The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(75)

“Of course.”

“Lecture her about being messy?” I ask.

“On the hour.”

I giggle. “Looks like nothing is changing, then.”

He kisses me softly, his lips lingering over mine, and I begin to feel a rush of arousal building.

“And what about other fuck dolls?” I ask.

“What about them?” His eyes hold mine.

“You tell me.”

“There’ll be no other fuck dolls, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I smile up at my man.

“Unless . . . we could have a threesome sometime. That’s okay if you’re there, though, right?”

My eyes widen in horror.

He pokes me in the ribs. “Got you,” he teases.

“That’s not remotely funny,” I snap.

“Although, we are going to the sex shop today,” he says as he pulls me by the hand out of bed.

“What for?”

“I need to buy you a vibrator.”

“What?” I gasp. “You have more than enough dick for the both of us.”

He chuckles as he pulls me into the bathroom. “That’s the problem. I need a warm-up toolbox.”

I stare at him as he turns on the shower.

“What’s a warm-up toolbox?” I ask.

“Toys for us to play with to stretch you out when I’m not lost in the moment.” He pulls me in under the water and soaps up his hands and begins to wash my back.

What the hell?

“What’s wrong with being lost in the moment?” I ask as he massages my shoulders from behind.

He kisses my ear. “See how sore you are today?”

“Yes.”

“I was using about five percent of the tank.”

My eyes widen. That was 5 percent . . . what the actual fuck?

He chuckles and pulls me back toward his body. I feel his hard cock up against my back. “Can’t wait to give you one hundred percent, baby,” he breathes into my ear. Goose bumps scatter up my arms.

His fingers slide down, and he runs them over my back entrance, gently probing me where he shouldn’t. “All barrels, both tanks.” He pushes the tip of his pinkie finger in, and I jump forward and grab onto the tiled wall as my senses go into overdrive. “It’s going to be so fucking hot, Grumps,” he whispers darkly as he massages me there. “I can’t fucking wait.”

Jeez.

I swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I grip the tiles for dear life.

Fuck . . . I’m a real-life sex doll for a perverted deviant.

Let the training begin.



I watch him sip his coffee casually as he reads the morning paper . . . as if he hasn’t just had the world completely rocked to its core.

Or maybe that’s just me . . .

The café we are having breakfast in is busy and bustling. Christopher had an omelet, and I had pancakes. And while he’s completely calm and sated, on the other side of the table is a completely different story. I’m flushed, heated, sated, shocked that I like his depravity, and damn it . . . even a little embarrassed.

We didn’t have sex this morning. We didn’t need to.

He came listening to me moan while he showed me what I’ve been missing in the shower.

I came while being horrified that I liked it.

He sips his coffee, and his dark eyes rise to mine, and I feel myself flush in the face.

He raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”

“Nothing.” I smile bashfully.

He smiles knowingly and goes back to his paper, totally unfazed and utterly gorgeous.

I glance around at the people sitting at the tables in the restaurant. Can they tell what we’ve been doing?

I feel like a teenager again, experiencing everything for the first time.

Sex with Christopher Miles isn’t just sex . . . it’s an apocalyptic event in history.

A revelation for womankind.

Who knew . . .

“What are we doing today, Grumps?” he asks casually.

I smile goofily. More of that . . . please. “I don’t know. We have another night in heaven, so I will need to collect some clothes from the hostel, and then”—I shrug—“what do you want to do?”

“Maybe a swim at the beach.” He twists his lips. “I need a new book to read, and I want to find a sex shop.”

“Shh,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “Keep your voice down.”

He smirks at my embarrassment. “Sex shop,” he mouths.

“What book do you want to get?” I ask to change the subject.

“Don’t know yet. I’ll see what grabs me.” His phone buzzes on the table, and the name Elliot lights up the screen. He answers it. “Hi.” He chuckles and traces his finger in a circle on the table as he listens. “Perfect.”

I listen intently.

“No, it was good.” He smiles. “Thanks for organizing it.”

They’re talking about the hotel room.

“Hayden”—his eyes rise to meet mine—“she was fucking incredible.” He gives me the best come-fuck-me look in all of history.

I feel myself blush.

Jeez. Does he have to tell his brother everything?

“Uh-huh,” he answers, and then he laughs out loud once more. What’s so damn funny?