The Casanova by T L Swan

ELLIOT

I lie on my side, propped up on my elbow, and watch her as she sleeps. The sun is peeping through the sides of the drapes and as the time passes, with more light, I can see her more. Her honey hair is splayed across the pillow, her big lips are pouty, and her eyelashes flutter sporadically as if she’s dreaming.

She rolls onto her back and for the first time I see her exposed neck.

Fuck.

Teeth marks all over it. The bruising only faint, but still there. With trepidation I peel down the blankets to look over the rest of her body.

Her full breasts rise and fall as she breathes and it’s all I can do not to lean over and suck them. She definitely delivers in that department.

Who am I kidding? She delivers in every department.

My eyes roam down over her stomach and I frown when I get to her hips: four distinct bruises. I sit up so I can see her other hip and am appalled to find the same.

Finger marks.

I get a vision of us toward the end of last night, her on her knees on the bed with me standing behind her. The grip I had on her hips, the way she rode my cock. . . I feel the slow tantric beat of blood pumping through my body as I harden again.

She stretches as she sleeps and her legs fall open and the air leaves my lungs.

Fuck it.

Beard rash, all over her pretty lips. Red and prickly, it looks tender and sore.

I lie back down in disgust with myself. I completely lost my head. She’s covered in fucking bruises.

It’s been a long time since I had a night like that. . . if ever.

For someone so tight, she sure knows how to ride cock—I’ve never had sex so good.

Every inch of me was on fire.

My cock begins to throb; just the memory of last night incites arousal.

Cut it out, no sex for you.

She stirs, her eyes flutter open, and she gives me a big, beautiful smile. “Hi,” she whispers.

I smile, lean over, and kiss her softly. “Hey.” I brush the hair back from her forehead as I stare at her beautiful face.

Why am I so kissy?

She takes me into her arms and holds me tight and I smile into her hug, which doesn’t feel awkward, or weird. Quite the opposite—it’s nice. Familiar.

She pulls back and brushes the hair away from my forehead. “Last night was incredible,” she whispers, her voice husky.

“You’re incredible.” I pull her closer.

She smiles as she closes her eyes. “Does that thing ever go down?”

“Oh.” I pull back from her, realizing that she thinks I want sex again. “Sorry.”

She grabs my hip and pulls me back toward her. “Don’t be sorry, I’m not complaining.”

“You will be when you see your neck.” I widen my eyes in jest.

Her fingers go to her neck. “What’s wrong with my neck?”

“There’s about fifty bite marks on it,” I mutter.

She smirks. “You’re a fucking animal, my entire body is throbbing. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Unable to help it, I lean down and bite her breast and she jumps. “I’m sorry, I was hard on you last night,” I apologize.

“Are you kidding? That was the best sex of my life.”

I stare at her as my brain misfires. The best sex of her life. “You’re so different from what I thought you would be.”

“Why?” She smiles up at me with an honesty I don’t know if I’ve ever seen.

My stomach rolls.

“I thought you’d be playing hard to get.”

She leans over and kisses me; her lips linger over mine. “And I thought you’d be cold, but you’re the opposite. Warm and tender. . . delicious.”

I blink, surprised. Tender . . . when have I ever been described as tender?

Okay, this is getting fucking weird now.

I straighten my back and slide away from her a little.

“No, you don’t,” she whispers, and pulls me back toward her without missing a beat. She snuggles her head into my chest. “You stay close to me.”

I put my arm around her. I can feel her heart beating against mine and I frown as I hold her.

This. Is. Fucking. Weird.

Too comfortable, as if we know each other already.

She leans up onto her elbow and smiles as she watches me. “So, if you came home six days early only to see me”—she kisses my chest—“does that mean I get you to myself for the next week, because technically, nobody else knows you’re back?”

I smile as I cup her face in my hand, dust my thumb over her bottom lip. “And what would you do with me for a week if you had me to yourself?”

She kisses down my stomach and I inhale sharply as I spread my legs.

Woman’s insatiable.

She licks up my length. “Run away with you.”

She takes me fully into her mouth, and I lie back and put my hands into her hair. “Why don’t we go away?”

She looks up, surprised. “Huh?”

I push her head back down. “Don’t stop. Multitask. Suck and listen.”

She giggles and goes back to her job.

Yeah. . . why couldn’t we go away?

That’s actually a good idea.

