The Takeover (The Miles High Club)

by T L Swan

I keep typing.

  “Claire,” he asserts. “Look at me, please.”

  I drag my eyes to meet his. The funny, flirty expression I’m used to has been replaced by one of new determination.

  “Why would you want to take me out to lunch?” I ask.

  He walks around to stand in front of me. He takes my hand and pulls me up out of my chair and into his arms. “Because I can’t fight this anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t want you. Because I do.”

  His body is hard and strong against mine, and as I stare up at him, I lose my ability to speak. He leans down and kisses me softly. His lips hover over mine.

  “Tris,” I whisper.

  “I’m sick of playing these stupid fucking games.”

  “Such as?”

  “Stop acting dumb, Anderson; it doesn’t suit you at all.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to go out with that Pilates fuckwit again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you all to myself.”

  “And yet you expect me to share?”

  “No. I won’t see anyone else either.”

  I stare at him for a moment as I try to keep up with the conversation. “Speak English, Tristan. What are you proposing?”

  “Casual monogamy.”

  “Casual monogamy?” I smirk. “Is that a thing?”

  He pulls me close and bumps me with his hips. “We’ll make it a thing.”

  “And may I ask how?”

  “Well . . . I’ll only see you, and you’ll only see me.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that.” I smile against his lips as he moves closer and kisses me.

  “Too bad.” Our lips crash together as he holds my face in his hands. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, so we need to do this.”

  “Why don’t you have a choice?” I ask.

  “Because I only want you.”

  I pull into the loading zone and give Fletcher a wave. He smiles as he sees me and runs over and jumps in. He’s carrying a suit bag and is rustling around and not closing the car door. “Hi,” I say as I put my indicator on. “Quick, I’m not allowed to pull in here.”

  He slams the door, and I pull back out into the traffic. “Hi,” he replies.

  “Hi.” I smile over at him and rub his leg. “Look at you, my big working boy.” I glance into the back seat. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Oh.” He smiles proudly. “Tristan bought me a present.”

  My eyes flick over to him in surprise. “What?”

  “He said I’ve been working really hard, so he wanted to reward me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He nods with a proud smirk.

  “Fletch, I’m so proud of you for trying so hard.” My eyes swing to the back seat. “What is it?”

  “A new suit.”

  I frown over at him. “How much did that cost?”

  “Like three thousand dollars.”

  “What?” I scoff.

  “Mom, I tried to tell him it was too much, and he told me I can’t wear cheap suits if I want to be taken seriously.”

  I frown as I watch the road, and my heart drops. Wade would have loved to have bought Fletch his first nice suit. Annoyance fills me. I know I should be grateful, but I feel like Tristan has stepped over the line. This was something that I wanted to do.

  I’m his mother . . . it should have been me.

  “Him and Sammia took me. Sammia told me to let him buy it because he has the money, and it’s true—I have been working very hard.”

  “Wow.” I widen my eyes as I act enthusiastic. “Remind me, who is Sammia?”

  “She’s Jameson’s PA. Her and Tristan are good friends.”

  “Oh.” I remember her. She’s gorgeous.

  “Yeah, I thought they were going out for a while.”

  My eyes flick over to him. “Why did you think that?”

  “Oh, they go to lunch together a lot. I just assumed.”

  I grip the steering wheel as an unexpected burst of jealousy runs through me. I glance back over at him. “So . . . are they going out?”

  “No. I met Sammia’s fiancé this week. Turns out they really are just friends.”

  “Oh.” Relief fills me, and I frown as I assess my emotions. Hmm . . . I really shouldn’t care what he does.

  Turns out that maybe I do. “Do you like Tristan?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, he’s kind of growing on me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, he’s not the bastard he pretends to be. Put it that way.”

  My eyes dart between him and the road. “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know,” he says causally as he stares out the window at the people rushing by on the sidewalk. “He’s not who I thought he was.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t think he’s a bad guy in a good suit like I first thought. I think he’s actually a good guy in a good suit.” He takes out his phone and starts to scroll. “He’s actually pretty funny.”

  I bite my lip to hold my tongue. I want to ask him a million questions about Tristan Miles, but I know I can’t be obvious, and besides, he and I are effectively just friends, so it doesn’t matter anyway.

  My mind goes over what he said to me in my office earlier today.

  “So . . . sleeping with only you . . . isn’t a problem for me.” His lips touched mine. “However, not sleeping with you is a torture I won’t tolerate.”

