The Casanova (The Miles High Club)

by T L Swan

  The heat of the tequila begins to warm my blood. “You’re very touchy,” I whisper.

  “You’re very touchable.” His eyes drop to my lips and he reaches down and cups my face. “What did you do while I was away?”

  “Nothing much . . .” My voice trails off; how am I supposed to string a sentence together when he’s looking at me like that?

  He puts his mouth to my ear. “Did you touch yourself?” he whispers. His breath tickles my skin and goosebumps scatter up my arms.

  “Did you?” I ask.

  His lips dust mine. “Every day. Coming is my favorite pastime.”

  I get a vision of him pulling himself and my insides begin to melt into a puddle.

  How is he so hot?

  “You come every day?” I whisper.

  “Yes.” He sits back. “Don’t you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well.” He takes my hand and puts it over his crotch; he’s rock-hard underneath his jeans. “We’ll have to do something about that.” He flexes his dick beneath my hand. “Won’t we?”

  I stare at him as my brain begins to melt down.

  There is just no mincing words, he’s full-on sexual. I know Elliot, I know he’s an aggressive man, and when he sees something that he wants, he gets it.

  I don’t know why I’m surprised that he’s like this . . . but on some level, I am.

  “You’re going to make me come . . . every day?” I whisper.

  He chuckles and grabs a handful of my hair and drags me to him. “Baby, I’m going to make you come until you pass out.”

  Fucking, fuck, fuck.

  No need to even get me naked, I’m about to pass out now.

  I smile as my tequila bravery begins to kick in. “We’ll see.”

  “We will.” He pats his lap. “Over here.”

  “What?”

  “Spread those pretty little thighs and sit on me.”

  “Here?” I squeak.

  His grip on my hair tightens and he kisses me, long, deep, and slow, and I begin to lose control.

  “Kate,” he demands. “When I ask you to do something, you do it. No questions asked.”

  My heart begins to hammer in my chest.

  “Now,” he repeats.

  I blink in surprise. What have I got to lose, I’m going straight to hell already for sneaking around with a bad man. I stand up and he lifts one of my legs and puts it over him, and then he pulls my dress up so I can spread my legs as he pulls me down so I’m sitting on his lap.

  We come face to face, our bodies snug up against each other. “That’s better.” He kisses my chest and nips my breast with his teeth.

  We are in a restaurant.

  This is like nothing I’ve ever done before—so unexpected. Wrong, but holy hell, so hot.

  He stares up at me. “Make yourself come, angel.”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “Rub yourself over my cock, I want you to come before dinner.”

  “Elliot,” I breathe, “are you crazy?”

  He smiles up at me as his lips take mine. “My pleasure comes from watching your pleasure.”

  He grabs my hips and circles them as he kisses me, my clitoris strategically placed over his erection. Teasing, taunting me to want more.

  And I do.

  He’s so hard beneath me, and his dick is rubbing in all the right places. “Elliot,” I breathe into his mouth.

  “That’s it, baby, can you feel me. Feel what I’ve got for you?” He kisses me deeply. “I’m so full.” He murmurs into my mouth, “I need to come, it’s yours. Take it.”

  Oh . . . fuck.

  The sound of his familiar deep voice saying such dirty things fries my brain and I shudder as I begin to lose control.

  “You want to come, too?” He circles me deeper. “I can feel how bad you need it.” His lips go to my ear. “Are you swollen and wet for me?”

  I close my eyes as my body begins to rock of its own accord; it has an agenda now and I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

  “Maybe I should spread you out on this table and lick you out . . . right here.” He bites my ear. “You don’t know how badly I need to taste you. It’s all I can think about.” He bites my neck hard and I jump, teetering on the edge of pain.

  What the ever-loving fuck—Elliot Miles is the king of dirty talking . . . and we haven’t even made it home yet.

  I shudder again and his grip on my behind tightens to near painful.

