Phoenix Ablaze

By: Isadora Montrose


“You’re quite a woman,” Pierce said.

“Me?” Diana sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside hers.

“You.” He slipped an arm around her waist and leaned forward to snag a grape. He put it between his lips and set it against hers.

Out of sheer surprise, her lips parted. He bit down and half a grape spurted against her tongue. He licked grape juice off her lips and chewed. Her insides melted. That had to be the sexiest thing she had ever experienced. And he hadn’t even put his tongue in her mouth. Was this a game she could also play?

He put a grape to her lips with his fingers. She bit down on half and felt his smile against her teeth. She licked his lips, enjoying his taste, pulling it into her mouth. They took turns until the bowl was half-empty. She was breathless and giggling, yet having to press her thighs together she was so turned on. This method of sharing grapes was silly, chaste, and hot all at once. And intimate. Very intimate. She couldn’t imagine forgetting what he tasted like.

His laughter died and he pushed the bowl away. “I’m ready for dessert,” he growled.

Diana opened her mouth to tell him that the grapes were all there was, but all she got out was a squeak as his mouth claimed hers at last. He wasn’t rough. And he didn’t thrust his tongue down her throat. But he angled her head gently so he could taste the secret places between her teeth and lips. He sucked lightly on her lower lip. He tasted of grapes and essence of alpha male.

He paused to whisper a question. “What do you like?”

She didn’t know. She knew what she didn’t like. She didn’t like a hard tongue scouring her tonsils. She didn’t like having her hair pulled so hard her neck ached. But Pierce wasn’t doing any of those things. And he didn’t seem to want to.

He kissed his way along her jawline. “Do you like this?” She nodded like a bobble head doll.

He suckled her earlobe and her pussy pulsed and clenched. “Do you like that?” Again she responded like a spring-loaded toy. He made a noise of pure masculine satisfaction and delight.

His tongue traced the curve of her ear and blew softly on the skin he had wetted. She quivered. “How about that?” he asked.

“I like it.” Her voice was a breathy purr she didn’t recognize.

“Good.” He pulled her astride him. Her thighs spread to accommodate his hard hips. She could feel his cock against her mound, although he did not grind her against it. She squirmed a little and felt him buck inside his pants. His fingers played at her waist, stroking little circles through her silky top. His teeth grazed the front of her throat and his tongue swirled in the hollow of her throat.

Suddenly she wanted to touch as she was being touched. She stroked his nipples through his shirt and felt him stiffen. He moaned against her throat. “Do that again, babe.”

In her wildest imaginings, she had not thought she would enjoy a man calling her babe. But the guttural desperation in Pierce’s voice made it the sexiest compliment in the world.


Missiles roared out of an apparently featureless gray landscape. Two screeched past the fighter jet. The third scored a direct hit to the fuselage. The plane lurched sideways. Despite the tight webbing of the seat belts, the pilot and the co-pilot were tossed around in their seats like crash test dummies. The controls went slack in the pilot’s hands. Maj. Pierce D’Angelo wrestled futilely with his joystick. A split second later he accepted that his aircraft was in a nosedive from which he could not divert it.

“Take over,” Maj. D’Angelo ordered his co-pilot.

Lt. Edwin Hatcher was still flipping switches as per standing orders, one hand on his stick. He engaged and attempted to level the plane. His controls were as slack as D’Angelo’s. The plane began to spin as it maintained its downward trajectory.

“Eject,” D’Angelo ordered.

Despite the damage done to the aircraft, the mechanisms that released Pierce’s seat responded smoothly. He was in freefall at the count of three. His parachute deployed precisely fifteen seconds after he pulled the cord. Automatically, he checked for Hatch. The other officer shot past him, chute still unopened, orange ripcord handle gripped in one fist, the attached cord flailing wildly.

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