  I smirk to myself as I drive. I like the fact that he doesn’t want anyone else, and I know that this is probably a disaster waiting to happen, but I’m going with the oblivious approach.

  I’m just not going to think about it.

  What will I wear tomorrow? Nerves flutter in my stomach at the thought of having him to myself for an hour.

  For the first time since Paris, I find myself being a little excited.

  Marley walks into my office. “What do you want to have for lunch?”

  “Oh, um.” I pause. Shit. “I have an appointment today on my lunch break. Sorry.” I spin toward her in my chair. It doesn’t feel right lying to my best friend, but this really needs to stay between Tristan and me. “What are you going to get?”

  “Hmm . . . not sure, really. I’m feeling like sushi, but then”—she grimaces—“I can’t be bothered to walk to the good place.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s a trek.” I think for a moment. “What about Denver’s?”

  She screws up her face, as if I’m stupid. “Don’t you remember last time we went there?”

  “No, what happened?”

  “Death by risotto.” She widens her eyes. “We nearly died that day, Claire.”

  I giggle. “Oh, that’s right. How could I ever forget that?” We had risotto, and it upset our stomachs so bad that we were lying on my office floor groaning for an hour.

  “What appointment do you have?”

  “Oh.” I try to think on my feet. “Doctor. Just an annual checkup.” My phone beeps with a text, and I see the name Tristan light up the screen. I turn it over so that she can’t see his name.

  “Cool,” she says as she walks toward the door.

  “What are you going to have?” I call. “Death by risotto or good sushi?”

  She shrugs. “Hmm, probably mediocre sushi from around the corner. Save my feet.”

  “Mediocre sushi is better than no sushi at all,” I reply.

  “This is true.” She disappears out the door, and I read my text.

  Anderson,

  Your lunch date is at

  Dream Downtown at 1pm.

  Tris.

  xo

  I smile and glance at my clock. Hmm, that’s a weird place to have lunch. Must be so that nobody sees us. One hour until I get to see him.

  I walk into the foyer of the Dream Downtown hotel right at one o’clock.

  “Hello.” I hear his deep voice behind me.

  I spin toward him, and my heart catches in my throat. He’s wearing a gray suit
and a cream shirt with a navy tie. His dark curled hair is unruly, and he looks completely edible. “Hi.” I smile.

  His hungry eyes drop down my body. “I’ve already ordered lunch for us.”

  “You have?”

  He glances toward the reception desk, as if guilty of a sinister crime. “Yes, it’s in the private dining room.”

  “Oh.” I frown.

  “This way, please.” He turns and walks off toward the elevator, and I follow him. We get in. He pushes the number seven, the doors close, and we begin to go up.

  “Where is this . . . private dining room?” I ask.

  “I can’t tell you,” he says dryly. “It’s private.”

  “So it’s a super-private dining room?”

  “Precisely.” He continues to look straight ahead.

  “How did you know how to find it if it’s so private?” I ask as I play along.

  “My uncle’s sister’s husband’s brother’s mother-in-law told me about it,” he replies without hesitation.

  “Oh, I see.” I smile and put my head down. This man kills me. The doors open, and he strides down the hallway on a mission and presents a key from his pocket at one of the doors. “This isn’t a private dining room; this is a hotel room.”

  He winks darkly. “Semantics.”

  “How so?”

  He turns the key and opens the door. “You will be eating, and . . . it’s private.” He stands back to let me in. The room is quaint with a king-size bed and a lovely bathroom.

  The curtains are drawn, and it’s dark, lit only by the lamps. A platter of food covered with a silver lid and a bottle of champagne are on the table. I turn toward him. “You’ve already been up here?”

  “Well, I had to organize your lunch.” He rolls his eyes, as if I’m stupid. “This is a dining room.”

  I look around the room. “And you drew the curtains for me?”

  “Yes.” He steps toward me. “Didn’t want to scare you with my member. Thought I would ease you back into the saddle.”

  I burst out laughing. “Your member?” His lips dust mine, his tongue slowly sliding through my lips as he takes my face in his hands.

  Oh man . . . the way he kisses.

  I open my eyes to see his are closed. He’s totally in the moment with me. “Do you know how fucking horny I am, Anderson?” he whispers against my mouth.

  I smile. “Probably as horny as me.”

  “No. I win. I’ve jerked off three times today in preparation for this. You’ll be lucky if I have anything left for you.”

  I burst out laughing. “Oh, I missed your sense of humor.”