  His eyes are dark, his big, beautiful lips are hungry. “Give me some cream, baby, you fuck that cock of mine.”

  I convulse as I tip over the edge, the orgasm so strong that I whimper into his mouth; he smiles triumphantly as he kisses me as I come back to earth.

  He leans back and watches me; he tenderly tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear.

  “Now . . . we can eat.”

  Chapter 11

  I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant. My face is flushed with a satisfied glow.

  Who are you and what have you done with Kate?

  What the hell just happened?

  One minute I was nervous, next minute I was dry-humping him on his chair before we even ate . . . ugh, what came over me?

  I acted like a sex-deprived teenager.

  How embarrassing. Way to play it cool, you idiot.

  The cruel words from my Google search come back to taunt me: Affectionately nicknamed Casanova Miles by the press due to his apparent ability to get women to do anything he wants.

  Damn straight he can.

  Oh hell, now I’m one of those women . . . kill me now!

  I take my time washing my hands and I fix my hair a little, and to be honest, I just want to run away, this man makes me want to do things that I never imagined.

  I walk back into the private dining room and take a seat.

  Elliot is leaning back in his chair, wineglass in his hand, and his eyes assess me. “Everything alright?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I pick up my margarita.

  “You’ve gone quiet.”

  “Oh.” I shrug shyly. “A little embarrassed.”

  A frown flashes across his face. “About what?”

  “Forget it, it’s nothing.” I sip my drink—what did I say that for?

  “Kate,” he warns.

  “I just . . . can’t believe I did that before.”

  “Did what?”

  I stare at him: he’s completely clueless, this must be normal behavior for him.

  “Within two minutes of sitting down, I was dry-humping you in your chair.”

  He stares at me. “What are you embarrassed by?”

  “Forget it.” I put my drink down sharply. “You ready to go?”

  “No.” His eyes hold mine. “Explain to me what you just said.”

  “Elliot.”

  “Don’t Elliot me, what did you mean by that?” he snaps.

  I stay silent, unsure what to say.

  He sits forward in his seat. “There is no one here but you and I, Kate. And what happens between us . . . is nobody’s business,” he says softly. “And if sexually pleasing me makes you embarrassed, then . . .” He shrugs.

  “Then what?”

  “Then what are we doing here?”

  I frown. “Why do you insist on making me feel like an errant teenager?”

  “Because you’re acting like one?” He picks up his glass and swirls it around. “I’m adventurous, Kate. I like sex, I like it hard, and I like my women to come . . . often.” He lifts his glass to his lips and takes a sip; I watch as his tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. “If you want vanilla, I’m not the man to deliver it.”

  “I never said that—”

  “Are you going to be embarrassed every time I make you come?” he cuts me off.

  “Keep your voice down,” I whisper angrily as I look around.

  “We are alone in a room, just the two of us.”

  I stare at him.

  “And we will alway
s be alone, just the two of us. Nobody else is in our bed.” He leans over and cups my face in his hand and dusts his thumb over my lip. “Don’t punish yourself for feeling something new, angel,” he whispers, then he leans down and kisses me tenderly and I melt against him.

  “I will push you . . . but it will only ever be what you need.” His tongue gently dances against mine, and I smile softly as I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.

  Oh . . . this man.

  “Stop judging yourself,” he murmurs against my lips, “or this is never going to work between us.”

  I nod and pull back from him. He’s too . . . much. We lean against each other with our foreheads touching. He gently kisses my cheek as we stay close.

  There’s an intimacy running between us that shouldn’t be there.

  Every word that leaves his mouth is sacred, it’s like he’s coaching me into a role that he designed. Training me up to be what he needs.

  Whatever that is.

  But this plaything has a heart, and I fear she’s in danger because we haven’t even scratched the surface yet and if tonight has taught me anything it’s that you can’t hide from Elliot Miles.

  If he wanted to, he could bring me to my knees. I can already feel my defenses slipping, and yet I don’t want to get off the ride.

