Which of course was what Jack was telling her with the heat of his kiss. His submissive stint could evaporate at any moment. A power play that stirred her all the more.
He pulled away, slowly, sank into the chair. She circled around to face him, his arms splayed on the rests, his knees wide enough apart for her to step between them.
She brought one of her booted feet up to rest on his thigh. "Remember when I said I wanted you to undress me?"
Masculine approval rumbled low in his throat an instant before his fingers set to work on the long laces on her desert-tan combat boots. With expert touch, he freed the knots, constraints loosening, pressure releasing around more than her foot.
The boot thudded to the side and before the echo finished, Jack had one hand up the leg of her flight suit. Strong fingers caressed past her ankle. Without once looking away from her face, he lowered her sock, peeled it away in a sensual massage over her calf that left her swaying long before he repeated the ritual with her other boot.
He rubbed from her heel to her arch. "You have the sexiest feet."
"Feet? Korba, I think you're losing your touch."
Bold, calloused fingers played over her skin, behind her knee to linger on a sensitive patch of skin that threatened to buckle her other knee from under her.
As always, Jack rose to the challenge. "Really?''
"Keep on convincing me."
"This bossy gig of yours is starting to grow on me." His hands stroked up her thighs, over her quivering belly to cup the undersides of her breasts, tormenting her with the knowledge that too much fabric kept them from skin-to-skin contact. "I seem to recall your saying something about wanting my hands on you, undressing you, watching me see you."
He skimmed her flight suit down over her shoulders, loosened the Velcro around her wrists with expert hands until the uniform slid, pooled around her feet. "And I do enjoy seeing you, Mon."
His eyes scorched every inch of her bared skin, heating through the pale cream cotton of her sports bra and high-cut panties.
She knew he was subtly reassuring her without blatantly throwing the former wife issue out there like a bucket of ice water. Even thinking about the subject on her own was chilling enough. So she refused to think. Only feel. Take this moment.
Take Jack.
Monica canted forward until her mouth met his. The chair wheeled backward across the floor. Jack's hands clamped around her waist, steadying her with broad palms against tender flesh.
Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her while she brought her legs up to kneel, straddling his thighs. The snug confines of the chair pressed her flush against him. The chair bumped to a stop against the desk with her bag and gear.
After three and a half months without him, Monica indulged herself to the fullest with the breadth of his shoulders under her hands, the musky scent of him around her, the taste of his salty skin as she nipped his neck.
Jack peeled her sports bra over her head and sent it fluttering to the floor like a white flag of surrender. He filled his hands with her breasts, lifted, dipping his head to draw on the hardened nipple already sensitive, needy, while his thumb brushed, circled attention on her other.
Greedy for the feel of more of him, Monica crawled her fingers down his chest and yanked up his T-shirt. Since she couldn't get him na*ed without standing, she thanked heaven for the long zipper on his flight suit that still gave her easy access to him. All of him.
She freed him from his boxers. His fingers twisted in the fabric of her panties, the power play of restraint continuing. Who would give first? She stroked down, slow, up again.
His clenched fingers tugged, pulling cotton tighter along her hip, almost cutting into her skin until...her panties snapped. He tugged, tore and flung away the underwear along with any remaining barrier between them.
Her aching br**sts rubbing against his chest, she took his mouth, ready, needy for more. She flung one hand out to the side, to her bag, searched by touch through the stacks of clothes, flinging T-shirts aside until her fingers closed around...oh, yes...the box of condoms. With fumbling fingers, she filched one free and smacked it against Jack's chest.
He looked down, smiled. "Maybe you weren't so sure you could write me off after all."
"Jack."
"What, Mon?"
"Now's not the time to talk about how damned weak I am around you."
She rolled the condom down his erection in a tantalizing swipe that left them both panting.
Conversation over.
Monica positioned him, stopping just shy of penetration, teasing herself against him, her slick readiness already working to welcome him even as she rocked the tip of him against her. She needed to hear him frantic for her after all the times she'd begged him to take her. To finish. But he'd always continued with his measured pace, dragging out the tension.
