Point of No Return, Book 2
He was looking for redemption. Instead, he found her.
After a rocky start, former Navy SEAL-turned-astronaut Ryan “Ty” Tyler and nerdy flight psychologist Gray Barrett found they worked well together. Ty managed to tame his playboy reputation, and cautious Gray got her first taste of adventure. They had a good thing going. Until a good thing turned into a smoking hot thing…and that turned into a falling-in-love thing
Now Ty’s facing an impossible choice. Shake the demons of his past, or give up a future with the only woman he could ever love.
From USA Today Bestselling author Brenna Aubrey: Don’t miss this emotional conclusion to Ryan & Gray’s stunning duet, lauded as “sharp, sensitive” and “pretty wonderful” by the New York Times book review.
Read an Excerpt
Suddenly, I felt a cold sensation on my upper shoulder, just below my neck. I turned, and Ryan was right behind me. “What was that?”
“I think I accidentally spilled frosting on you. Here.” He traced a path along the top of my shoulder toward my neck, and I involuntarily shivered. In response, his other hand came up and cupped my other shoulder and his head dipped down to land right where he’d put the frosting.
Right there. In that spot. He was licking and sucking, getting every last bit as his hands traveled down my arms, clamping around my elbows to hold me still.
“Accidentally, huh?” I rasped, my voice sounding alien to my own ears. Likely it was my aroused voice. And likely he knew exactly what it meant when I talked this way.
He was an expert at turning me on and doing it quickly. Zero to Mach 5 in seconds flat. Probably easier than flying his training jet. My panties were already wet, and my nipples were painfully hard and probably very visible under my thin tank top.
I cleared my throat. “I, uh.” And cleared my throat again. “Have another batch to do.”
Without a word he reached out and turned off the oven. “Let’s hit pause on that little project for now,” he said in that low, gravelly voice of his. His aroused voice. I knew that voice, too, and it usually seemed in perfect sync with the tight squeezing sensation in my belly and lower that screamed for his hands and mouth—and other parts—to ease the tension and bring release.
“You are a wicked, wicked man.”
“This I already know,” he said between more kisses on the back of my neck that sent electric shocks down my spine and wound that tension deep inside me even tighter.
I spun in his arms, and though I could barely reach it, I managed to scoop up my own dollop of frosting from the edge of the metal mixing bowl. He watched me then raised his brow to ask the unspoken question—where are you going to put that?
My answer? I grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and rucked it up, holding it just below his collar, then liberally spread the frosting across his upper abs. Double yum.
He sucked in a quick breath, and that was enough to get me diving right in. “Mmm. What kind of mess do we have here? Better start cleaning up.”
The frosting was sweet, creamy. Delectable, really. Buttercream was delicious. Buttercream slathered across Ryan’s rock-hard abs? Perfection.