  We fall serious for a moment as our eyes search each other’s. I missed more than his sense of humor, but I’ll never admit it. “I need you naked,” he whispers. His concentration drops to my blouse, and he begins to slowly unbutton it.

  My heart is beating so fast as I stand before him. How is this happening? We’ve been in the room together for all of two minutes.

  This is lust . . . pure, unadulterated lust.

  “What were you thinking about when you jerked off?” I whisper.

  His eyes hold mine. “You.”

  My heart constricts in my chest as my eyes search his again. I know this is casual and probably sleazy sex. But damn it, it feels like more. It feels like a lifetime since I’ve been in his arms. He undoes my last button and slides my blouse over my shoulder and carefully places it over the back of the couch. His lips go to my neck as he slowly unzips my zipper and slides my skirt down.

  He nips my neck with his teeth and then takes my skirt fully off and carefully places it on the chair. “We don’t want any creases in your clothes when you go back to work.”

  I frown. How many times before has he had this kind of lunch date?

  He knows the drill . . . I push the thought to the back of my mind.

  Don’t go there.

  He steps back from me; his eyes drop down my body, and I close my eyes to block him out. My nerves are at an all-time high. I know I am nothing like the women he’s used to. “You know . . . ,” he whispers.

  I stare at a spot on the carpet—anything to take myself away from the intensity of his gaze on my body.

  He drags my face to his. “I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Anderson.”

  If I could answer him with something witty, I would. But I can’t. I’m overwrought with the feelings he brings out in me.

  He bends and kisses my clavicle and then one by one takes my nipples into his mouth through my bra.

  I hold my breath to try to stop it from quivering, to try to at least act a little cool.

  He drops lower to my stomach. He trails kisses lower and lower and then drops to his knees in front of me. He nibbles my sex through my panties, and I close my eyes as I nearly combust.

  Oh, dear God . . .

  He pulls my panties to the side and kisses me softly there . . . oh fucking hell.

  I feel his exhale on my skin, and I hold my breath as I wait for a reaction.

  He inhales sharply and then, as if unable to help it, licks me deep with his thick tongue. He moans in appreciation, and it sends a rumble through my sex. My legs nearly cave in under me. I glance up and catch sight of us in the mirror.

  Me in my black lace underwear. Him in a full suit and tie, on his knees in front of me.

  I look down at him, and his eyes are closed in pleasure, as if he might die if he doesn’t get to taste me. Impatient with licking around my panties, he slides them down, throws them to the side, and then walks me backward over to the bed.

  He slowly takes my bra off and then lays me down and spreads my legs wide.

  His eyes roam over my flesh. I’m completely at his mercy.

  Here for his pleasure.

  We stare at each other as the energy swirls between us like wildfire.

  When Tristan Miles has me naked . . . nothing else matters.

  All I care about is pleasing him.

  He bends and takes my thighs in his hands and holds me wide as his tongue begins to swirl deep in my sex.

  My back arches off the bed, and I writhe beneath him. My hands twist in his wavy hair, and I drag his face up so I can look at him. His lips glisten with my arousal, and his eyes are a beautiful shade of “come fuck me.”

  “Get up here,” I whisper.

  He licks me again, his eyes closing once more, and it becomes very clear that he isn’t in control of his actions anymore. He’s working on instinct now, sheer male instinct. His body has taken over; it doesn’t matter what I ask for. He needs to do it his way . . . at least this time, anyway.

  He keeps eating me, deeper and deeper as he loses all control. His face thrashes from side to side, and his whiskers burn my sensitive skin.

  Fucking hell . . . so good.

  My back begins to arch in pleasure; my face contorts as I try to hold it. “Tris,” I whimper as I pull his hair between my fingers. “Up here. Come up here.” I want to kiss him.

  I desperately want to kiss him.

  He grazes his teeth against my clitoris, and I cry out as I burst into orgasm. I shudder hard as he softly licks me through it. For five minutes he continues as I stare at the ceiling and shudder and see stars.

  I think that’s the hardest I’ve ever come. God damn, he’s so fucking good at this.

  I come to my senses and realize that he’s still completely dressed in his suit.

  I sit up with a renewed determination and crawl onto my knees. “Stand up,” I breathe.

  His eyes flicker with fire, and he stands up as I unzip his trousers. His cock is rock hard and sitting above the waist of his briefs. Preejaculate is beading on the end. I should undress him. I should take my time.

  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.