The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(139)

“Is that okay?” I smile.

He bites his bottom lip to hide his smile. “And then are you coming to London with us?” he asks hopefully.

“Hazen doesn’t live in London,” Christopher answers for me. “She lives in the country.”

“Oh.” Eddie frowns as he contemplates the answer.

“You and I will have fun while Christopher is gone.” I smile to try to reassure him.

He nods, and I can tell he’s nervous that Christopher isn’t coming back.

“He’s coming back for you, Eddie, I promise.”

Eddie’s eyes search mine, and then he looks over to Christopher.

“Of course I’m coming back for you. I told you, we belong together,” Christopher tells him.

Ouch . . .

I get a lump in my throat, and I push my chair out in a rush before I make a fool of myself. “I have things to do today. I’ll see you both later?” I stand.

“Okay.” Eddie smiles happily. “Bye.”

“Bye.” I leave the restaurant and walk out of the hostel into the street. I really don’t have anything to do, but I do know that I can’t stay anywhere in the vicinity of Christopher Miles. Onward and upward.

I need to stay strong.



I walk into the communal bathroom just at 11:00 p.m. There are a few showers going, but thankfully it’s reasonably empty.

I left the hostel bar over an hour ago.

It’s hard to be around him, especially when he won’t even look at me. I’m suffering the slowest, most painful kind of fate.

I put my things down on the sink and take a long hard look in the mirror. An unrecognizable sad face stares back at me.

I’ve lost him.

I exhale heavily and walk into the cubicle and turn on the tap. I hang my towel over the hook and undress. I step in and put my head back under the hot water. I’m going to wash my hair to try to make myself feel better.

I step out of the water to grab my toiletries bag, only it’s not on the shelf.

“What the fuck?” I brought it in. I know I did.

Damn it, I left it on the sink out there. I wrap my towel around me and open the cubicle door and come face to face with Christopher. He’s naked, with a white towel around his waist. He’s suntanned and rippled with muscle. His broad chest weakens me at the knees.

Before I can stop myself, I make an audible gasp. “What are you doing?” I stammer.

“Showering.” His eyes drop down my body, and when they rise back to my eyes, they are blazing with desire.

You could cut the air with a knife.

Then he is on me. He slams me up against the wall and grabs a handful of my hair, dragging my head back so that my eyes meet his. “You need to fuck me.”

The air crackles between us.

“I know.”

His lips take mine, and I screw up my face against his. The kiss is wild, crazy, and filled with pent-up emotion.

Mostly hate for what we’ve put each other through . . .

He pushes me into the cubicle, slams the door shut, and then pins me to the wall.

We kiss like our lives depend on it. Emotional overload, and our teeth clash as we lose control.

He tears his towel off, and his large erection springs free. It hangs heavily between his legs, and I whimper as I feel it up against me.

Yessss!

He lifts me, spreads my legs open, and then, holding himself at the base, slides home in one sharp movement.

“Fuck yeah . . . ,” he whispers.

We stare at each other as my body stretches to accommodate him.

Oh . . . I’ve missed him so.

He pulls out slowly and slides in deep. We do this a few times, and then he loses control and fucks me, hard and fast.

Angry.

The sound of our wet skin slapping echoes in the bathroom, and I see stars.

He’s all-consuming as he takes me over, his teeth biting my neck, his hands cupping my ass, his cock stretching me wide open with deep, thick pumps.

But it’s my heart that’s in danger . . . it’s free-falling from my chest, running down the drain with the water.

He’s fucking me like he doesn’t know me, as if we’re strangers.

Maybe we are.

He holds himself deep, and I feel the telling jerk as he comes deep inside my body, and I screw up my face in tears. He never comes before me . . . never once has he done that.

He honestly doesn’t care anymore.

He looks down at me, seeing my tears. His haunted eyes search mine.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers.

He pulls out and rushes from the cubicle. I hear his shower turn on, and I sob silently.

Alone.

He’s washing me off him . . . for the last time.





Chapter 32


We stand in front of the hostel as we wait for the Uber. Eddie is chatting away happily, while Christopher and I are as awkward as fuck.

He won’t even look at me, and all I can do is stare at his beautiful face, hoping to catch a glimpse of emotion.

Any emotion will do.

Last night’s momentary brain snap has reopened the cut, and I’m bleeding out, in need of an urgent transfusion.

The car pulls up, and Christopher pulls Eddie into a hug. “Look after Hazen,” he tells him. “I’ll be back for you in a few weeks, and then we can start our new life in London.”