The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(79)

My mouth falls open. “It’s your birthday?”

He chuckles. “I guess it is.”



Four days, four heavenly nights.

This has been the best week of my life.

Sun, laughter, luxury hotel, and Christopher Miles. As if the universe knew we needed this time alone, it delivered.

With every day, every hour . . . every minute, I’ve slipped more and more under his spell. With every breath, fallen just that little bit harder.

With no distractions and being left utterly alone, we’ve bonded in a way I didn’t even know was possible. Sexually, mentally . . . intimately.

So, so close.

It’s our last night in our ritzy hotel room. Christopher starts his bar course tomorrow, and in three days, we leave Spain forever for Germany. I’m excited for what’s to come for us, because so far, our story is incredible.

The television is on softly in the background, and we are lying in bed. My bedside lamp is on, and the rest of the room is in filtered darkness. I have my book in my hand, and Christopher is lying the other way, his head near my feet, perched up on his elbow, staring at me. His finger is trailing up and down my leg as he lies seemingly deep in thought.

“A penny for your thoughts?” I ask.

He smiles softly, his eyes fixed on his fingers as they roam over my skin. “I’m just wondering how it is that the more I have you . . . the more I want you.”

We stare at each other in the darkness.

“Is it always like this?” He frowns. “Is this”—he gestures to the air between us—“normal?”

“No,” I reply without hesitation. “This is not normal. This is . . . special.”

He falls silent again, and I can see his brain ticking a million miles per minute. He has questions. This relationship stuff is all so new for him. “And?” I prompt him. “Ask me anything.”

“Your boyfriend . . .”

“You’re my boyfriend,” I correct him.

“Ex-boyfriend . . .”

“It wasn’t like this,” I reply, reading his mind.

His brow furrows. “How was it different?”

“Well . . .” I pause as I try to navigate just how honest I’m going to be with him. “Looking back, and now that I’ve met you, I don’t think I even really loved him . . . or him me, for that matter.”

“Why?”

“We were kids when we met. We were each other’s first.”

He listens intently.

I smile as I remember. “There was a lot of fumbling around in the dark, and sweetness. We cared for each other for sure, but it wasn’t that raging love that would conquer the world in a war.”

“What is this?” he whispers.

Love.

“You know what it is.”

You love me.

His eyes search mine.

“We could win the war and blow up the world.”

He smiles softly and leans down and kisses my foot before licking it.

Sex between us has hit a new high.

It’s changed.

We don’t always fuck now; sometimes we make love, and I have to say Christopher Miles is the master.

Tender.

Intimate and personal . . . the kissing, the care he takes of me, the way he worships my body . . . he takes me to a higher place than I ever knew existed.

He kisses my foot with an open mouth, his eyes locked on mine. “How long?” he whispers.

We’ve been waiting for my pill to kick in. “We’re good to go.”

His eyes flicker with arousal, and he inhales sharply.

I smile and spread my legs as an invitation. “You got something you want to give to me, baby?”

“Fuck yeah.” He stands and rushes into the bathroom and returns with some towels and a bottle of oil.

He lays the two towels out on the bed and then pulls me up onto my knees as he stands beside it. He lifts my nightdress over my head as he kisses me. He pours a little of the oil on his rock-hard erection, and with his hand over mine, he strokes himself.

I smile against his lips. Dirty bastard.

We kiss as our grip on him gets harder, the jerks almost violent, and I know he’s running on instinct. The primal urge to come inside of me has taken him over, and he is no longer in control.

He turns me away from him and bends me over onto my knees. I feel his stubble on my behind as he licks me.

God . . .

I drop to my elbows to open myself more for him.

He really begins to eat me, and I scrunch the sheets in my hands beneath me.

I need him. I need all of him inside me. I wiggle my behind in a silent invitation. “Fuck me,” I whisper.

I’m not scared anymore. I can ride his dick like a pro now.

He pours oil all over my behind. It drizzles down over my sex, and he rubs it into my swollen lips. “Fuck . . . you look good,” he murmurs. He slides his finger in and then another and then another, with a delicious twist at the end as he warms me up.

“Tell me how hard you’re going to blow,” I breathe.

He chuckles and slaps me hard on the cheek. I jump with a yelp. My skin stings, and I drop my head and smile. This is what he does so well. I’m never quite sure what the hell is happening. There is always an edge of pain with the pleasure he delivers.

So good with a side of ouch.