The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

What I want is to suck him . . . hard. I want to make him blow, fully dressed in his expensive suit.

I kiss his dick, and he runs his hand tenderly through my hair as he looks on.

What is it about the two of us together?

We don’t even need to

speak; it’s like we have a secret language. I can tell what he’s thinking, just by his touch. I begin to lick him with a flat tongue. Our eyes are locked.

He loves this.

He pulls my hair back into a ponytail on top of my head as he watches, and I smile around him. He wants in my mouth—that’s why he’s pulling my hair back from my face.

I lick everywhere, but I won’t put him completely in my mouth, and he begins to move my head by the grip he has on my hair to try to get in.

I lick up the length of his shaft, and then I whisper, “Fuck my mouth, Mr. Miles.”

He inhales deeply and pushes his cock down my throat. His preejaculate is salty, and the grip he has on my hair near painful. He slides out and then pumps back in as his eyes roll back in his head. “Fuck,” he moans.

“Harder,” I whisper around him.

He pushes in deep again, and this time I flick my tongue. His cock jerks, and he staggers forward.

He’s close already.

We find a rhythm. His hands grip my hair, and as I kneel naked on the bed, he fucks my mouth. Long and deep, the moans coming out of him are the hottest sounds I’ve ever heard.

His grip becomes painful as he slams into my mouth, and he tips his head back. With a deep moan, he comes in a rush. The hot semen fills my mouth, and I drink it down like a pro.

He struggles for air and tips his head back to the ceiling, and I lick him up as I continue to empty his beautiful body.

Then I stand and take his jacket off, and I undo his tie and slowly unbutton his shirt.

He looks on in a strange detached state, his face full of awe.

I slide his shirt over his shoulders and am blessed with a view of his thick, muscular chest with its scattering of dark hair. “Tristan,” I whisper as I kiss his chest. “I’ve missed your beautiful body.” I kiss lower and take him into my mouth again, and he pulls me up.

He kisses me, and it’s tender and meaningful and everything that a hotel hookup is not. “Fuck me,” he whispers. “You need to fuck me, Anderson.”

I pull his pants down in one quick movement. He disappears and grabs a handful of condoms with urgency. He throws them on the side table and rolls one on. He pushes me backward, and I fall onto the mattress with a giggle as he climbs over me.

In one hard pump he slides in deep. Our mouths fall open as we stare at each other.

Our hearts racing hard in our chests.

He pulls out and slides back in deep, and my body ripples around his as it tries to deal with his size.

Not all men are created equal. Tristan Miles is bona fide proof of that.

Sex with him . . . is otherworldly.

“I’ve been looking forward to wrecking your vagina all day, Anderson,” he whispers. I burst out laughing, and he slams in hard. “Get your fucking legs up.”

The water runs over my back, and I smile as my head leans against his broad chest.

“You know, when I teased you about drinking granny tea, I had no idea how granny you could actually get,” he mutters dryly.

I giggle. “You are a lucky boy.” I’m wearing a shower cap so that I don’t go back to work with wet hair. “You know, this is a very expensive lunch for you every day. How much does this hotel cost, anyway?”