The Do-Over (The Miles High Club Book 4)

He pulls back, and his eyes search mine as if waiting for approval. His lips take mine again, only this time I can’t help myself. I kiss him back. My tongue gently curling around his, my hand sliding up over his strong shoulders.

We kiss again and again, and he rolls me onto my back and wraps my leg around his waist. His body leans half over mine, and I can feel the large erection in his boxers as it grows against my thigh.

Oh . . .

He’s so muscular and big and . . . frigging hell, I’ve never been with a man like this.

Our kisses get deeper and more heated, inferno hot, and we lose control.

He pulls my leg up aggressively; my knee is now near his chest as his lips drop to my neck.

He bites me and trails his lips over my skin, his erection rubbing on my panties. Holy fucking hell . . .

His teeth gently tug at my bottom lip, and I feel it deep in my sex.

Yes.

He rolls over so that he’s on top of me, his body cradled between my legs, and he begins to slowly slide up and down over my sweet spot as we kiss.

My legs wrap around his waist, an unstoppable force building between us. An atomic bomb, waiting to explode. I need this.

Fuck, I need this.

I grab the waistband of his boxers and slide them down. His large cock springs free, and then I remember.

Oh no.

It’s that time of the month . . . what the hell? This is the worst timing ever!

“Shit,” I mutter.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs against my lips as he kisses me. He hasn’t forgotten at all.

Why did I take his boxers off if I can’t do anything?

You idiot.

He pulls my pajama top off over my head and smiles as he looks down at my breasts. He bends and takes my nipple into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. “Yes,” he whispers. His hands roam up and down my body as if he doesn’t know where to touch me first, his hips gently pumping by themselves.

My heart is in my throat as I watch. Seeing him like this is a new level of excitement. He’s so lost in the moment, so aroused that I swear I could come just by watching him. Let alone how good he feels.

He grabs the waistband of my pajamas and goes to pull them down.

“Chris,” I whisper. “We’re not.”

“Relax, baby. We’re just playing around,” he murmurs against my lips. He continues to slide my boxers down and takes them off.

Okay . . . what the hell?

We’re both naked. This is a dangerous kind of playing around.

Don’t go there.

We kiss, and he rubs his fingertips through my pubic hair. “Hmm.” He whispers softly, “You have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted to touch you like this.” As we kiss, he circles his fingers over my clitoris in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

Oh no.

“Making you come is all I’ve thought about for months,” he whispers. “You have no idea how much your body turns me on.”

Arousal instantly builds deep inside me.

His fingers are just the right pressure, and my mouth falls open.

Oh . . . oh . . . how does he know the exact spot? It’s like he has a map. My head plunges back. He does that too well.

Damn him and all his womanizing experience. I don’t stand a chance to play it cool.

His breath on my neck, his fingertips gently circling, his erection up against me.

Keeping my legs closed is a near-impossible task.

I shudder, and he chuckles against my neck, knowing full well that he’s hardly even touched me and I’m about to blow.

No.

I’m so embarrassing.

I need to deflect. I go to pull out of his grip, and he pushes me back down. “Don’t move,” he demands as he holds me still.

The dominance of him is next level, and my arousal hits fever pitch.

I’m coming tonight . . . whether I like it or not.

I reach down and take his hard length in my hand, and what the hell?

Big.

I can hardly get my hand around him. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat.

He pushes my legs back, my thighs up against my chest, and rolls over onto me.

“Christopher,” I warn.

“Playing,” he snaps.

This doesn’t feel like playing. This feels like he’s about to nail me to the bed. “But . . .”

“Shut up, Grumps,” he whispers.

I giggle. That’s not something I ever expected to hear in the heat of the moment.

He adjusts his dick so that without being inside of me, he rubs himself through the lips of my sex. He slowly drives forward and right over my clitoris.

That feels . . . good.

Oh fuck . . .

His dark eyes hold mine, and he turns his head and licks up my calf muscle. His tongue is thick and strong. I see stars, and I shudder hard, unable to hold it.

Oh, the horror.

I’m a two-pump chump.

“You’re going to be so much fun to break in, Grumps,” he murmurs. He takes my face in his two hands and kisses me deeply. “Suck. My. Cock.”

My eyes widen . . . jeez.

He talks dirty.

I’m suddenly unsure of myself. I feel like a little girl, inexperienced and immature.

Way too come-y.

He kisses me deeply and grabs a handful of my hair and guides me down his body.

Well . . . here I go. I’ve given head before, but never to a master.

I lick his tip, fluttering my tongue over his end. He lies back, and with his eyes locked on mine, he inhales deeply.

