The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(79)

The pellets are kept in the stables.

Huh?

“What does it say?”

I look up at Christopher in shock. “They’re hungry.”

He frowns.

“We were supposed to feed them.”

“Well, what do they eat?’

“It says here, pellets.”

“Where are they?”

“Stables.”

His eyes widen and he points at me. “If you think I’m going near that psychotic sheep you’ve got another thing coming.”

I pick up my keys. “Come on, we’re going back into town.”

“What for?”

“To buy fucking duck food, what do you think?”

I sit by the open fire and sip my Scotch; red shadows dance across the wall. It’s dark, the room lit only by the lamps and the glowing embers, and a sense of achievement is running thick through my veins. Not only did I unpack a lot of my things today, I sorted the ducks.

Poor bastards were starving . . . actually, they’re girls, so . . .

I smile as the golden fluid warms my throat. Either way, they were happy to receive their stupid pellets.

I look around at my surroundings and pride fills me. I love this house; there’s so much to do and it doesn’t feel like home yet, but I know it will as soon as I hang Harriet’s paintings on the walls.

I’ve had her art close to me for years, not seeing it is weird.

I pick up my phone and glance at the time: 9:30 p.m.

Should I call Kate?

No.

She’s out with her brother, leave her be.

I want to hear her voice.

I only saw her last night, calm down.

I get up and refill my glass, walk back through the house as I look at my surroundings. I love this house, I love everything about it . . . maybe not the ducks, but everything else is perfect.

I might message Pinkie instead . . . no, I want to speak to my girl.

Just a quick call to say goodnight.

My finger hovers over the name Kate. I shouldn’t.

But I will.

I press call and I listen as it rings.

“Hi there,” she purrs.

The sound of her voice brings a smile to my face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeats, and I can tell she’s smiling too.

“I called to say goodnight.”

“Did you now?”

Excitement rolls around my stomach.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Wondering how I can possibly last the night without you.”

“No need to wonder, come and get me.”

I smile. “I’ve had a few glasses of wine, I’m unable to drive.”

“Oh.”

“I can send Andrew to collect you.”

“Really?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m just leaving the restaurant now; can he pick me up from my place in say, half an hour?”

“Okay.”

She waits on the line.

“Oh, and Kate.”

“Yes.”

“Pack yourself a bag, that way you can stay for the weekend.”

I hesitate; slow down.

“Still in need of a human shield, you see,” I add.

She giggles. “How are your ducks?”

“All in a row.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

I chuckle.

“Okay, see you soon.”

“Goodbye.” I drain my glass and march upstairs. I need to shower and I need to . . .

I need to last longer tonight. She turns me into a schoolboy; she only has to look my way and my dick begins to weep.

I turn the shower on and take out the lube from my bathroom cabinet, squirt it into my hand and smear it on my already hard cock.

I run my hand up over my length and then back to the base . . . hmm, that feels good.

The room begins to fill with steam as I work myself, sliding my fingers up under my balls and cupping them hard as I imagine it’s her hand touching me . . . satisfying me now so that I can give her more later.

I don’t know if I’ve ever jerked off so much since I became besotted with Kate Landon.

She’s the ultimate taboo.

The employee I can’t date, the one I shouldn’t want.

The woman I can’t get out of my fucking head.

At this moment in time, my dick lives and breathes to be inside of her.

Nothing else matters.

My chest rises and falls as I begin to perspire, my strokes getting harder and harder. My need skyrocketing by the second.

I close my eyes and I see her naked on my bed, her legs spread, her pink, wet flesh open for me. She slowly slides her finger deep inside her sex, warming herself up for me. She spreads her pink lips open in a come-here signal. “Elliot,” she whispers.

I grunt as my hand works at piston pace. Fuck yeah.

Already . . . what the hell?

I tip my head back and aim up onto my body, and my cock jerks hard. White, thick semen glistens over my chest.

I pant as I come down from my high, and I step under the hot shower, aim my face up to the water. It runs down over my head and I put my hand on the tiles to hold myself up.

She doesn’t even have to be here to make me come hard.

The memory of her is enough.

I need to get a hold of myself. That was only one minute.