The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(56)

He’s taken, bitch.

Okay, he’s not taken. But he is today and . . . for the next week, so back off already.

“No thank you, Clarise. We are going to retire,” he replies casually.

“Oh.” She nods as if taken aback. “Yes, of course.” She turns. “Call me if I can be of any service.” She walks into her room and closes the door behind her.

“I will.” His eyes return to me as amusement flashes across his face.

“Not funny,” I reply, deadpan. She will never be of any service; how dare he even joke about that.

He stands and holds his hand out for me.

I frown. “What are you doing?”

“Retiring.”

“From what?”

“Here.” He drags me to my feet and pulls me to the back of the plane, and opens the double door that reveals a luxurious bedroom with a huge bed.

A bed . . . a bed . . . what’s a fucking bed doing here?

My eyes meet his and he winks.

Horror dawns.

“No,” I whisper.

He pushes me in and closes the door behind us, and then he crash-tackles me onto the bed and crawls over me. He lifts his T-shirt off over his head and throws it to the side.

His playful smile arrests me and, for a moment, I forget where I am.

Then I remember.

“What are you doing?” I whisper in a panic as I try to escape. “Stop it, get off me,” I snap. “They’re just out there.”

His lips drop to my neck and I feel his erection as it hardens up against my stomach.

“Are you fucking crazy?” I whisper. “Elliot.” I buck to try and get him off me. “You are a bona fide sex maniac,” I stammer.

He smiles sexily and stands and tears his jeans off. He throws them and they hit the back of the door; the button makes a clanging sound and I slap my hands over my eyes. “Oh. My. God . . . What the actual fuck are you doing?” I whisper.

“Giving you a membership.” He smiles as he undoes my jeans and wrestles to pull them down.

“To what?”

“The Miles High Club.” He pulls my jeans completely off.

I laugh out loud and then slap my hand over my mouth. I hold my finger to my mouth in a sshh signal.

“You’re the one making all the noise.” He pulls my shirt off over my head, twirls it around over his head like a lasso, and bucks the bed as if riding a fake bull.

I burst out laughing as I bounce beneath him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting ready to moan like a bull.” He smiles as he drops and kisses me and pulls my panties off. He inhales them deeply and then hurls them at the wall. They hit the back of the door and fall on the floor, and his lips find mine again.

I imagine the snooty stewardess walking in and finding us in a compromising position. “Elliot.” My eyes widen in horror. “We can’t have sex, they’re just out there,” I whisper in a panic. “They can hear us, and you’re fucking loud, you know?”

He puts his hand over my mouth, his mouth drops, and he sucks on my nipple. “Shut up and fuck me, Landon.”

I laugh through his fingers; my eyes are wide. “Elliot.” He bites my nipple and I buck as hard as I can as arousal begins to pump through me. I can feel the heat as it warms my blood. His tongue flutters at just the right tempo. My fear of getting caught mixed with his couldn’t-care-less factor is a heady combination.

Naughty meets nice.

He nudges my legs apart with his knees, and then, as if remembering something, he bounces off me and goes to his jeans, shuffles around in the pocket, and produces a small bottle of lube and two condoms. He holds them up and wiggles his eyebrows as if he just won the lottery.

I laugh, I can’t help it. He’s fucking adorable like this.

“Who are you and what have you done with grumpy Elliot Miles,” I whisper.

He lies back over the top of me and then in some kind of practiced move he flips us so that I am on top of him. My legs are straddled wide over his hips and he pours some lube onto his fingers and glides it between my legs.

My hands are on his broad chest as I hold myself up, his fingers exploring as he looks up at me. “He’s right here,” he whispers.

And isn’t he beautiful.

As we stare at each other, the feeling of his fingers on me, the shared arousal between us, something changes. I don’t know what it is, but it brings a flutter to my chest.

“Don’t,” he whispers. He grabs my hips and eases me down onto his hard body, slides my open lips up the length of his shaft.

“Don’t what?” I shudder. Oh . . . that feels good.

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . .” He slides into me again and his eyes roll back in his head.

I want to cut him off; I don’t want to hear what he has to say.

I know damn well how I was looking at him.

With ownership.

“Like I’m about to fuck your brains out?” I ask as I lift from his dick and slide it in deep as a distraction.

His knees rise as he takes me, overwhelmed by the sensation of our bodies locking together.

“Don’t open your mouth to say anything other than how hard you’re going to fuck me,” I whisper.

He chuckles and grabs my hip bones. “Yes ma’am.”