“What is this?” he whispers.

Love.

“You know what it is.”

You love me.

His eyes search mine.

“We could win the war and blow up the world.”

He smiles softly and leans down and kisses my foot before licking it.

Sex between us has hit a new high.

It’s changed.

We don’t always fuck now; sometimes we make love, and I have to say Christopher Miles is the master.

Tender.

Intimate and personal . . . the kissing, the care he takes of me, the way he worships my body . . . he takes me to a higher place than I ever knew existed.

He kisses my foot with an open mouth, his eyes locked on mine. “How long?” he whispers.

We’ve been waiting for my pill to kick in. “We’re good to go.”

His eyes flicker with arousal, and he inhales sharply.

I smile and spread my legs as an invitation. “You got something you want to give to me, baby?”

“Fuck yeah.” He stands and rushes into the bathroom and returns with some towels and a bottle of oil.

He lays the two towels out on the bed and then pulls me up onto my knees as he stands beside it. He lifts my nightdress over my head as he kisses me. He pours a little of the oil on his rock-hard erection, and with his hand over mine, he strokes himself.

I smile against his lips. Dirty bastard.

We kiss as our grip on him gets harder, the jerks almost violent, and I know he’s running on instinct. The primal urge to come inside of me has taken him over, and he is no longer in control.

He turns me away from him and bends me over onto my knees. I feel his stubble on my behind as he licks me.

God . . .

I drop to my elbows to open myself more for him.

He really begins to eat me, and I scrunch the sheets in my hands beneath me.

I need him. I need all of him inside me. I wiggle my behind in a silent invitation. “Fuck me,” I whisper.

I’m not scared anymore. I can ride his dick like a pro now.

He pours oil all over my behind. It drizzles down over my sex, and he rubs it into my swollen lips. “Fuck . . . you look good,” he murmurs. He slides his finger in and then another and then another, with a delicious twist at the end as he warms me up.

“Tell me how hard you’re going to blow,” I breathe.

He chuckles and slaps me hard on the cheek. I jump with a yelp. My skin stings, and I drop my head and smile. This is what he does so well. I’m never quite sure what the hell is happening. There is always an edge of pain with the pleasure he delivers.

So good with a side of ouch.

He holds himself at the base and bounces his hardened dick on my sex and then, without warning, slides home in one sharp movement.

The air leaves my lungs, and he stills to let me accommodate his size. My body ripples around his.

He moans, and I smile darkly. That’s it . . . the perfect sound.

Christopher Miles aroused is next level . . .

He takes my two hip bones in his hand and drives me into the mattress, hard and fast.

The oil slapping between our skin.

I close my eyes to try to deal with him. The strength that oozes from his large muscular body is taking mine over.

Powerful, piston-fast pumps.

Deep and wet, the sound of my body sucking him is loud in the room.

The bed is hitting the wall, the sound of our skin slapping is deafening, and good god . . .

I see stars . . . all the stars, maybe even the moon.

How can anyone be this good at sex? He’s an Oxford scholar on the subject, a professor, master of the universe.

I’m positive that if he ever did porn, he would break the internet.

With the sound of his moans and the feel of his thick, hard cock deep inside me, I lose control. My body contracts around his, and I come hard.

He slaps me on the behind and follows as he holds himself deep. I feel the telling jerk of his cock thrusting deep, and I smile into the mattress.

He tips his head back as he pants, gasping for air, and perspiration dusts his skin.

His hands tenderly rub my behind and up over my back: such a contrast to the beating his body just gave mine. “That was fucking good,” he replies in his husky aroused voice.

“Where we at?” I pant.

He chuckles and pulls out. “Getting there.” He rubs his fingers through the lips of my sex to feel himself there. “Eighty percent.” He keeps rubbing me there, and he inhales sharply, transfixed with what he’s staring at. “You have no idea how fucking hot this looks, Grumps. Me . . . inside you.” He lifts his hand to show me. Semen drips off his fingers. “Fucking hot,” he mouths before sucking his fingers clean.

Jeez . . .

What the hell?

The man’s a bona fide deviant.

CHRISTOPHER

We walk up the corridor of the hostel. It’s early morning. I have my bartending course today, and I wanted to check Grumps back into the hostel before I go.

We didn’t check out before we went to the hotel, so we still have the same room.

I open the door and am instantly hit with the stench of alcohol.

Fuck.

There are other people now staying in our room.

Strangers.

I look around at the four people in the beds, all men in only their underpants.

Still half-drunk.

One of them is naked, his soft dick on display as he sleeps.

Fuck.

“Close the door,” one of them grumbles.

I turn to Hayden; her eyes are wide as she looks around at the naked bodies. Up until now we’ve been blessed with good, respectful roommates.

“Screw this.” I pull her out of the room by the hand. “You’re not staying in there.”

“We have to,” she replies as I drag her down toward the office. I glance at my watch. Fuck it, I don’t have time for this shit this morning. “It will be fine.”

“It is not fucking fine,” I snap. I march into the office to see Howard, the manager. “Hi, Howard.”

“Hey, Christo.”

“Listen, we’ve got a problem. I need a private room for Hayden and me for three nights, please.”

He looks between us. “Finally got the balls to make a move, did you?”

“Fuck off. Listen. There are a bunch of drunk idiots in our room, and I’m not leaving Hayden with them. I have a bartending course on all weekend, and she has nowhere else to go. They’re all naked and drunk in there. What’s she supposed to do?”

“I’ll just go to the beach and read my book,” she says.

“It’s raining,” I snap.

“I’m fine,” she replies, indignant. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Christopher. I can look after myself, you know.”

“No private rooms left,” Howard replies.

“Fine. We’ll go back to the hotel.” I begin to drag Hayden from the office.

“We are not going back to the hotel. We’re not wasting that money.” She digs her heels in. “We’re staying here,” she demands. “I’m not a princess.”