  He stands and holds out my coat for me and I slide into it, then he turns me in his arms and kisses me as if we have all the time in the world. It’s slow, erotic, and tender, and I smile softly against his lips.

  His kiss is like a drug.

  I can hear warning sirens screaming in the distance . . .

  Let the games begin.

  The black-metal garage doors rise slowly. My hand is in Elliot’s on his lap in the backseat of the Bentley, Andrew is behind the wheel.

  We drive in slowly and pass an array of swanky cars lined up in their bays; there are security guards walking around and this place looks more like a high-end car dealership than an underground parking lot. Andrew pulls the car up at the glass doors that lead into an elevator. He gets out, opens the car door for me, and I climb out. “Thank you.”

  Elliot puts his arm around me and ushers me into the elevator, pushes the button, and we begin the ride up. He stares straight ahead with this trace of amusement on his face.

  “What is that look?” I smirk.

  “Nothing.” He kisses my temple. “Not every day I get to take the Kate Landon home,” he replies casually.

  “We’re having coffee, Elliot,” I say. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Good.” I square my shoulders as I try to hold my smile; I like this game.

  He steps forward and I step back, his hands above my head on the wall behind me. “You know, I could just hit the stop button . . . deliver your coffee right here.”

  My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He chuckles as his lips take mine. “Oh, but I would.”

  “Elliot,” I whisper.

  The elevator dings as we reach our floor.

  He smiles against my lips as the doors open. “Saved by the bell.” He bites my bottom lip and then takes me by the hand. We’ve arrived in what looks like a private reception area. A large, round table with a floral arrangement on it sits in the middle; a huge, abstract painting in reds and black is hanging on the wall. Elliot puts his hand over a scanner and the door clicks as the lock releases.

  We walk in and my breath is instantly stolen. Glass from ceiling to floor, showcasing a magical city view, bright city lights twinkling in the distance. The ceiling is so high and I look up in awe; I see a grand staircase in the middle. “Your apartment is two levels.”

  “Uh-huh,” he replies casually as he leads me into the kitchen, takes my coat, and sits me up on the countertop, then stands between my legs.

  The kitchen is white and modern and I look around. “Wow . . . This is beautiful.”

  “Who cares about my house, let’s talk about the coffee.” He bends and bites my bare shoulder.

  I giggle. “Okay . . . we could do that.”

  His eyes rise to mine. “How do you like it?” His hair is messed up and his eyes are wild.

  “My coffee?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles and drops his lips to my breast and nips me through my dress.

  “Ow . . .” I giggle.

  “Cappuccino, long white, short black . . .” He whispers as he goes through the options.

  “Straight up sounds pretty good.”

  He drags my hips toward him in one sharp movement, spreads my legs a little further, and slides his hands up my bare thighs. “Risky,” he murmurs as his eyes follow his hands.

  “Risky?” I whisper as his thumbs dust my sex through my panties.

  His eyes darken. “Easy to get injured with a straight up.”

  We stare at each other as the air crackles between us. “Well, what do you suggest . . . to lessen the risk.”

  His fingers move in a circle. “Sugar.”

  “Sugar,” I whisper as his fingers slip under the leg of my panties; he circles them through my wet lips and my insides begin to quiver.

  “Sugar always helps with a straight up.” He slides a finger in deep and we both inhale sharply as we stare at each other, his jaw ticking as he clenches it. “Especially if the cup is so tight and small.” He slides another finger in and we let out a collective gasp.

  His lips take mine as he kisses me. My legs are wide and his strong fingers begin to work me.

  With every lash of his tongue, his fingers get stronger and I can hardly keep my eyes open. The sound of my arousal sucking him in echoes around the room. “This is excellent coffee,” I whisper, my hands in his hair.

  He smiles. “This is sugar . . . coffee . . .” His eyes flutter closed as he temporarily loses control. “Fuck. Coffee is close.”

  “Percolated,” I breathe.