Suddenly she realized what had bothered her earlier. He'd always held back emotionally, as well, the physical restraint being a symbol of that. She'd wondered if life simply wasn't that deep for Jack Korba. Now she knew better. He just hadn't allowed her admittance into that part of his life.
She didn't doubt he wanted her and enjoyed the hell out of sex with her. But at least once, she wanted to make him feel as over the edge as he made her feel. This time, she wanted to torment him.
Monica eased herself down, just an inch, no more regardless of how much her body screamed at her to take all of him. She eased up again. Then back down, no farther. Never looking away from him as she repeated the teasing partial entry for endless seconds, minutes, she lost count and was close to losing the battle...
"Enough," he snapped. Not a litany of begging but the need in the one word, the near-painful clench of his fingers on her h*ps sent a bolt of satisfaction through her.
He guided her down and met her with an upward thrust of his hips. The fullness, the thick pressure held her still, him as well, until her body became accustomed to him again.
Jack moved, moved again, and oh, how he moved with driving possession, faster, deeper. The familiarity of it all swept over her with a rightness tinged by a new edge—the knowledge of what it felt like to lose this. The undeniable sense that they could still lose it all if they couldn't figure out how to be together without tearing each other apart.
And damn, but the pleasure building inside was threatening to tear her apart right now. She held back. Stemmed the tide of her orgasm already clawing deep inside her for release. His hand dropped between them, found the pulsing bundle of nerves. The battle of wills stormed and, damn him, he was going to win.
The pad of his thumb circled harder, more insistently, until—
He stopped.
His fingers left her to be replaced by the cool brush of air.
"Jack," she gasped, biting back her cry of frustration that would lead her to beg him to finish when she wanted him to be the one weak with want.
Splaying his one hand along her waist, another under her bottom, he stood, taking her with him, their bodies still joined as fully as their mouths. She swung her legs around his waist, her arms hooked around his neck.
He sure as hell wasn't weak at the moment.
"Urn, Jack? What are you—"
He walked. Pleasure rippled through her.
Oh, my, how he walked. Something she would never be able to watch him do again without thinking about this moment and the sensation of Jack's h*ps rolling with every step, nudging him deeper. Tantalizing her, increasing the building pressure then easing off without granting release, only to start the hip-rocking process all over again.
Sweat slicked her body. Or his. She wasn't sure, only knew the familiar musky scent of them together swirled around her, arousing.
"Where are we going?" Not that she particularly cared as long as he had a destination in mind for this endless torment.
She should have known he would outlast her as he always did, damn him. Her eyes fluttered open. Restraint pulled his jaw tight, turned his eyes hard.
Yes. This was costing him every bit as much as it was her. There was some victory in that at least.
He crossed the threshold into the bathroom cubicle, gently lowered her to the vanity. Cool porcelain met heated flesh. The damp warmth of his skin peeled away from her as he knelt in front of her.
Enough incentive to close her eyes again. Her fingers twisted in his hair, his hands clasping, supporting her legs, spreading her wider to accept the first tantalizing flick of his tongue.
Thank heaven for the bracing support of his shoulders against her thighs or surely she would have melted off and to the floor in a boneless mass of languid pleasure.
Her fingers fisted tighter along with the thready need to finish. Enough dragging this out, her game of enticement had turned on her. Jack's infinite patience always stretched her beyond her comfort zone into a pleasure that bordered on painful need.
More insistently, firmer, he worked her. The knowledge that she couldn't do more than moan softly without risking the intrusion of an entire security force drove her insane. A scream of release built, swelled, fuller from being repressed.
Jack, no more.
She wasn't sure if she groaned it aloud or simply thought it. Before she could reason enough to decide, he stopped.
He stood, her legs sliding to wrap around his waist. His palms flattened to the sides of the mirror behind her head before he drove home. Hard, deep, insistent.
Once. Twice.
Enough.
She bit his shoulder to stifle her scream of release. Her fingers groped for a firmer hold along his sweat-slicked back, dug, held as he bucked against her, pulsed, muffled his shout in her hair.
Aftershocks rippled through her, through him and back again to her, triggering another release. Muffled moans mingled with her name, his, until they both sagged back against the sink jabbing into her skin.
