Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(15)

“Uh, I…” Christ, I can’t speak.

Damn. “I can’t go for dinner tonight,” I say, dismayed. “I’m working until midnight.”

“I guess my important business back in London will have to wait even longer then.”

Oh.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like a prostitute.” I laugh. “I kept twenty euros for a tip, four euros for each hour you spent at the bar.”

“Very precise. And under-charged if you ask me.” He grins, pulling out his wallet and places a number of twenty euro notes on the bar. “Since I’m going to have to tolerate this shithole for another night just to be in your company, here’s my tip in advance. That's for five hours. Then hopefully you’ll let me show you how much I enjoyed last night by reliving it all over again.”

I choke a little as I swallow too much air.

Play it cool, woman.

“What makes you so sure it’s a done deal?” I ask defiantly.

He raises his eyebrows.

He was right. I’m all talk. The deal was done the minute he set foot in the bar tonight.

“Well, if we are playing this game,” Tristan starts with a smirk. “Last night I discovered there is nothing hotter than watching you come while you moan my name in your lovely accent. So tonight, what I want is to make you come so loudly that every room in the hotel hears your little pants and screams. That’s worth sitting in this sweaty bar watching a load of lads half my age throw up on each other for five hours. Does that sound like a good plan?”

Oh my God. This is fifty shades of fuck.

“You seem like a thorough planner,” I squeak.

“I’m direct, I say what I want,” he continues with unwavering eye contact.

That, he does.

“And I get what I want.”

I let out a laugh but he’s not joking. This man is going to ravage me tonight.

God help me.

And he does get what he wants. I’m a bag of nerves as he opens the hotel room door with one hand while the other rests on my lower back. The outline of his hardness is visible through his trousers, and I wonder if my ravaged body can handle round two so quickly after last night.

And just like that, we are attacking each other again, hands, tongues, thighs everywhere, trying to cover as much body surface as possible, like we both know this might be the last time. Taking off our clothes like they are on fire until I’m wearing nothing but my mascara.

He pushes me up against the wall, so I’ve got nowhere to go, no way to escape his demanding erection pushing up into my apex. Half kissing me, half panting into my mouth, he unbuttons his jeans.

He’s not waiting around tonight.

God, he smells fantastic. It’s a man-musk I want to take back to Wales. I yank his jeans down over his thick thighs, his cock springs free, curving upward, and I drop to my knees. He was so attentive to me last night. It was all about me; I want to show Tristan that I can give as good as I take.

Looking up at him with big eyes, I wrap both hands around his shaft and take his cock in my mouth.

He lets out a shudder that sounds almost painful. “It’s been a long time.”

My hands tighten further around his straining shaft. I pulse gently first, then more aggressively as his low husky grunts become louder and his grip around my hair tightens.

He groans my name as I speed up, and I wrap my hands around his buttocks so I can take him as deep as I can. Pushing himself deeper into me, he hisses as he hits the back of my throat each time. No one has ever fucked my mouth like this before, and it feels so damn good to be in control of this man’s pleasure.

“Elena.” He groans. “I’m coming. I’m going to come in your mouth if you let me pull out,” he warns, his breathing ragged.

I tilt my head up to look him dead in the eyes. It’s so sexy to watch him losing control. I pull him out of my mouth just in time. His eyes, hooded with arousal, meet mine and his face contorts into a mix of pain and pleasure as warm liquid sprays over my breasts.

“I couldn’t,” I whisper.

“I don’t expect you to.”

As he picks me up from the floor, he grabs my thighs and pulls me up, so I'm straddling him in mid-air. He walks us slowly over to the large armchair beside the mirror. Holding me in his arms, he lowers himself into the chair. He makes it look easy, like I’m weightless. I straddle his thighs, running my hand over his pectorals; I can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

He exhales a deep breath and gives himself long strokes up and down to refuel. His thick cock springs to life again, nudging my inner thigh.

“I thought older men took longer to recover.”

“Older men?” he mutters, slapping my ass. “Cheeky mare.”

Megan’s horse jokes flood my head.

“Condom, cabinet,” he says, pointing in the direction of the cabinet drawer.

I’d be pissed at the demanding tone if I wasn’t so horny. I leap off his lap and run over to the drawer, pulling it open.

He’s been shopping. Two packets of unopened condoms shine up at me. I rip open one of the packets and take out a silver ring.

“XL,” I read on the packet. “No wonder I can feel you all the way up to my ribs. Two packets of twelve?”

He gives me a smile, half tender, half predatory. “I’m a thorough planner, remember? When a man meets someone as enchanting as you, they want to be inside you all the time.”