The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(56)

“Go out there, and tell him you’re leaving,” he says as he straightens my skirt and tucks in my blouse.

“I’m finishing my drink, and then I will.”

He kisses me tenderly; his lips linger over mine. “Stay at my house.”

“No, I have a room booked.”

“Where?”

“The Edison at Times Square.”

“Meet you there. Tell the desk that your husband is picking up a key.”

I nod, unable to verbally agree to this lunacy. My voice box must know that this is a bad idea.

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, smiles, and kisses me once more. He really is a gorgeous man—there’s no denying it.

“It’s good to see you, Anderson,” he whispers.

I smile softly up at the forbidden fruit . . . it’s so good to see you.

His dark eyes hold mine. “I can’t fucking wait to get you naked.”

He turns and, without another word, walks back out into the bar as if nothing has happened.

I stare after him. My hair is messed up, and my body is tingling from head to toe. My chest rises and falls as I try to regain my composure. Jesus, what did I just agree to?

Tristan fucking Miles.

I switch the channel on the television and glance at the clock. Where is he?

It’s been over an hour. I raced back to my hotel room, showered, and got all irresistible, and now he hasn’t even come . . . what if he doesn’t show up?

My eyes widen in horror as a possibility comes to mind. What if he was just pulling a power play to prove that he can have me if he wants me? No . . . he wouldn’t.

Oh my God, he totally would . . . it’s Tristan. What did I expect?

I hear the door click, and I quickly rearrange myself in the bed.

He’s lucky.

The door opens, and he closes it behind him. He turns, and then his eyes float over my naked body. He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Anderson.”

I’m lying on the bed, naked, my legs slightly parted. If I’m going to do this whore-bag thing, I’m going hard core. Don’t mess with me tonight, fucker; you have something I need.

You’re going down . . . literally.

His eyes fix on mine. “Playing hard to get, I see?” He jerks his tie hard as he undoes it.

“I am hard to get.” I tap the bed beside me. “But tonight, I’m easy to fuck.”

He chuckles as he sits beside me. “How convenient. I happen to be in the fucking market myself.” He bends and kisses me, and I smile against his lips.

His hand runs up the inside of my inner thigh and then swipes down and through my wet sex . . . this all feels so natural.

Too natural.

As if he was always meant to touch me . . . as if he always has.

No. Not tonight. I want some power in this exchange. He’s doing what I want. He’s pleasing me.

I arch my back and spread my legs. “Feeling hungry?” I ask.

His eyes flicker with arousal, and he smiles darkly. “Fucking oath I am.” He stands and tears his jacket over his shoulders and throws it to the side with urgency. “Starving, actually.” He grabs a paper bag from the inside pocket and then pulls out a box of condoms. “Do you know how many fucking pharmacies I just went to to find these?”

I chuckle.

“I couldn’t find one. I even contemplated going into the brothel on the corner and offering them a hundred dollars for a box.”

“I’m not going to ask you how you know that there’s a brothel on the corner.” I raise my eyebrow.

He frowns, realizing what he’s just revealed. “Shut up, Siri.” He unzips his trousers and pushes them down, revealing his hard, thick cock.

My stomach flutters, and I giggle in excitement. It’s like Christmas morning, and I’m watching my presents being unwrapped.

This time with him is different. I’m not nervous or scared. I’m excited, because I know how good this night is going to be.

He drops to his knees beside the bed and pulls me over to him and then spreads my legs and studies me there.

My breath catches as I watch him. This is strangely intimate . . . but it’s okay, because it’s him. And I know how much he loves my body.

I don’t have one insecurity when I’m naked with him. He wouldn’t let me even if I did.

“Ohh,” he whispers darkly. “I missed this pretty pussy.” He kisses me there with an open mouth, and I reach down and put my fingers in his hair. His thick tongue swipes through my flesh, and I smile as I watch him.

Tristan Miles doesn’t go down on women for them . . . he does it for himself.

He loves it.

It’s his favorite thing; he could do it for an hour, and I would still have to drag him up to me.

My back arches in pleasure, and I whimper. His licks are hard and slow, measured for the perfect pressure.

We get into a rhythm, and my body begins to shudder. He smiles into me.

He links our fingers on my thigh. Our eyes are locked and . . . oh God.

He’s perfect.

The way he holds my hand as he eats me. The way he looks at me.

The way he enjoys it.

No wonder I’m addicted to this man; he’s the world’s greatest lover.

He begins to flick his tongue in a practiced move, and I convulse.

Shit.