If we stay in London for the week we can only be at my place or hers. But if we went away. . . the jet is here. I could organize something. . . I mean it would be short notice, but . . .

“I’m taking you away for the week,” I announce.

She looks up and frowns. “What?” she mouths around me.

I smile. Fuck she’s adorable. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

She pulls off. “We can’t go away. I have to prepare and then there’s the—”

“Kate.” I pull her up and she lies on top of me. “If we stay here, we can’t leave this apartment.”

She looks down at me and I can see her brain processing.

“It’s one week.”

“Well, where would we go?”

“Somewhere with sun and cocktails.” I see a trace of a smile cross her face. “My treat.” I try to sweeten the deal.

She kisses her way back down my body. “Is this my company bonus, sir?” she teases.

I chuckle and spread my legs again. “Yes, so depending how well you suck me will determine where we go.”

“You can’t afford a resort that good.” She sucks me deep along with a long stroke of her hand, and my eyes roll back in my head.

I shudder as my balls contract. “You could be right.”

I turn into Kate’s street and pull up across the road. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

“Are you sure about this?” She frowns.

I lean over and kiss her. “Positive.”

It’s one week, don’t get excited.

“Okay.” She smiles. “What will I pack?”

“Nothing, we won’t be wearing any clothes.”

She giggles and we look over to see that guy she lives with come out the front door. He’s dressed up and walks down the stairs and gets into the Audi that’s parked out the front—he’s good-looking and dressed well. We watch as the car pulls out and drives away. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“Daniel?”

“You know who I’m talking about, don’t be cute.”

“What is your problem with him?” She frowns. “He’s lovely.”

“I bet he is.”

He wants her.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, he’s very touchy with you, that’s all.”

“That’s just his personality.”

“I don’t like it.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “He’s a friend, Elliot.” She opens the car door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay.” I nod and hold my tongue about her touchy-feely, fuckwit roommate.

I’ll deal with him later.

My phone rings and the name Tristan lights up.

“See you soon.” She kisses me quickly and jumps out of the car.

“Hey.” I answer my phone on speaker.

Kate turns and waves and I sit and watch her walk inside.

“Can you talk?” Tristan asks.

“Uh-huh.”

The front door closes behind Kate and I pull out into the street.

“How was last night?” Tristan asks.

“Good.” I smirk.

Incredible.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Well, it must have been fucking good to make you leave New York a week early. Anyone I know?”

I smirk again. You could say that. “Nope.”

“Are you seeing her again?”

“I’m going away with her today for a week, actually.”

“What? Didn’t you say last night was the first date?”

“It was.”

“Your second date is a week away?” He gasps. “Fuck me dead, it must have been some fucking date.”

I smile as I turn the corner. “Don’t get excited, she’s not Mrs. Miles.”

He laughs. “Famous last words.”

“It’s just a week, I don’t have to worry about paps then.”

“Fair enough. Where are you taking her?”

“No clue, any ideas?”

“What are you after?”

“Something private, hot, and beachy. Cocktails and restaurants.”

“Hmm, St. Barts?”

“No, I’ll run into someone I know there at this time of year. Under the radar if possible.”

“I’ll have a look now.”

“Okay. Thanks.” My phone beeps as another call comes in. “I’ve got another call, I’ll call you back. Elliot Miles,” I answer.

“Hello Mr. Miles. It’s Peter from Strathborn Investigations.”

“Ah.” I’ve been waiting for them to get back to me. “How are you?”

“Very well. I have some good news.”

“Great.”

“We finally have a lead on your artist, Harriet Boucher.”

“What is it?”

“We think we’ve located where she is.”

I listen intently. I’ve been searching for this woman for over a year.

“And?”

“If it’s the right woman, and we think that it is, she’s currently in the South of France.”

I frown as I listen. “Are you certain it’s her?”

“I’ll have confirmation this week. She flies completely under the radar.”

“When you have confirmation, I’ll book a flight. I want to meet her in person.”

“Mr. Miles, do you mind me asking what your business is with this woman?” he asks.

“It’s of a personal nature,” I reply curtly.

“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you.” I hang up and turn the corner. I don’t know what my fascination with Harriet Boucher is. . . but I need to find out.

She’s calling to me through her paintings. . . and I don’t know why.

But I keep coming back to her, I can’t drop this.

One word describes her.

Extraordinary.