The Casanova (The Miles High Club)

by T L Swan

  “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.”

  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.

  The front door opens and a man comes into view. He’s wearing a white uniform that looks like scrubs. He’s elderly, perhaps in his sixties. “Hello Mr. Miles.” He speaks in a strong accent. His hair is dark and he’s quite handsome for his age.

  “Hello.” Elliot shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “My name is Henley and I’m the caretaker of Brogana. Welcome.”

  Elliot gestures to me. “This is Kathryn.”

  “Hello.” I smile and I shake his hand.

  “Come in, come in.” He gestures to the house as he walks in; we follow him inside and my breath is stolen.

  “Wow,” I whisper in awe.

  Elliot’s face breaks into a broad smile as he looks around. Everything is white and the furnishings are a dark timber, in the antique style. There are huge rugs in bold colors and abstract art is hung. The entire back wall is glass bi-fold doors with a breathtaking view over the beach and sea. A huge deep-blue infinity pool is by the deck. This place is out of this world.

  “There’s a private track through that gate that leads down to the beach,” Henley says as he gestures to an antique-looking gate to the left. “The bedrooms, bathrooms, and gymnasium are down the corridor and you have twenty-four-hour room service—there are staff in the quarters on the property that are at your beck and call. If there is anything that you need, please just ring the bell.” He hands a remote to Elliot. “I hope the property is to your standard, sir.”

  Elliot nods. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

  Henley smiles and nods with a bow. “I will leave you alone, sir.”

  “Thank you.” I smile as excitement fills me.

  “Henley,” Elliot says, “can you tell me a good restaurant to eat at tonight?”

  He smiles kindly. “Of course, sir, what do you feel like eating?”

  Elliot’s eyes come to me. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

  My stomach flips; I love it when he calls me that. “You pick, Henley, surprise us.” I smile. “I like everything.”

  Henley nods. “Very well, Kathryn, what time?”

  “Um . . .” I look between them.

  Elliot glances at his watch. “Perhaps in an hour and a half.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll notify you of the booking once I’ve made it.” Henley walks out and closes the door behind him.

  Elliot takes me into his arms. “Seven days here.” He smiles down at me.

  “I know.” I stand on my toes to kiss his big, beautiful lips. “I’m not sure I can cope with such torture.”

  “Well,” Elliot replies. “I hope you like eating goat’s testicles for dinner.”

  My face falls in horror. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Rule number one in traveling, Kate.” He kisses me again. “Never say you like every food.” He taps me on the nose. “Because trust me, you don’t.” He turns and wheels our suitcases up the hallway toward our room and I smile after him.

  “I like your balls,” I call. “And you’re a bit of a goat.”

  He laughs out loud and it’s deep and happy and it rumbles deep in my psyche. I smile goofily as he reappears and sees my face. “What’s that look for?”

  “You have a beautiful laugh.”

  He raises his eyebrow. “For a goat, you mean?”

  “Yes.” I giggle. “For a goat.”

  The fairy lights twinkle overhead and I smile across the table at my dreamy date.

  Thankfully we are eating seafood, not a goat’s ball in sight.

  The conversation is smooth and witty and never seems to run dry; it’s so weird, Elliot and I really do get along very well. We laugh and talk and everything feels very organic between us. There’s a lot more to us than steaming hot sex . . . even though there does seem to be a lot of that.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  It’s a clear night in a beautiful outdoor terrace restaurant.

  “You know, I think this would be one of the hardest jobs on earth,” I say as I crack open a crab claw.

  “What would be?” Elliot says as he concentrates on the task at hand.

  “Being a fisherman. Out in the elements, sun and wind. Never knowing what kind of catch or day it would be.” I put some shells into the dish provided.

  “You’ve got to be kidding, sounds like the best job in the world to me. No suit, no pressure.” He pops some crab into his mouth. “No office assholes.”

  I stop eating as I stare at him. “You know, you really are a surprise. You’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

  Amusement flashes across his face as he sips his wine. “Don’t be deluded, Kate, I’m everything that you thought.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “I’m in holiday mode and it’s seven days.” His eyes hold mine.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I can’t give you more than seven days.”

  Why the fuck would he say that?

  I stare at him for a moment and then I continue to crack my crab claw with my pliers. It feels like he’s giving me a warning.

  “When was your last girlfriend?”

  “Years ago.”

  “How come?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know, me and relationships don’t mix.”

  I stay silent, unsure what to say to that.

  “When was your last relationship?” he asks.

  “Serious relationship, six years ago.” I sip my wine. “I thought he was the one.”

  “And he wasn’t?” He keeps his eyes on his task.

  “Obviously not.”

  “What happened?”

  “A lot of things, can we talk about something else?”

  His eyes rise to hold mine and he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with my short answer.

  “Look, I get it.
You don’t want anything for more than a week and that’s fine with me.”

  He picks up his drink and sips it, clearly annoyed.

  “I’m sure that you have every woman in the Western world in love with you, Elliot, but I can assure you that I won’t be one of them. You are not the type of man I would fall for long-term.”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” I snap.

  We eat in silence for a while.

  “I should have fed you goat’s balls,” he mutters dryly.

  “You already did,” I say. “On the plane.”

  He smirks and then, unable to hold it, breaks into a broad smile. “And you loved them.”

  I cut up my food as I try to keep a straight face. “They were tolerable . . . I guess.”

  We stare at each other as the air crackles between us.

  “I might feed you them again tonight,” he whispers darkly.

  “No.” I bite my food off my fork.

  “No?”

  “You can show me your culinary skills tonight . . . seeing as you only have six days to impress me,” I reply flatly as I act bored. “You’re running out of days, Miles.”

  He smiles, clearly amused.

  “Seven including tonight, and I’ll impress you, Miss Landon . . . don’t you worry about that.”

  I try to keep a straight face; I like this game.

  “We’ll see.”

  My back arches off the bed and I scrunch the sheets up in my hands beneath me, wet with perspiration.

  He’s gone down on me, we fucked, I came, then he’s back down there with his tongue. Again, and again.

  He’s flipping me around like a rag doll and holy fucking hell . . . I’m impressed.

  I’ve come three times and still he won’t stop.

  He’s proving without a doubt that he holds the sexual power between us and I can’t argue, there’s no contest. When we are both naked, he owns me.

  I shudder hard and I grab a handful of his hair to try and pull him back from my sex.

  “Enough,” I whimper. “Please, El,” I beg.

  He smiles into me, his eyes flickering with satisfaction. “I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough.” In one movement, he rises and flips me over onto my stomach and pulls me up by the hips to my knees, then he slowly eases himself into me and I close my eyes at the sound of his deep guttural moan.