He likes that.

His reaction spurs me on, and I slowly take him into my mouth. His breath quivers, and I know he’s close too. I take him in my hand and stroke while I suck. Our eyes are locked, and he spreads his legs wider.

Inviting me in.

I take him rougher and suck harder, and his eyes flutter as he moans. “That’s it.”

I want to be more for him. I want to say something unexpected . . . dirty.

“Fuck my mouth,” I whisper around him.

His eyes darken, and he grabs two handfuls of my hair and slides deep down my throat.

Oh no . . . too far.

I gag at his size, and he pushes the hair back from my face and smiles down at me. “You probably shouldn’t tell me to do that, Grumps.”

Bastard.

Determined to do it better, I take him in my mouth again. I get into a rhythm, and he moans and tips his head back, and damn it, I wish I was riding him home.

Tonight, I’d be the jockey of all jockeys.

His grip on my hair tightens, and he shudders, and I brace myself.

“I’m going to come.” He moans, “Grumps.” He’s giving me an out if I don’t want to swallow.

To hell with the rules. I’m in bed with a sex god. Where the rules are, there are no rules.

“Do it,” I dare him.

Fire flares in his eyes, and he spreads his legs wider and holds himself deep. He comes in a rush down my throat.

Oh . . . god . . . I forgot this part . . . aah.

Ugh . . .

Stop it.

I let myself go and drink him down, taking my time. I lick him up. With my eyes locked on his, I lick my own fingers that still have him on them.

He stares at me. His brow is creased, and as his chest rises and falls as he struggles for air, I’m not sure if he’s impressed or horrified.

Maybe a little of both.

I kiss his dick and crawl up his body and snuggle up into his chest.

He lies still, so still that I look up at him. “What?”

He puffs air into his cheeks as if surprised. “That was . . . fucking good.”

I kiss his chest beneath me.

It was.

I smile sleepily in his arms, cradled in his warmth, and the key sounds in the door.

Oh crap, it’s Basil.

“Fuck,” Christopher whispers. “What’s he doing home so early?”

I sit up and grab both of our pajamas from the floor and get back under the covers just as the door opens.

“Hey,” Basil says casually as he walks in. He doesn’t even look down at us.

“Hi,” we both reply. My heart is still racing.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today.” He begins to chat away, and we lie and listen, but with every word he says, I can feel Christopher pull away, although I’m not sure if it’s Basil or me that he’s trying to escape.

“I’m having a shower,” Basil eventually says.

The minute the door closes, Christopher dives out of bed and pulls his boxer shorts on. “Get dressed,” he whispers as he throws my pajamas at me. “Quick. He can’t know.”

I frown. Huh?

Why can’t he know?

“I’m going to take a quick shower.” He rushes out of the room, and I stare at the back of the door, dumbfounded.

We’ve been dancing around this for months. Why can’t Basil know? I would have thought that this was something worth screaming out to the world.

Maybe not.

I get dressed and go to the bathroom, and with every minute that passes, a sense of dread creeps in. Does he regret it? He’s not acting like I thought he would.

This could be one big disaster.

I come back to the room to find Christopher back in my bed. He gives me a soft smile and flicks back the covers.

Relief fills me.

Okay, everything is fine. I’m imagining things that aren’t there.

I crawl in, and he wraps his arm around me, and I put my head onto his chest. He kisses my temple as he holds me close. “Good night, my sexy Grumps.”

I trail my fingers through the scattering of his dark chest hair. It feels so good to finally be able to touch him like this. “Good night.”

He puts his mouth to my ear and whispers, “You give great head.”

I smile into the darkness. Crisis averted. The closeness between us is back.

Basil comes back into the room and begins to talk. He goes on and on and on and tells us every little detail of his day, like he does every night.

We lie in silence and listen. “Has anyone ever told you that you have verbal diarrhea?” Christopher asks him.

I poke Christopher in the ribs.

“No, why? What’s that?” Basil replies without a clue.

I poke Christopher again. “Don’t,” I whisper.

“Just a bug that’s going around,” Christopher lies.

“I hope I don’t catch it,” Basil replies. “It doesn’t sound good at all.”

“I guarantee that if you keep your mouth shut, you won’t,” Christopher mutters dryly.

“Good idea,” Basil replies as he climbs into bed.

I giggle. “Good night, Baz.”

“Grumps,” a voice whispers.

I drag my eyes open to see Christopher fully dressed and leaning over my bed. “What’s wrong?” I frown.

“I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

My eyes fly open. “What?”

“I have to sign some paperwork with my brothers.”

