The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(57)
I smile down at him.
“What?” he grinds out.
“You sound so American when you say ‘yes ma’am.’”
“Funny that, seeing as I am a fucking American.” He lifts me up and slams me back down and I scrunch my face up to stop myself from crying out.
Oh God . . . that’s so good . . . too good.
“No.” I bend down and bite his lip. “I’m the one fucking an American.”
He chuckles and slaps my behind, with a crack as his hand connects. “Do it harder.”
We fall into a rhythm, and every now and then he lifts me too high and our skin slaps out loud.
“Sshh,” I whisper as I glance at the door. I grind down hard again, it’s quieter this way.
The feeling builds until it gets to fever pitch and I close my eyes to block him out. I can’t look down at him when I feel like this.
“Open,” he whispers.
I ignore him.
He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me down to his face. “Open your fucking eyes and look at me while you come.”
I drag my eyes open, only millimeters from his face, and we stare at each other.
Frantic, animalistic, depraved.
He’s moving at piston pace, my body wet and open for him. He reaches up and bites my lip as he jerks violently inside of me. “Oww,” I whimper.
His hands hold me close and I shudder as I come hard.
He moves back from me and he licks his lips as if still hungry, his gaze dark and dangerous.
So different from the carefree man who brought me into this room.
Uneasiness creeps over me. Dear God, who am I sleeping with?
There are two versions of Elliot Miles.
Chapter 13
My chest rises and falls as I struggle for air and I fall onto Elliot’s chest. He tucks me safely under his arm and kisses my temple, and we lie in comfortable silence for a while.
I look up at him. “How many people have you slept with?”
“I don’t know.” He drags his hand down his face. “A lot.” His eyes meet mine. “Why? How many have you slept with?” he asks.
I trail my finger in a circle on his chest; why did I ask? Now this is probably going to make me sound lame. “Seven.”
A frown crosses his face. “Seven?”
I nod.
“Including me?”
I nod.
“Oh . . .” He pulls me close and I feel his smile as he kisses my forehead.
“What does ‘oh’ mean?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Surprising, that’s all.”
“Why is it surprising?”
“I think I was at seven while I was in my teens.”
“That’s ’cause you’re a man whore.”
He chuckles. “Could have something to do with it.”
I lean up on my elbow so I can see his face. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.” He gives me a breathtaking smile as he reaches up and twists a piece of my hair as it curls. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
He frowns.
“What?” I ask.
“So . . . you’re seven years younger than me, I’m the seventh person you slept with, and you’re twenty-seven?”
I smile goofily as he does the math.
“When is your birthday?” he asks.
“Seventeenth of July.”
“What?” He sits up against the headboard. “Bullshit.”
“I swear.”
“The seventeenth of the seventh?”
I laugh. “Aha.”
He stares at me and I watch as his frown turns into a slow, sexy smile.
“What?”
“Your number is seven.”
“What does that mean?”
“Seven is the number of the gods, it’s magical.”
“What, since when?” I smile. “How do you know that?”
“Numerology. Google it.”
I lie down on my back. “Well, I don’t feel very magical.”
He rolls over on top of me and holds my hands over my head. “I’ll be the judge of that.” His lips drop to my neck and he begins to nibble his way down my body.
“Numerology doesn’t refer to my vagina, Elliot.” I giggle softly.
He takes my nipple between his teeth. “Yes it does.”
The hired car pulls into the driveway and I peer out of the window at the house before us. It’s white and traditional, with a large wraparound veranda and beautiful well-kept gardens. The driver stops the car and gets out to unload the luggage from the trunk.
Elliot dips his head to look in. “It seems okay.”
“You’ve never been here before?” I ask.
“No, but a friend of Tristan’s has, he said it was nice.”
I smile and hunch my shoulders in excitement. “Anywhere will do. I don’t care if we go camping. Maybe next time we can?”
“Yeah, okay.” He chuckles as he opens the door. “My brother has told me all about camping, I’ll meet you there.”
I smile: that’s code for I’m never going camping.
We get out of the car and Elliot tips the driver, and then he wheels our two suitcases up the path to the house.