But this week was different.
This week, Colleen had been shot at by unknown mobsters, fired and hired, was traveling with a hottie who was so good in bed that it made life worth living, and she’d goddamn rescued a girl.
Yeah, Colleen was currently a badass who’d shoved a stolen kid out a window and held off the baddies until she’d gotten away, and she felt like she could rescue the whole damn world just then.
But first, she needed some information, and the hottie was holding out on her.
She stomped into the airplane’s tiny bathroom and tugged on Tristan’s hand, dragging him in after her.
It was small in there.
No matter. They didn’t need to tango for him to spill the information she was entitled to.
And dammit, Colleen was going to get that information out of him. She was a resourceful, intelligent woman who could organize an escape from mafia kidnappers, she reminded herself. Nothing was beyond her.
God, that felt weird.
No, she was a sexy woman who had distracted those mafia dorks with her boobs and witty banter. She could use every one of her assets to get whatever she wanted.
And she wanted to get a clear view of their situation from Tristan.
8
Mile High
Tristan
Tristan paused, chewing on his lip. Again, Jian was near the front of the plane and studiously perusing his phone as if he were absorbed in social media posts or whatever.
And the “whatever” that was absorbing him might be the group chat where all Tristan’s friends’ PAs spilled the beans on their employers. Dammit. “Now’s not the time—”
Colleen said, “You promised. Spit it out, Twist.”
“Don’t call me Twist. Micah and the guys know I hate it, which is exactly why they do it.”
“Fine, Tristan. Spill it, Tristan. Right the hell now, Tristan. How many organized crime groups are trying to kill you?”
Tristan glanced back at Jian, still sitting on the couch at the front of the plane and well within listening distance. The plane’s engines hummed and vibrated the floor under their feet.
Colleen’s gaze followed his. “Oh my God. Just stop.” She grabbed Tristan by his white oxford shirt and backpedaled, dragging him into the tiny airplane bathroom with her.
The bathroom on the private plane was slightly larger than those on a commercial jet, but Tristan was larger than the average guy, both in height and shoulder width. He pivoted sideways as soon as he saw that she meant to drag him in there with her, but his butt and back pressed against the wall as he wedged himself into the space smaller than an apartment closet. “I don’t think we’re going to fit.”
“Don’t quit on me now. Just scoot sideways a little.”
“I did. I can’t move my foot.”
“Sure you can. Just go that way—”
Tristan crammed himself farther into the tiny bathroom, leaning as he tried to move, but his leading foot had encountered something that wouldn’t budge. “I can’t get any farther in here.”
Colleen shimmied her lithe body, her softness jiggling against Tristan’s torso and thighs.
In a minute, there was going to be substantially less horizontal room between them as his dick grew heavy in his pants, responding to her luscious feminine flesh wiggling against him.
Oh, no. “There isn’t room for both of us in here. Maybe Jian can go to the cockpit for a few minutes.”
“If you just move a little farther.”
It was getting worse. “Or we can talk when we get to Phoenix. We’ll have plenty of time then. Even if I say something you don’t like, you can’t jump out of the plane over the Rocky Mountains somewhere. I don’t even think this plane has parachutes.”
Colleen pressed on the folding door, banging it against his shoulder. “I can almost get it closed. Just a little more—”
Yep, there was definitely more all right. “We could sit at a table and speak quietly.”
“You’re just going to try to weasel—Hey!”
Yes, speaking of weasels. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re not taking this seriously!”
“I can’t control it. You’re rubbing against me, and this sort of thing is bound to happen in close quarters.”
“Just concentrate on what we’re talking about.”
The damned thing had snaked upward and was now at full staff, a thick, hard rod in his pants pressed against her stomach. “I’m trying.”
Colleen shuffled sideways, an exquisitely torturous rub through his clothes. He managed not to groan, but his eyes rolled up a little bit.
She hooked a finger through one of his belt loops and dragged him along with her. He didn’t lift his feet as he bobbled sideways but did move several inches until he was again wedged between the wall and her delicious body. The edge of the counter must be digging into her ass, and a sudden vision of picking her up and sitting her on the counter crossed his mind as he figured out that their respective sexual organs would be lined up perfectly if he did that.
Her arm shot out past him, smacking the middle of the folding door and slamming it shut. “Lock it.”
Tristan bent his arm backward but couldn’t reach the lock behind his shoulder. “I can’t. At least the door’s closed.”
“Jesus, I can barely breathe.”
“They’re going to find us dead in here, suffocated, and they’ll assume it must have been murder staged to look like death by misadventure because we’re fully clothed.”
She chuckled, and the puff of her breath warmed his shirt over his heart. “They’ll accuse Jian because he’s the only other one on the plane.”
“Well, we can’t have that, so we’d better get this over with quickly.”
“Yes. Please. How many and who?”
“I thought we’d already gotten the sexual history talk out of the way,” he quipped.
“Seriously!”
Tristan sighed with what little air he had in his lungs. “It’s complicated.”
“Dammit! That’s it! I’m getting a straight answer out of you one way or another.”
“But it is complicated,” Tristan protested, running his hand through his hair.
Underneath his chin, Colleen’s silken brown hair and scalp descended.
Tristan sucked in a deep breath when she’d moved down to the point where he was no longer going to crush her by doing so. “What are you doing?”
As she dropped, his belt unbuckled, and the waistband of his pants loosened. “Hey!”
Her knees drove into his shins, and he spread his legs wide.
Colleen fell to her knees with her legs tucked between his brown loafers, the not-Versace ones.
Due to the tight quarters, he could see her brown hair and pale scalp as her forehead pressed against his navel, but no lower.
His boxer-briefs were shoved down, and the cotton gripped underneath his balls. The cooler air in the bathroom and Colleen’s breath fanned his steel-hard dick.
Tristan bowed his chest inward, hunching his spine, trying to get a better look at what was going on down there.
Colleen’s pink tongue emerged from her mouth and was visible as she licked the length of his cock, over his engorged veins on the shaft, and circled the purple head.