She dusted a kiss across his shoulder over the reddening patch already purpling where she had nipped him. So much for controlled emotions around Jack.
With Monica's body draped against his in the shower, Jack wondered when this woman in his arms would quit surprising the hell out of him. She'd sure knocked him on his ass with her "bossy" scenario.
Finally he'd gotten her into the shower, his original destination, but he'd been too overwhelmed to make it beyond the bathroom sink. And then overwhelmed all over again in the shower stall.
Just the memory of her hot mouth wrapped around him minutes ago left him aching to have her again. But first he needed to find his footing. He hadn't expected the night to end this way once he'd started telling her about Tina. No shit, he wasn't lying about being new to this deep-water stuff and he wanted some lighter ground back ASAP. "So what was your talent?''
"Huh?" Monica stared at him with dewy-dazed eyes, droplets clinging to her lashes from the spray beating against his back.
"For the Miss Texas Pageant. What was your talent?"
Smack. She swatted his wet butt. "Not funny, Korba."
Oh, yeah, lighter ground and familiar territory. "I knew you'd get around to spanking me eventually."
Her laugh floated on steam. "You can be such an ass."
"Flaming batons? 'Beer Barrel Polka' on the accordion, followed by the chicken dance?" He danced her right against the tile wall.
Her hands gripped his buttocks. "Are you mocking my scholarship pageant experience?"
"Not a chance. Just trying to satisfy my burning curiosity." He rocked his h*ps against her, something else entirely burning hot. "Yodeling? Because if fifteen minutes ago was anything to judge by, you yodel mighty damned good."
Smack.
"Please say you worked world peace in there somewhere."
Her cat eyes narrowed. "That was number two on my platform, right behind having all fliers neutered."
"Ouch! That one hurt worse than a spanking."
"Serves you right." She settled against him again, steaming water streaking over their wellwashed bodies. "Do you really want to know?"
"Yeah, Mon, I want to know everything about you." Uh-oh. Seriousness slid in like a bogey from his six o'clock.
She hooked a finger in his dog tags, tugged him down, closer, until they stood nearly nose to nose. "I gave a demonstration on how to organize cabinets."
"Really?"
"No, you idiot." She released his dog tags to clank against his chest.
He traced the path of her dog tag chain down the side of one breast, up the side of the other. "But I'm an entertaining idiot."
"That you are." She kissed the base of his neck, sipped away a taste of the water with a flick of her tongue. "I needed money for med school. I've always wanted to be a doctor. Always. The military part came later and I'll thank God for the rest of my life for the fact that I ended up in an ROTC recruiting office all because I tripped on the hem of my dress during the evening gown competition. First runner-up only gets enough scholarship money for books along with a one year's supply of beef jerky."
No self-pity for this lady, she always met life head-on, made her own way. A veritable mountain of will.
The damned persistent bogey slid in with a memory of the strain stamping her face back at the luggage hangar. He kissed the side of her brow. "Sorry Yasmine spilled it all out there."
"It's done. And there certainly are worse call signs than Tiara."
"Amen to that. Just ask poor ole Booger."
Her light laugh caressed his neck. His arms looped around her waist, hers around his. If only things could stay this warm and simple, he'd be a happy man.
"I'm sorry about your wife."
Well, hell. So much for wishes. He wasn't going to get away with light and easy any longer, not that Monica had ever let him take the easy way out. His hopes for an uncomplicated relationship like with Tina were as gone as she was.
"Me, too." His chin fell to rest on Monica's damp head and he let the water beat some sense into him. "And for what it's worth now, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I could make excuses, but when I line them up now, they all sound lame-ass and I owe you better than that."
"Where do we go from here?''
At the moment he was so damned glad to have her back in his arms again, he didn't want to worry about the rest. Of course, that hadn't worked with Monica in the past. "I still don't understand why the hell we have to make permanent decisions now, but I get that you need a clear plan."
"Progress." She smiled against his chest.
He crooked a finger under her chin to tip her face up to him. "But I'm not going to let you lead me around by the nose for four years like you did with that wimpy-ass Hunter while you make up your mind if you like the plan or not."