What the hell?

I sit up and rub my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“There’s paperwork concerning my parents’ estate, and I need to sign along with my brothers on the same day.”

I blink.

He didn’t mention this at all yesterday.

“When will you be back?” I frown.

“A few days.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No,” he replies, way too fast. He kisses me quickly on the lips. “You have fun here. Go to Portugal with the others.”

I think for a second. “Actually, I’ll stay here and work for the week. Maria is off sick, and they offered me her shifts.” I glance over, and his full backpack is packed by the door. “Just leave your backpack here with me.”

“It’s fine.”

My eyes search his. He’s not coming back.

“I’m fine,” he snaps.

But I didn’t ask him anything . . . he’s not fine. He’s freaking out.

“Okay?” He smiles. “We good?” He nods as if trying to convince himself. “Okay? Everything’s all right.” He’s tripping over his words and stands in a rush.

I get out of bed and watch him. He’s fussing around and looking everywhere but at me.

“Christopher.”

He keeps putting things in his bag and fiddling with the zipper.

“Christopher,” I say, sterner. “Look at me.”

His eyes rise to mine.

“It’s okay.”

“Yep, it’s sweet.” He nods as if convincing himself. “I know. Totally sweet.”

Sweet is not a word I’ve heard him use. He’s never lied to me before.

“Bye.” He kisses me quickly and picks up his backpack and without looking back rushes out the door.

I stare at the back of it, shocked to silence.

What the hell just happened?

“You slept together, didn’t you?” Basil says dryly.

I exhale heavily.

“Hayden, have you learned nothing?” He sighs. “No hanky-panky with roommates.”

My eyes well with tears. If I’d thought we were only roommates, I wouldn’t have.

I thought we were more.

I throw my bag into the trunk and get into the back of the cab. “Airport, please.”

“Okay.” The driver calmly pulls out and into the traffic.

My heart is hammering hard in my chest, and I turn and look at the hostel through the back window.

I drag my hand down my face. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I take out my phone and call Eddie. He answers on the first ring. “Hello, Mr. Christo.”

“Hi, buddy. Listen, I have to go out of town for a while. Can you look after Miss Hazen for me please?”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to sign some papers at home.” I’m not lying. I do have to sign some papers, but I wasn’t due to do it until next week, but I know the boys are all in New York this week. I need to go home.

“Are you coming back?” he asks softly.

I can hear the disappointment in his voice, and I close my eyes. Damn it. “Of course I am.”

“When?”

“A couple of days.”

“What day?”

“I don’t know yet,” I snap. “Can you watch over her for me or not?”

“Fine.”

“Good. She’s too trusting, and I just—”

He cuts me off. “I’m on it.”

“Thank you.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else, and I exhale heavily. It’s a weird world where the person I trust most is a fourteen-year-old kid who works nights in a bar.

Perspiration dusts my skin, and I wipe my brow. Damn it, sleeping with that woman—or nearly sleeping with that woman—has me on the verge of a complete fucking meltdown. I’ve never felt so unstable.

I take a deep steadying breath as I stare out the window. I shouldn’t be going.

But I can’t stay.

The walls are closing in around me, and I didn’t sleep the entire night.

I pursued this . . . I wanted this.

And now?

Fuck . . . what have I done?

I just need some time with my brothers.

I rub my fingers over my stubble as I stare out the window.

Go back.

Don’t fuck this up. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

Go back.

“Can you just . . .”

The driver’s eyes flick up to meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“Never mind.” I correct myself. “Drop me off at the international terminal, please.”

I walk out of JFK Airport just at 7:00 p.m. The black limo is waiting by the curb for me.

Brandon, my driver, smiles warmly with a nod. “Good evening, Mr. Miles.”

I smile and shake his hand. “Hello, Brandon. It’s good to see you.”

He pops the trunk, and I put my backpack in and get into the back seat.

He pulls out into the traffic, and I look around my hometown in awe. It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time.

So busy.

Yellow cabs are everywhere, and I smile as I feel my equilibrium return.

“Are we picking anyone up, sir?” Brandon asks.

I frown. Do we normally pick people up? I guess we do.

“No, not tonight.”

I sit quietly in the back as we drive through New York. I glance at the time on my phone. It would be 1:00 a.m. in Spain.

I should call Hayden and tell her that I landed safely . . . and then say what?

I imagine how the conversation would go, and I exhale heavily.

I’m not in the mood for the third degree. I stuff my phone back in my pocket.

Fifteen minutes later we pull up in front of my building. “Home sweet home.” Brandon smiles.

“Yes.” I smile. “I’ve missed this place.”

