The Casanova by T L Swan

Chapter 13

My chest rises and falls as I struggle for air and I fall onto Elliot’s chest. He tucks me safely under his arm and kisses my temple, and we lie in comfortable silence for a while.

I look up at him. “How many people have you slept with?”

“I don’t know.” He drags his hand down his face. “A lot.” His eyes meet mine. “Why? How many have you slept with?” he asks.

I trail my finger in a circle on his chest; why did I ask? Now this is probably going to make me sound lame. “Seven.”

A frown crosses his face. “Seven?”

I nod.

“Including me?”

I nod.

“Oh . . .” He pulls me close and I feel his smile as he kisses my forehead.

“What does ‘oh’ mean?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Surprising, that’s all.”

“Why is it surprising?”

“I think I was at seven while I was in my teens.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a man whore.”

He chuckles. “Could have something to do with it.”

I lean up on my elbow so I can see his face. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.” He gives me a breathtaking smile as he reaches up and twists a piece of my hair as it curls. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He frowns.

“What?” I ask.

“So . . . you’re seven years younger than me, I’m the seventh person you slept with, and you’re twenty-seven?”

I smile goofily as he does the math.

“When is your birthday?” he asks.

“Seventeenth of July.”

“What?” He sits up against the headboard. “Bullshit.”

“I swear.”

“The seventeenth of the seventh?”

I laugh. “Aha.”

He stares at me and I watch as his frown turns into a slow, sexy smile.

“What?”

“Your number is seven.”

“What does that mean?”

“Seven is the number of the gods, it’s magical.”

“What, since when?” I smile. “How do you know that?”

“Numerology. Google it.”

I lie down on my back. “Well, I don’t feel very magical.”

He rolls over on top of me and holds my hands over my head. “I’ll be the judge of that.” His lips drop to my neck and he begins to nibble his way down my body.

“Numerology doesn’t refer to my vagina, Elliot.” I giggle softly.

He takes my nipple between his teeth. “Yes it does.”

The hired car pulls into the driveway and I peer out of the window at the house before us. It’s white and traditional, with a large wraparound veranda and beautiful well-kept gardens. The driver stops the car and gets out to unload the luggage from the trunk.

Elliot dips his head to look in. “It seems okay.”

“You’ve never been here before?” I ask.

“No, but a friend of Tristan’s has, he said it was nice.”

I smile and hunch my shoulders in excitement. “Anywhere will do. I don’t care if we go camping. Maybe next time we can?”

“Yeah, okay.” He chuckles as he opens the door. “My brother has told me all about camping, I’ll meet you there.”

I smile: that’s code for I’m never going camping.

We get out of the car and Elliot tips the driver, and then he wheels our two suitcases up the path to the house.

The front door opens and a man comes into view. He’s wearing a white uniform that looks like scrubs. He’s elderly, perhaps in his sixties. “Hello Mr. Miles.” He speaks in a strong accent. His hair is dark and he’s quite handsome for his age.

“Hello.” Elliot shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“My name is Henley and I’m the caretaker of Brogana. Welcome.”

Elliot gestures to me. “This is Kathryn.”

“Hello.” I smile and I shake his hand.

“Come in, come in.” He gestures to the house as he walks in; we follow him inside and my breath is stolen.

“Wow,” I whisper in awe.

Elliot’s face breaks into a broad smile as he looks around. Everything is white and the furnishings are a dark timber, in the antique style. There are huge rugs in bold colors and abstract art is hung. The entire back wall is glass bi-fold doors with a breathtaking view over the beach and sea. A huge deep-blue infinity pool is by the deck. This place is out of this world.

“There’s a private track through that gate that leads down to the beach,” Henley says as he gestures to an antique-looking gate to the left. “The bedrooms, bathrooms, and gymnasium are down the corridor and you have twenty-four-hour room service—there are staff in the quarters on the property that are at your beck and call. If there is anything that you need, please just ring the bell.” He hands a remote to Elliot. “I hope the property is to your standard, sir.”

