The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

He raises his eyebrow and sips his scotch again. The electricity in the air between us is palpable.

“I should get back to my desk,” I whisper.

His eyes stay fixed on me as if he wants to say something, but he remains silent.

“Is there anything else you wanted, sir?” I whisper as I stand.

He puts his drink down on the desk and walks toward me. “Yes, actually. There is.”

He stops in front of me so that our faces are only an inch apart, and I stare up at him.

His close proximity steals my breath, and like a wave in the ocean, arousal swims between us. “Can you feel that?” he breathes.

I nod because it’s undeniable.

“I’m so sexually attracted to you that it’s insane,” he whispers. “From the first moment I saw you on that plane.”

I stare at him as I get a vision of him throwing me across his desk.

He trails his index finger down my face, over the center of my chest between my breasts, and then lower to my stomach, and then he skims it over my pubic bone before resting his hand on my hip. “I have a request.”

“Yes.” I close my eyes as I feel myself melt under his touch.

He leans forward so that his lips are almost touching my ear. His breath tickles and sends goose bumps down my spine. “I want you to wear your gray skirt tomorrow, the one with the split.”

I frown as I listen to his whispered words.

“Your white silk blouse, and the lace bra that you wear underneath it.”

Holy shit . . .

“No stockings.” His hand grips my hip bone, and I clench my sex.

He licks my ear. “I want you to wear your hair in a ponytail so I can wrap it around my hand.”

I get a vision of him wrapping my ponytail around his hand, and I nearly combust.

This man is a god.

I stare up at him. “Anything else?” I breathe.

“Yes.” His eyes darken, and he reaches up and rubs his pointer finger over my bottom lip. “Tonight, I want you to take your vibrator.” His voice is deep and hushed and doing things to my insides that I didn’t know were possible.

My eyes widen as he slightly parts my lips with his finger. Then he puts it in my mouth, and I find myself sucking it. His eyes darken as he watches me, and a slow, sexy smile crosses his face.

“I want you to fuck yourself. Long . . . deep and slow.”

Oh . . . Lord have mercy.

“Why would I do that?” I breathe.

“Because I know it will be my face that you will see when you come.”

He bends and licks up my neck, and then he bites my ear, and my legs nearly buckle underneath me. “Do your homework, and you will be well rewarded,” he whispers in my ear before tenderly kissing my neck with an open mouth.

I’m like putty in his hands. I can’t even pretend to fight this . . . whatever this is.

He dusts his lips across mine but then steps back, an