As the ride continues, he lets go of my hand and brushes my thigh instead. As his fingers inch higher, I return the favor, trailing my fingertips along his inner thigh. His hand reaches my crotch, and he spreads his palm against my mound, thumb grazing my pussy through the thin fabric of this dress.
I shiver and trace the outline of his cock straining against his pants.
All the while, we chat, mostly about the routes I’ve flown before. Both of us pretend we aren’t groping one another in the process, though every now and then one of us will hit a sensitive spot, making the other one gasp faintly. It’s quickly becoming my favorite game; as I relax against him and stroke his cock, his fingers slip beneath my dress to toy with my panties.
He talks about other trips he’s taken, and his favorite spots. He insists that the helicopter tour he once took of Iceland’s Golden Circle, and the volcanoes that lie to the north of it, was the best circuit he ever flew on. I tell him I’m jealous of his travels, and he grins at me, squeezing my pussy slightly at the same time. “Maybe I’ll take you there sometime,” he murmurs, and I swear, just the sound of his voice like that, so close in my ear over the speakers in our helmets, could sustain me all night long.
Over and over throughout the flight, he gets me close to orgasm. But every time, the second he feels my body tense, he draws his hand away. Waits for me to calm down before he starts stroking me all over again. I think I might go crazy. To make matters worse, even after I half-unbutton his pants and wrap my fist around him fully, I can’t seem to make him get close to finishing. He’s way too in control—of everything. It’s frustrating as hell.
I’m nearing another orgasm when the chopper shifts beneath us. We’re pulling into a landing pattern, I realize.
I disentangle myself from his hand for a second to peer out his side of the chopper, and recognize the skyline immediately, even though I’ve never been here. It’s iconic enough that I think anyone would know it at once.
“Vegas?” I raise an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Did you bring me here to gamble away all your savings, or just to buy a few more girls to share me with?”
He laughs. I love his real laugh, the one he lets out when he thinks I’m not really paying attention, or when no one is watching. It’s hearty, deep, full-body. He shakes his head, still grinning. “Relax, hot stuff. We’re here to see a show.” He catches my eye, the smirk deepening. “That is, unless you’re eager to skip the show and get right to making our own.” His hand is back at my center, his fingers wet with my desire. He slides one inside me, so slowly it makes me squirm.
My heart skips, but I tighten my hand around the base of his cock, hard. “You know me. I’m always eager to go. Anytime, anywhere.” I stroke him gently to emphasize that point. But his palm has gone still against my mound, his finger unmoving inside me.
We stare at one another for a long moment, as the chopper lands. The engines cut out overhead, plunging us into sudden ear-ringing silence.
“And you know me,” he finally replies, so softly I almost don’t hear him. “I want to make this last.”
Then he’s pulling out of me, climbing out of the chopper before I can react. In a second, he’s refastened his pants and descended to the landing pad below, offering me his hand. We’ve landed on a rooftop, I realize as I accept his help and jump down beside him. The cool desert night air whips my curls around my face, and I breathe in deep, savoring how dry and chilly it is. The pad beneath us still sizzles with the leftover heat from the sun, but outside Vegas, in the real desert, night is a cold thing.
We stride away from the helicopter. He reaches for my hand, his fingers still wet from being inside me. But I’m annoyed, so I jerk my hand away. In response, he just shrugs and sticks his finger into his mouth. I roll my eyes and look away, but dammit, he knows that it gets me hot to watch him taste me.
The elevator at the far end of the roof takes us straight down to a floor marked stage, where a bellman meets us with flutes of champagne on a tray. He leads us down an empty hallway, and opens a side door, bowing us inside.
We enter a theater like I’ve never seen before. There are acrobats poised all around the stage—we’ve arrived partway into the first act, but it’s a closed balcony, just two little seats all to ourselves, right out in front, closed off by a red stage curtain from the rest of the world. I go to sit down beside him, but Pierce pulls me onto his lap, and I curl up against his chest, hands wrapped around his broad shoulders. He’s still hard. I wriggle a little against him to get revenge, and I’m rewarded with the sensation of his cock twitching against my ass.