Elliot nods. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

Henley smiles and nods with a bow. “I will leave you alone, sir.”

“Thank you.” I smile as excitement fills me.

“Henley,” Elliot says, “can you tell me a good restaurant to eat at tonight?”

He smiles kindly. “Of course, sir, what do you feel like eating?”

Elliot’s eyes come to me. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

My stomach flips; I love it when he calls me that. “You pick, Henley, surprise us.” I smile. “I like everything.”

Henley nods. “Very well, Kathryn, what time?”

“Um . . .” I look between them.

Elliot glances at his watch. “Perhaps in an hour and a half.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll notify you of the booking once I’ve made it.” Henley walks out and closes the door behind him.

Elliot takes me into his arms. “Seven days here.” He smiles down at me.

“I know.” I stand on my toes to kiss his big, beautiful lips. “I’m not sure I can cope with such torture.”

“Well,” Elliot replies. “I hope you like eating goat’s testicles for dinner.”

My face falls in horror. “He wouldn’t.”

“Rule number one in traveling, Kate.” He kisses me again. “Never say you like every food.” He taps me on the nose. “Because trust me, you don’t.” He turns and wheels our suitcases up the hallway toward our room and I smile after him.

“I like your balls,” I call. “And you’re a bit of a goat.”

He laughs out loud and it’s deep and happy and it rumbles deep in my psyche. I smile goofily as he reappears and sees my face. “What’s that look for?”

“You have a beautiful laugh.”

He raises his eyebrow. “For a goat, you mean?”

“Yes.” I giggle. “For a goat.”

The fairy lights twinkle overhead and I smile across the table at my dreamy date.

Thankfully we are eating seafood, not a goat’s ball in sight.

The conversation is smooth and witty and never seems to run dry; it’s so weird, Elliot and I really do get along very well. We laugh and talk and everything feels very organic between us. There’s a lot more to us than steaming hot sex . . . even though there does seem to be a lot of that.

Not that I’m complaining.

It’s a clear night in a beautiful outdoor terrace restaurant.

“You know, I think this would be one of the hardest jobs on earth,” I say as I crack open a crab claw.

“What would be?” Elliot says as he concentrates on the task at hand.

“Being a fisherman. Out in the elements, sun and wind. Never knowing what kind of catch or day it would be.” I put some shells into the dish provided.

“You’ve got to be kidding, sounds like the best job in the world to me. No suit, no pressure.” He pops some crab into his mouth. “No office assholes.”

I stop eating as I stare at him. “You know, you really are a surprise. You’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

Amusement flashes across his face as he sips his wine. “Don’t be deluded, Kate, I’m everything that you thought.”

“But you’re not.”

“I’m in holiday mode and it’s seven days.” His eyes hold mine.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I can’t give you more than seven days.”

Why the fuck would he say that?

I stare at him for a moment and then I continue to crack my crab claw with my pliers. It feels like he’s giving me a warning.

“When was your last girlfriend?”

“Years ago.”

“How come?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, me and relationships don’t mix.”

I stay silent, unsure what to say to that.

“When was your last relationship?” he asks.

“Serious relationship, six years ago.” I sip my wine. “I thought he was the one.”

“And he wasn’t?” He keeps his eyes on his task.

“Obviously not.”

“What happened?”

“A lot of things, can we talk about something else?”

His eyes rise to hold mine and he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with my short answer.

“Look, I get it. You don’t want anything for more than a week and that’s fine with me.”

He picks up his drink and sips it, clearly annoyed.

“I’m sure that you have every woman in the Western world in love with you, Elliot, but I can assure you that I won’t be one of them. You are not the type of man I would fall for long-term.”

“Good.”

“Good,” I snap.

We eat in silence for a while.

“I should have fed you goat’s balls,” he mutters dryly.

“You already did,” I say. “On the plane.”

He smirks and then, unable to hold it, breaks into a broad smile. “And you loved them.”

