The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(107)

“Dad.”

Tristan keeps talking.

“Dad.”

“Dad’s talking, Patrick,” Claire says. “Use your manners, please.”

“Excuse me, Dad!” he screams.

The whole table stops talking, and Tristan looks across the table, startled. “Yes, Patrick, what is it?”

“I want fries tonight.”

Tristan looks at him deadpan and sips his beer. “That’s great, buddy. You do that.”

Jameson chuckles, and I try not to smile. It’s obvious the boys are pretty full on.

We chat, and we laugh, and this isn’t what I expected at all.

Harry reaches over and knocks his drink over. It spills all over the table, and Tristan reaches over and mops it up with a napkin as he talks, totally unfazed.

Dinner comes, and we eat as we talk. It’s delicious.

They all make me feel so welcome, and the conversation isn’t forced at all.

Patrick reaches over and knocks his drink over too. Tristan rolls his eyes. “Fuck me dead,” he mouths to Jameson, who is chuckling again.

“Jay.” Emily rubs her chest. “I’m getting angina.”

“That makes two of us,” Tristan mutters dryly as he mops up the mess. “You keep that baby inside of you, Anderson. I’ve got enough on my plate out here.”

“Table,” Jameson corrects him.

I giggle as I watch. Everyone is laughing and talking through the messy chaos, and nobody is batting an eyelid.

I glance across the table to Christopher; his eyes hold mine, and he gives me the best come-fuck-me look of all time.

The air crackles between us as we stare at each other.

Him, his family, these kids . . . the night went well.



Christopher opens the front door and pulls me into the apartment. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

“No thanks.”

He leads me in by the hand and hesitates as he looks up the stairs. “That’s right, we’re burning that bed in the Tinder auditorium, aren’t we?”

I smile, grateful that he can find the joke in it.

He pulls me up the hall downstairs. “Although for future reference, I want it noted that I have never been on Tinder.” He pushes me into a spare bedroom. “We’ll need to burn this bed tomorrow too.” He kisses me roughly as he walks me backward into the room. “It’s your moans that will be ingrained into the paint.”

With his eyes locked onto the task in front of him, he undoes the tie and slowly slides my dress off over my shoulders and throws it onto the floor.

I stand before him in my sexy black lace underwear, and his dark eyes hold mine as he drops to his knee in front of me.

He kisses my hip bones and then my lower stomach, and I feel like I can’t breathe as I watch.

Everything is intensified between us. It’s like we’ve hit a higher level of consciousness.

Things are different now that I know who he really is. He could have any woman in the world, and yet he loves me.

A simple country girl.

He kisses me tenderly through my panties, and his eyes close in ecstasy.

I love this man.

He drops lower and licks up my inner thigh as his dark eyes hold mine. He turns his head and gently bites my thigh again.

Thump, thump, thump, sounds my heartbeat in my ears, and I try to calm my breathing.

He nips my sex through my panties and inhales sharply as his hand goes to his cock. He rearranges it in his pants as if it’s painfully crumpled.

He slides my panties down my legs and takes them off, and I stand before him in stilettos and a black lacy bra.

He hasn’t tried to take my shoes off, so I’m assuming he wants them left on.

He’s so naughty.

With his eyes locked on mine, he runs his fingertips through the lips of my sex. His fingers glisten with the evidence of my arousal, and then he puts them in his mouth and sucks them.

Fuck.

My arousal hits fever pitch.

He stands and walks around me. His eyes are hungry as they drink in every little detail of my naked skin, a hunter sizing up his prey.

He’s different . . . darker.

More in tune with himself, but maybe he’s just being his true self now.

I had the backpacker version . . . now I’m getting the billionaire in all his dirty glory.

He walks behind me and unlatches my bra and slowly takes it off. His hands come around, and his thumbs swipe over my hardened nipples. His teeth graze my earlobe, and goose bumps scatter over my skin.

“Bend over,” he says. His voice is deep and husky.

I frown, not understanding. “What?”

“Bend. Over.”

I bend over, and he inhales sharply as he stares at my sex.

“Good girl,” he coaches me.

Bang, bang, bang, goes my heart in my chest as I lean over. My hands are on my knees.

“Straighten your legs.” He taps my feet and spreads them apart. He touches the fronts of my knees, insinuating he wants me to straighten.

Jeez . . . I’d better start stretching up. I’m not a contortionist, you know.

He stands behind me and runs his hand up my spine. I look through my legs to see the huge bulge in his pants, and I smile.

Dirty bastard.

Without warning, he grabs a handful of my hair and tears my head back. He slides three fingers deep into my sex. My knees go weak.