The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

I burst out laughing. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“How could you forget anything? Every detail from that night is burned into my brain.” He hands me a condom. “Put it on me.”

My lips softly kiss his dick before I follow his instruction. So bossy.

“Like what?” I whisper up at him. I lie down, and he crawls back over me.

“Like the way you looked at me, the way you tasted under my tongue.” His lips take mine, and our kiss deepens. “I remember how every muscle deep inside you felt when your body rippled around mine.”

I smile up at him in wonder as I run my fingers through his stubble. Please don’t be any more gorgeous. I won’t be able to deal with you at all.

“But it was the way you kissed me that I remember the most.”

My eyes search his. “How did I kiss you?”

“Like you’d been waiting your whole life to kiss me.”

He slides in deep, and my heart constricts. I bring my legs higher. “Maybe I had.”

We stare at each other, his body inside mine, and even though I know that this is just sex and that it means nothing, it feels intimate and special . . . more than it should.

Stop it. Stop overthinking this.

“Are you going to keep jabbering on, or are you going to fuck me?” I tease to lighten the moment.

He chuckles and pulls out and slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. I cry out.

Oh . . . dear God. I think I just woke the devil.

He pumps me with his knees spread wide, harder and harder, and with every slam he lifts my legs a little higher and a little wider.

He holds himself still and then circles deep inside me. My head tips back to the sky as I lose all coherent thought. “Oh God,” I whimper as his teeth graze my neck. “That’s so good.” He keeps doing the delicious movement as his thumb circles over my clitoris. My body begins to shudder, and he grabs my face and brings it to his.

Our eyes lock as my body arches and writhes beneath him.

“Look at me while you come on my cock,” he commands as he straightens his arms and puts my legs over his shoulders. The change in position deepens him inside of me, and I convulse as he slams into me. His body begins to take mine at piston pace, and I grip his arms as I stare up at him.

“Fuck yeah,” he growls. “Fuck . . . fuck . . .” He tips his head back and cries out as I feel the telling jerk as he comes deep inside me.

We’re wet with perspiration, and he bends and tenderly takes my lips with his.

My heart races out of control as I stare at the ceiling, gasping for air. His head is in my neck, his lips traili

ng along my collarbone.

What the fuck was that? That wasn’t sex—that was an apocalyptic event.

I’m ruined.

I wake in the darkness; the glow of the New York city lights illuminates through the room. It’s late—or early. About four in the morning, I think. We didn’t shut the drapes before going to sleep.

What a night.

We devoured each other until we had nothing left.

I stare at him as he lies flat on his back in an exhausted sleep. I don’t know what we are to each other, but I do know that he’s my sexual soul mate. Is that even a thing? Our bodies are like animals with each other; neither of us could get enough.

The thirst just couldn’t be quenched. If he were to wake up now, I would be instantly aroused, as I know he would be.