I cut up my food as I try to keep a straight face. “They were tolerable . . . I guess.”

We stare at each other as the air crackles between us.

“I might feed you them again tonight,” he whispers darkly.

“No.” I bite my food off my fork.

“No?”

“You can show me your culinary skills tonight . . . seeing as you only have six days to impress me,” I reply flatly as I act bored. “You’re running out of days, Miles.”

He smiles, clearly amused.

“Seven including tonight, and I’ll impress you, Miss Landon . . . don’t you worry about that.”

I try to keep a straight face; I like this game.

“We’ll see.”

My back arches off the bed and I scrunch the sheets up in my hands beneath me, wet with perspiration.

He’s gone down on me, we fucked, I came, then he’s back down there with his tongue. Again, and again.

He’s flipping me around like a rag doll and holy fucking hell . . . I’m impressed.

I’ve come three times and still he won’t stop.

He’s proving without a doubt that he holds the sexual power between us and I can’t argue, there’s no contest. When we are both naked, he owns me.

I shudder hard and I grab a handful of his hair to try and pull him back from my sex.

“Enough,” I whimper. “Please, El,” I beg.

He smiles into me, his eyes flickering with satisfaction. “I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough.” In one movement, he rises and flips me over onto my stomach and pulls me up by the hips to my knees, then he slowly eases himself into me and I close my eyes at the sound of his deep guttural moan.

Fuck. . .

The man’s a god.

He slowly pulls out and then pushes back in, and the sound of my wet body echoes throughout the room. “Do you know how fucking hot that sounds?” he whispers. “Your body sucking me in.”

He pulls out and slams in hard.

“She wants it,” he says darkly. “She wants to be fucked hard.” He slaps my behind and the crack echoes all around us.

I slip into some kind of out-of-body experience, a sub space.

So lost in a deep arousal that I can’t even speak.

Then he’s riding me, deep, punishing pumps, and I can do nothing but try and keep upright on my knees.

“Watch,” he growls.

He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my face back to face the mirror on the wall.

His dark eyes meet mine in our reflection and he begins to slowly pump me; I can see every muscle in his torso, every perspiration droplet on his sheened skin.

My breasts are swinging as he pounds me and he tips his head back to the skies as he deals with the pleasure.

There’s no mistaking our bodies are on fire together—this is pure, unadulterated lust.

Something I’ve only ever heard about, I thought it didn’t exist in real life, but hell . . . I’ve been missing out . . . big time.

He lifts his foot to rest it on the bed as he rides me, and the change in position tips me over the edge. I scream into the mattress and he pushes my body down so that my behind is sitting up. Completely open for his onslaught.

Our bodies begin to slap and I can feel every inch of his beautiful cock.

So deep . . . so good . . .

His moans get deeper, louder, his grip on my hip bones is nearly painful, and I smile as I feel his oncoming orgasm overtake his control.

This is how I love him, unfiltered and, just for the moment, mine.

He holds himself and cries out as he comes deep and we both gasp for air. The pumps slow as he completely empties himself, and then he leans down and takes my face in his hands and gifts me with a kiss.

It’s sweet and tender, so different to the love that we just made.

He lies down beside me and we take our time with our kissing; we both know this is going nowhere, but damn it, he makes me wish it was.

He brushes my hair back from my forehead as he stares at me and my heart constricts.

Does he feel it too?

“You’re very good at that,” he whispers softly.

I smile shyly, overwhelmed with emotion.

As if sensing my fragility, he pulls me close and holds me tight, kisses my forehead. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers.

I close my eyes as I rest my head on his chest. It’s warm and safe here. If I could pick anything in the world to do tonight, it would be being here with him, doing this.

I know that six days with this man isn’t enough . . . I already want more.

He traces his finger in a circle over my bare shoulder. “Do you know how beautiful you are to me, Kate Landon?” he whispers.

I close my eyes in regret.

Elliot Miles is a heartbreak waiting to happen.