The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(24)

“Tristan,” I whisper as I fall into role-play.

“Yes.”

“I thought we had something special. How could you do this to me?”

He bites his lip to hide his smile. “That’s more like it.”

“After all we’ve been through, I thought I was the one,” I whisper.

He smiles broadly. He likes this game.

I slide across and lie on top of him. His big arms come around me, and my lips take his.

“I kind of like you being jealous,” he whispers.

I smile against his lips as I circle my sex over his hardened erection. “Did you go to the pharmacy today?”

He chuckles. “I bought in bulk.”

The glimmer of perspiration dusts his skin, and he looks up at me with dark eyes.

Tristan.

Tristan fucking Miles.

Sex-god extraordinaire.

I don’t know if this is the same man I slept with last night. The man with me tonight is an absolute rock star between the sheets. I’m in awe.

We’ve been fucking for hours. Like animals, we can’t get enough. We finish and talk for a little while, and then he kisses me, and the entire process begins again.

It’s like the ultimate marathon.

We’re both wet with perspiration, and I’ve never had sex like this before. “Come on,” he whispers. He wants it harder and tighter. I close my eyes and clench. He has my two hip bones in his hands, and he’s guiding me over his cock and positioning me where he wants me.

His pumps get harder . . . deeper.

“Yes,” he moans. “Fuck yes.” His grip becomes tighter.

I close my eyes as I begin to moan. Fuck . . . how many times can the female body come in one night? This is insane.

“Anderson,” he growls as I lose focus. “Fuck me.”

“Ohh,” I murmur as I stare down at the gorgeous man beneath me. His hair is hanging messily over his forehead, his eyes are dark, and his face is alive with satisfaction. This is his element.

Sex is his thing.

There’s a reason the name Tristan fucking Miles came to me. It was a premonition.

The fucking wasn’t silent; it was a verb.

He flips us so that I am on my back. He lifts my legs and puts them over his shoulders and then comes face to face with me.

And we stop still as we stare at each other.

His body is deep inside of mine; the burn of his rough possession holds me captive.

He smiles softly, and my stomach flutters.

Don’t look at me like that.

“Kiss me,” he breathes. “I need you to kiss me.”

I close my eyes to block him out, because damn. This isn’t what this is about.

I need some distance between us—this is too much. Too intense, too personal.

Too . . . intimate.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

I drag them open.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

“Tris,” I whisper, close to the edge of insanity.

“It’s all right, baby.” He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “I’ve got you.”

My eyes search his. I feel my resistance leave, and as if he senses the exact moment that I hand over my power, his lips take mine.

We kiss for a long time. His tongue swipes through my mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his hips.

He begins to moan—long, satisfied deep breaths—and my head is thrown back into the pillow. “Fuck, Claire . . . this is so fucking good.”

My mouth falls open, and I shudder hard as a freight train of an orgasm rips through me.

His eyes roll back in his head, and then he straightens his arms and widens his legs and slams in deep. He tips his head back and cries out. I feel the telling jerk of his cock as he comes again.

I turn my head to the side to get away. Damn it, he’s under my skin, and I need to get him off.

“Hey,” he says.

I keep my face to the side as I pant. Tears threaten.

I’m completely overwhelmed.

“Anderson.”

I drag my eyes back to him. I like it when he calls me that; it’s playful and mindless . . . not deep and emotional, like how I’m feeling. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and as if reading my mind and knowing exactly what I need in this moment, he says, “You fuck all right for an old duck.”

That was the most unexpected thing I have ever heard. I smirk, then smile, and then break into a chuckle. Oh Lord. This man kills me. I laugh out loud as I stare up at the ceiling. “Only you.”

Unable to hold himself up any longer, he falls on top of me, and he laughs too.

He pulls out of me and kisses me once more and then hops up and goes to the bathroom.

My body is still throbbing from the pounding he has just given it, and I still feel like I’m teetering on the edge of insanity. I lie in the dark, still panting, as a myriad of emotions run through me. I’m sated and full and lethargic, and a strange twinge of fear loiters in the dark corner of my mind. I push it away as fast as I can.

He reappears from the kitchenette in my room and hands me a glass of water. “Here you are.”

I sit up on my elbow and take it. “Thanks.”

“Well, your voice is hoarse from moaning ‘Tristan’ all night.” He shrugs casually. “It’s the least I could do.”