The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(83)

My eyes roll back in my head. God, his dirty talk fries my brain. I could come just by listening to him. I begin to rock, and his eyes flicker with darkness. A sensuality runs between us. It’s dark and uninhibited, and for the first time since we’ve been together, I want to let go of all control.

I want to be owned.

My Tristan.

I rock hard, and he clenches his jaw as he watches me, salivating as he waits for his turn. My eyes close, and I tip my head back in ecstasy. “So good,” I whimper. “So. Fucking. Good.”

His bites my neck hard as he loses control. Our bodies writhe together in pleasure, the water sloshing like a water rapid. “Condom,” he whispers.

“No condom,” I stammer. “I’m on the pill.”

He stops still. His gaze meets mine, and his eyes darken. I can see the moment he loses control. “Get on my fucking cock.” In one quick movement he lifts me and impales me.

He’s deep, thick, and hard, and I cry out at his possession. “Tristan,” I whimper.

His hands go to my hip bones, and he begins to slide me up and over his body.

Our eyes are locked. Our jaws hang slack. The feeling is overwhelmingly good.

Too good.

I can’t hold it.

“I’m going to come,” I whimper.

He slams me down hard. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls.

My knees are up around his shoulders, and his body slams into me deep . . . so deep.

“Anderson,” he snaps to try to bring me back to the here and now.

I begin to shudder, and he clenches his jaw to try to stop it, but there’s no chance; it’s too good to stop.

Our movements are nearly violent, and the water is sloshing everywhere.

So big . . . so, so deep.

His eyes roll back in his head, and he slams me hard. I cry out, and he holds himself close. I feel the telling jerk as he comes inside my body. His cock quivers deep inside of me . . . so, so good to have his semen fill me. Perfection.

I see stars.

Perfect colored stars, in every shade of wonderful.

I fall against his chest, and he holds me tight. We pant as we cling to each other.

“So much for me playing hard to get,” he whispers.

“You were playing easy to fuck.” I smile against his chest.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m good at that game.”

I smile. “The master.”

Two hours later

I am crumpled and sleepy in Tristan’s bed. That was one hell of a sex session.

He fucked me every which way—so good that I’m in an orgasm-induced stupor.

His hand roams up and over my hip, and he kisses the side of my face. “I’m going to get us some dinner.”

“Hmm.” I smile dreamily with my eyes closed.

“I had planned on cooking, but I seriously can’t be fucked,” he murmurs. “I’ll get us some takeaway. I’m starving.”

“Hmm.”

He kisses me again and pulls me close and holds me tight. I smile at the feeling of him up against my body. “Back soon.”

I come to my senses, and I sit up on my elbow. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll walk around the corner. There’s a strip of restaurants. What do you feel like?”

“Umm . . .” I frown as I try to wake myself up. “Do you want me to come?”

“You don’t have to.” He climbs out of bed.

I watch him dress, and I know I really should make an effort. “Get me some clothes, and I’ll come.”

He walks into his closet and retrieves a pair of his shorts and a baggy sweater. He throws them on top of me, and they hit my head. “Not those.” I smile. “My clothes.”

“No, I’m not going looking for your clothes. We’re going around the corner for two minutes. Throw them on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out of bed. He yanks the sweater over my head, and I bend and pull the baggy gray Nike basketball shorts on.

I grab my elastic band and pull my hair up into a messy bun.

I look a complete disaster, and I put my arms out wide. “Still want to be my boyfriend?”

He looks me up and down and smiles mischievously. “Come to think of it . . .”

I giggle as he takes me into his arms. He kisses me as I wrap my arms around his neck. “I like having you here,” he whispers as he holds me close.

“I like being here.” Our lips touch, and I smile. “Impersonating you could be my new hobby.”

He chuckles as he pulls me by the hand. “I’m fucking starving, woman.”

We ride the elevator downstairs, and luckily nobody is in the foyer. I glance down at myself and cringe. Oh my God, I look appalling.

He takes my hand, and we walk out onto the street. So different to where I live. I catch sight of our reflection in the window, and I have to bite my lip to stop my huge goofy smile. We are holding hands in public. We’re really going to try this relationship thing.

Is this happening?

We turn the corner, and my eyes widen in horror. “Oh no, Tristan,” I whisper. The street is busy and bustling. “I look ridiculous.”

He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “Shut up, Anderson. You look beautiful to me.” He kisses my temple, and I smile against him. “Just fucked—suits you.”