improvement.”
“Mom,” Cassandra moaned. “There’s no reason to get into any of that.”
Betsy waved the dishcloth at her daughter. “There’s no reason not to. When you got rid of Tommy, we all cheered. No harm in telling the truth.”
When Ryan smothered a laugh, Cassandra slugged him in the shoulder. He brushed a kiss over her cheek in apology.
They emerged into a comfortable family room. A huge sectional couch in brown leather took up most of two walls. The third supported an enormous flat-screen TV. “Now this is the life.” Ryan laughed.
“I thought you’d like it.” Betsy’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Now, where did I put that man?”
“Dad’s not a footstool, Mom.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “He
is
able to move under his own power.”
“Pish, I know that. I just thought he’d be watching the coverage.”
They followed Betsy through a set of French doors that opened onto a wide deck. “The coverage?” Ryan echoed.
He felt like he’d lost the thread of the conversation. Being part of a close family must be like that—already knowing what the other person was talking about. He had no frame of reference.
Cassandra laced her fingers through his. “The Indianapolis 500. Dad’s a freak for anything that drives fast. If we stick around too long, we’ll be sucked into watching the NASCAR race this evening too.”
“If anyone around here understands the appeal of fast cars, I’d be willing to bet it’s this guy.” Mr. Whitman stood over a barbeque that was just heating up. He was a tall man, only a couple inches shorter than Ryan. “I’m Keith.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
They shook, then Keith shrugged at his wife. “It was a commercial break. Thought I’d get the barbeque up and running.”
“What, so you can let it sit there until the race finishes? Go sit. Enjoy.”
Keith waved her off, reaching for the bowl of fruit salad. His knuckles were pretty gnarled for a man his age. Ryan might have stared if Cassandra hadn’t told him about her dad’s arthritis, her voice laced with worry.
“Let me take that from you.” Keith placed it on a table against the side of the house, which was covered with plates and platters of everything from pasta salad to a cheese plate. He aimed a tsking noise at Cassandra. “Not that you had to bring anything, little girl.”
Ryan quirked an eyebrow. “Little girl?”
“I’m younger than Emily by two years,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll always be the little one. Nothing I can say changes his mind.”
Next Ryan was introduced to Cassandra’s sister, Emily, and her family. Her husband Robert was hippy-dip granola with his goatee and longish hair, but he seemed like a nice guy. Their daughter was about seven and looked an awful lot like the picture of Cassandra with her teeth missing, except that young Claire’s hair and eyes were brown.
She looked up at him with a teddy bear under one arm. “You fly planes?”
Ryan hadn’t ever had much interaction with kids. He glanced around for some help, but Cassandra had abandoned him. She stood at the food table with her mom and sister, chatting away. “I do.”
“Does that mean you’re in the Army?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um, no. I’m in the Air Force. The Army only has helicopters.”
“My grandpa was in the Army. A long time ago. I like the Army best. See?” She held up the bear, which was white and sparkly but inexplicably dressed in a tiny pink T-shirt and camo pants. “Susie’s an Army bear. She’s from Build-A-Bear. She fights bad guys.”
“Well, dang.” He pulled from his pocket the toy he’d bought on impulse during his lunch hour on Thursday. He’d been in the BX, picking up a Red Bull and a Slim Jim in order to get back to his maintenance logs, when he spotted it. When he’d realized it was even painted in Aggressor gray like his jet, he plunked it down onto the register. “I think Susie’s too big to fly this.”
Claire’s big brown eyes went huge. “No, I think she could. She’d fit.” She nodded earnestly. The thick bangs cut across her forehead wiggled with the move. “She would.”
“Then I think maybe she should have it.”
After snatching it away, Claire threw a “Thank you” over her shoulder as she ran to show her mom.
The women leaned down in tandem. Though Emily had light brown hair like Keith, the three shared a significant strain of resemblance. More than that—they even moved in similar ways. As one, they looked up from Claire to smile at him.