  “Plunger,” he hisses. He adds another strong finger at piston pace with a twist at the end, and I begin to shudder.

  Yessss . . . this is good.

  It’s embarrassing how quickly this man can make me come.

  I grab his head in my hands and kiss him with everything that I have. “You better deliver that coffee right now, before I spill it on the floor.”

  “Fucking hold it,” he whispers against my lips. “This cup, I’m drinking.”

  I struggle to control my breathing, my arousal at fever pitch.

  He scoops me off the countertop and carries me up the stairs; he’s so strong, and I cling to him for dear life. He marches down the hall and kicks open the door, and in one sharp movement he takes my dress off over my head.

  I stand before him in my black strapless bra and panties, and he smiles as his eyes drop down to my toes. When they rise to meet mine, they’re blazing with desire.

  He undoes my bra and throws it to the side, and then slides my panties down my legs and kisses my sex before he rises.

  “Get on my bed and spread your legs for me,” he whispers darkly, his fists clenched at his sides.

  I’ve never been with such a sexual creature. Never wanted to please someone so much.

  I lie on the bed and, feeling brave, I spread my legs.

  His eyes roam over me and I feel the heat of his gaze as it sears my skin, then he tears his shirt over his head and in slow motion undoes his jeans and pulls them to the ground.

  The air leaves my lungs. Holy fuck.

  His skin is olive, his chest is broad with a scattering of dark hair, his stomach is lean and ripped. My eyes drop lower.

  He’s big . . . really big.

  This is the best fucking coffee shop that I ever saw.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as my nerves begin to thump.

  Our eyes meet and his face breaks into a breathtakingly beautiful smile. “Hi,” he whispers softly.

  My heart somersaults in my chest. “Hi.”

  “I’m naked with Kate Landon.”

  I laugh out loud, this is
crazy. “What’s happening?”

  He smiles darkly and drops his head to between my legs, as he lies down and makes himself comfortable. “I don’t know, but I like it.” His thick tongue swipes through my sex and I nearly jump from the bed. He holds my thighs open as he licks me and his eyes close in pleasure. “So good,” he murmurs to himself.

  I watch him, in a detached state, somewhere between heaven and hell. My hands go to his hair and I run my fingers through it: it’s thick and feels curly to the touch.

  He gets rougher and his two-day growth begins to tingle my skin; he licks deeper and deeper and then he’s all in, his whole face rubbing me.

  My back begins to arch from the bed. “Ell . . . Oh God.” I throw my head back in pleasure. “Get up here. Get up here. Get up here,” I begin to chant. “Now.” I sit up and pull his face by the hair up to meet me. “Elliot, now!”

  We stare at each other, my arousal glistening on his big, beautiful lips.

  Just like I used to imagine.

  Without a word he pushes me back to the mattress and spreads my legs, rolls a condom on, and kneels over me. He lifts my foot up and kisses it and then puts it over his shoulder. He kisses my other foot and puts it over his other shoulder.

  In this position, I’m completely at his mercy.

  We stare at each other and then he drags his tip through the lips of my sex, back and forth, back and forth.

  I can’t breathe as I wait for him.

  He walks over me on his hands, my legs still up, and he pushes in a little.

  I cling to him, and he kisses me softly. He pushes forward again and I tense.

  Ouch.

  That smarts.

  His grip on my calf muscles tightens and I put my hands on his shoulders, “Ell, careful,” I whisper.

  His forehead furrows. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.”

  “That’s a lie,” I whisper. “I just did.”

  “Smart-ass.” He smiles as he pushes in further.

  “Ouch,” I whimper. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his back.

  “Nearly there, baby. Nearly there,” he whispers softly.

  I screw up my face, oh God . . . he’s . . . “Stop, stop, stop,” I whimper. “Give me a minute.”

  He drops and kisses me, his tongue dancing with mine, and I hold him close in my arms. We kiss for a long time and it’s then, with tenderness between us, that my body opens up and lets him completely in.