The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(55)

“What?” I ask dryly.

“I wondered how long until Kathryn showed up.”

I tilt my chin to the sky as I stare out of the window. “Kathryn doesn’t put up with your shit, Elliot.”

“No, but she sucks my cock so well . . . so, I can forgive her.”

“Sshhh,” I whisper angrily as I look around for the stewardess. “Will you shut up?”

He leans over and nuzzles into my neck.

“Stop it,” I say. He bites me, holding my head to his, and I smile as I try to subtly get away from him.

“Promise me something,” he whispers.

“What’s that?”

“Promise me that we can have angry sex soon. I need to fuck you when you’re raging fucking angry with me.”

I laugh out loud in surprise; the man’s an idiot. “With your annoying personality, I don’t think that will be a problem, Elliot.” I take off my cardigan.

“Where’s my cute nickname from last night?” he whispers.

I twist my lips as I try to act serious. “What?”

“Ell,” he whispers.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Although, I think it went like . . . oh Ellllllllllllll.” He moans as he simulates me having sex. “Fuck me harder, Ell, oh God yeah . . . just like that.” His eyes roll back in his head and I whip him with my cardigan.

“Shut. Up,” I whisper as I try to hold my smile. “You can talk, you moan like a fucking cow.”

He laughs out loud and pulls my head to him and kisses me. “It’s actually a prize-winning bull, get it right, Landon.” I smile against his lips and our kiss turns deeper, and then I remember the pressing point and I pull out of his grip. “Stop kissing your way out of the shit.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He leans back again. “Although, for the record, I won that argument.”

My mouth falls open. “You did not.”

“Here you are, two glasses of champagne.” The stewardess passes them over to us; we both jerk back from each other guiltily. She puts down a tray of chocolate-coated strawberries on the table in front of us.

“Thank you.” We both smile.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks.

“Not at this stage. Maybe a top-up after we take off,” Elliot replies as he takes my hand in my lap.

The stewardess smiles and goes back to her little room at the front.

Elliot holds his champagne in the air.

“What are we toasting?” I smile.

“The Canary Islands.”

My eyes widen. “We’re going to the Canary Islands?”

He smiles as he sips his champagne.

“Where to?” I whisper in awe as I sip my drink.

“There’s a sex club down there,” he replies casually.

I frown . . . what? Oh, hell on a cracker . . . I didn’t think this through.

“Go on,” I mutter dryly.

“Masked men tie you up and you get to watch me have sex with copious other hot women.”

I choke on my drink and cough out loud. “What?”

He slaps me on the back. “But don’t worry, if you behave, I’ll let you clean me up when I’m finished with them.”

“Are you serious?” I laugh. Thank God he’s joking. “And how will I clean you up?”

“With your tongue, of course.” He sips his drink with a mischievous smile.

I lean closer to him. “But what you failed to read on the brochure, dear Ell, was that while you were having boring sex with mediocre women”—I sip my champagne—“I’m getting tag-teamed by the huge masked men, who, I may add, are allowed to”—I pause as I think of the right wording—“do their business inside of me . . . and it is you who gets to clean up their mess . . . with your tongue.” I smile and clink my glass to his.

He winces as if getting a vivid visual and then his lip curls in disgust.

The plane begins to hurtle down the runway and I grip the armrests and close my eyes.

“You’re a dirty girl, Landon,” he whispers as the plane lifts off the ground.

“I try my best,” I reply as I hang on for dear life.

“How come they get to come inside of you and I don’t?”

“Because they’re a fantasy,” I whisper with my eyes closed. “And you’re a real-life player who has probably had sex with ten million women.”

“It’s nine and a half million, don’t get carried away.”

I laugh out loud and so does he. Our eyes hold each other’s and he picks up my hand and kisses it with an unsaid affection. It’s not forced and it doesn’t feel wrong.

Elliot Miles is fun.

I like this game we’re playing . . . although I have no idea what it’s called or whether it has any rules.

All I know is that the playing field is in the Canary Islands and I’m going to have a good week. Probably the best.

I smile as I look out of the window, but sadly, I get the feeling Elliot is going to give me the hangover of all hangovers.

The high will be worth the fallout . . . I think.

“Would you like a top-up, sir?” the stewardess asks. I never did get her name. Although I must admit, with every glass of champagne her pining eyes over Elliot get a little more annoying.