The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(117)

I glance over and see two girls sitting near us, transfixed and watching him with their mouths hanging open.

What must we look like? A gorgeous man sitting here making out with my hand while I act totally uninterested. Act being the operative word.

“You’re making a scene,” I murmur as I watch him.

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’s been too long.”

“How long?” I ask.

“Fifteen days.” He kisses my hand again. “Fifteen long days.”

That’s how long we’ve been apart . . . he knows how long we’ve been apart to the day. He wants to break the ice between us too. He’s missed me; I know he has. Suddenly I don’t want to play hard to get. I want him . . . hard . . . and fast.

I pull my hand away from his lips. “Buy me another drink, and then perhaps I’ll put you out of your misery.”

His eyes flicker with arousal, and his hand immediately goes up as he summons the waiter. “Yes, sir.”

“Two—”

“Four,” I interrupt him. He frowns, probably deterred by the extra time it’s going to take to drink those.

“Four margaritas, please,” he replies to the waiter.

“Yes, sir.”

“Please make it fast,” he adds.

The waiter frowns at his apparent desperation. “Yes, sir, of course.” He rushes to the bar.

We stare at each other as electricity thrums between us—no words are needed. We both can feel this magnetic pull to each other; it’s too strong to deny.

“It really . . . is good to see you, Em,” he whispers.

An hour later we walk down the hotel corridor, hand in hand. We are both quiet, lost in our own thoughts.

My heart is beating so fast, and I know what’s about to happen . . . I’m looking forward to what’s about to happen.

He opens the door and leads me into the penthouse. I look around and am instantly reminded of who I’m with. It’s easy for me to forget his wealth, but it never goes away. The door closes behind us, and he turns me to him. We stare at each other, and then he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight as he puts his head into the crook of my neck. He holds me and holds me . . . as if scared to let me go.

The love between us is palpable—so much emotion . . . so much regret—and I find myself tearing up.

I want to blurt out that I love him, that he hurt me, and that I’m angry, but I want to let the moment just be. Let the feelings between us speak for themselves; words seem irrelevant to what’s between us.

He pulls back, and his eyes search mine. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

I cup his face in my two hands, and I kiss him long and slow and just how he likes it.

He smiles against my lips as he slowly unbuttons my shirt and throws it to the side. He takes off my bra and cups my breasts. His thumbs dust back and forth over my hardened nipples. Our lips are locked, and he undoes my pants and slides them down and takes them off.

He drops to his knees, and I hold my breath as he slides my panties down my legs and takes them off.

He leans in and inhales my sex deeply; his eyes close in pleasure as he kisses me there.

Oh . . . I’ve missed him.

I think back to the first night we had together on our stopover, and it was so different to this. His touch back then was filled with lust; his touch now is filled with adoration and love.

He lifts my leg over his shoulder and licks me in my most private part, the one that nobody but he knows. My hands instinctively go to the back of his head.

This is insane. I haven’t touched him once, and he’s on his knees in front of me, completely dressed . . . having the time of his life.

His tongue finds a rhythm, and my body begins to move by itself, guiding his tongue just where.

I begin to shudder, and I close my eyes to try and block him out. He’s been touching me for all of four minutes, and I’m about to come . . . hold it.

My knees go weak, and I shudder against him, and I feel him smile into me. He laps me up and lays me on the bed. He arranges me how he wants me and spreads my legs open for his gaze. “So . . . fucking perfect,” he whispers to himself.

With urgency, he tears his shirt over his head and slides his jeans down. His cock hangs heavy and hard between his legs.

He’s so beautiful . . . the perfect male specimen.

I smile up at him, and then he goes to his pocket and takes out a condom. Uneasiness fills me. “What are you doing?”

“I want you more than once, and I don’t want to lose the sensitivity.”

I frown as I watch him roll it on . . . that’s weird; in the past he always made me roll them on him as if he was unable to.

He lies beside me on the bed and runs his fingers through my hair as he looks down at me. I can’t read him tonight at all. He seems . . . intense.

“You’re seeming very sentimental tonight, Mr. Miles,” I whisper.

“Maybe I am.”

I reach out and cup his face in my hand. He seems so lost. “Are you all right?”

“Tonight I am.” He leans down and kisses me, and I can feel the emotion behind it. It’s as if he’s channeling all his love through his lips, and I lose all coherent thought.

He lies over me, and our bodies take on an agenda of their own as they writhe together.