“I’ll carry your bag up for you, sir,” he offers.

“No. I’ve got it, thanks.” I sling the huge backpack over my shoulder.

“What time will you be heading out, Mr. Miles?”

I frown. That’s right . . . I do go out every night when I’m here.

“I’m staying in tonight. Go home. Have the night off.”

Brandon’s eyebrows flick up as if he’s surprised.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

He frowns.

I smile and make my way into the foyer.

The concierge staff all run when they see me with my heavy bag. “Mr. Miles, it’s good to see you, sir. Let us take that.”

“I’m fine,” I reply. Why are they all running?

I look around. Everything is marble and over-the-top luxurious. Huge bouquets of fresh flowers are everywhere, and the staff are all in black suits. The floor is so highly polished it looks like a mirror.

I frown. Was it always this luxurious? Did I just never notice it before?

Hmm . . .

I get into the elevator, and Harold, its operator, is standing quietly. “Hello, Mr. Miles.” He smiles.

“Hello, Harold.” I turn to face the front. “Have you had a good day?” I ask him.

“I have, sir.” He smiles. “Have you?”

I shrug. “It was okay,” I lie. I had the shittiest day of all time.

We continue to ride up to my penthouse, and a thought crosses my mind. Does he just stand in the elevator all night, waiting to take people up to their floors?

“How long have you worked in the elevator, Harold?”

“Seventeen years, sir.”

I stare at him.

He smiles broadly. “And tonight was the first time you have ever called me by my name.”

I blink. What?

The doors ping as we get to my floor. They open, and I stare at him, horrified.

“Have a wonderful night, sir.”

“You too,” I reply softly, taken aback. Surely that can’t be right, although deep down I know that it is.

I’m an asshole.

I walk out of the elevator and into my private foyer. I scan my fingerprint, and the double doors unlock. I push them open to walk in to floor-to-ceiling windows, stunning views over New York.

With a heavy heart, I drop my backpack and walk over to a window and stare out over the city. New York is buzzing down below, a sight that I have seen for all of my life—taken for granted, even.

Tonight, it feels foreign.

So foreign.

I turn and look around my grand apartment. It’s huge and spans two floors. Slouchy leather couches, polished concrete flooring, and bright abstract paintings hang on the walls.

I walk into the kitchen and look around. It’s as if I’m seeing every detail for the first time. Stylish appliances and expansive marble countertops. I open a door and stare in. Strip lighting illuminates a staircase leading down to the refrigerated room that’s bigger than most people’s living rooms. My wine cellar, where I house hundreds of thousands of dollars of exotic wine.

I frown, perplexed.

I close the door and walk up the grand double stairs beside the internal elevator.

I amble up the hall, and sensor lighting on the floor lights up as I walk along.

Hmm, why do I even need this? Since when has turning on a switch been so hard?

I arrive at my bedroom and stand at the door and look in at the oversize king bed.

A million visions run through my mind of the women I’ve had here, the parties, the orgies . . . the orgasms, both given and taken.

Deflated, I walk into my bathroom and turn the shower on. I stare up at the ceiling. It’s a triple shower with ornate brass fittings. Even though I used to see it every day, I never noticed it before. It’s something that I took for granted. Why do I even have a triple shower?

You know why . . .

There are usually three people in it.

I look around with fresh eyes. The marble is white, and the fittings are brass. There is a marble seat along one wall and a sunken spa bath in the floor. Fluffy navy-blue towels are folded perfectly on the shelving, along with four navy robes hanging perfectly on brass hooks on the wall.

Four robes.

This apartment has the best of the best of everything in it, packed to the hilt with luxury . . . but somehow, it’s empty.

So empty.

Deflated, I get into the shower and stand under the hot water. My heart is racing, and for the tenth time today, I feel the walls closing in on me. I swear to god, I’m fucking losing it.

I don’t feel like I’m home, and this all feels foreign . . . which is fucked up, because I am home.

New York has always been the one place I do belong.

If this doesn’t feel like home, then where is?

London.

If I was at my penthouse in London, then it would feel different, I’m sure.

Yes, that’s it . . . London.

I inhale deeply as I try to calm myself. Of course I’m rattled and feeling off. I didn’t sleep a wink last night and am exhausted. Jet lagged, even. I’m not going to call my brothers to meet tonight. I’m feeling way too off kilter.

I get out of the shower and dry off, and too tired to eat any dinner, I crawl into bed.

In the dark silence, I stare up at the ceiling.

The bed is huge, the sheets are crisp, and everything feels so clean and sterile.

Lonely.

My life is a mess.