"Are you okay?"
"Fair point."
That's it. No admission of feelings. No hurt on his face. There's no sign anyone or anything has ever hurt Miles. He's so utterly unflappable. Fine.
I stare right into his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He shifts, finally uncomfortable. "I don't talk about that with anyone."
The statement is a lead wall. There's no getting past it or around it. This must be how he felt last night—locked out of my head and my heart. It stings in a way it shouldn't. Not given how casual this is supposed to be.
I take a step towards the kitchen. "Do you have anything with caffeine?"
He nods and points to a drip coffee maker. "It's a few hours old."
So he's been up for a few hours. This image flashes through my mind—Miles lying on that lounge chair, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his thoughts drifting away.
The coffee does nothing to chase away the uneasy feeling in my gut. I shouldn't want to know Miles's thoughts. That's not part of our arrangement.
He nudges me with his shoulder. "You're more obvious than you think you are, Meg."
He brushes his hand over my lower back, sending heat through me. I try to play it cool. Focus on my coffee. Sit at the perfect kitchen table. Ignore the fact that Miles is wearing boxers. He could be doing it to seduce me or to drive me mad.
I smile and sip my drink. Totally cool. I could not be more cool.
He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs. "Scrambled okay?"
"That's fine."
He takes a perfect, white bowl from a cabinet, cracks half a dozen perfect, white eggs, and stirs with a perfect, white whisk. "You don't have to drink that black. There's milk in the fridge. Any kind you want—nonfat, two percent, almond—"
"Thanks, I know what kinds of milk exist."
I occupy my mouth with my beverage. Less chance I'll get into trouble with it. His back is to me. There's no reason not to stare. His muscles are ever so slightly flexed. Those are strong shoulders and lats. He must do a lot more to work out than run.
My mind flashes with another set of images. These are more appealing. Miles in all sorts of compromising positions with me, his muscles flexed, his breath strained.
The stove turns off. Miles scoops the eggs onto two perfect, white plates and sets them on the table. They're good—fluffy and cooked just right. Better than anything I can cook.
We eat in silence for a few moments. There’s still tension hanging over the table, like he’s expecting me to explain what happened last night.
I finish my last bite and set my fork next to my plate. "Thanks for breakfast."
"Are you still hungry?"
"I have food at home."
He makes a show of pushing out of his seat slowly. The light is falling over his body, highlighting every perfect line. His back is strong, his ass is tight, his thighs are thick with muscle.
He pulls a carton of strawberries from the fridge, rinses them in a perfect, white colander, and pours them onto an equally perfect white plate. "I can't let you go home until I'm done with you."
I lick my lips. He watches me, grinning.
Ahem. "Done how?"
"Last time I went for four, but I do like to break records."
That heat is back, but this time, I do nothing to fight it. My face flushes. My skin tingles, desperate for his touch.
He runs his finger over one of the strawberries. His eyes pass over my body. There's nothing I can do to hide my reaction now. I want him and badly.
I take one of the strawberries and press it to my lips. The flesh is soft and sweet. I can feel his gaze on me. There's some way I'm supposed to react here, but I don't know what it is.
Miles laughs. "You're nervous again. It's cute."
I eat the damn strawberry. So much for matching his advanced-level seduction. "That's one opinion on the matter."
His eyes on mine, he slides his tongue over the tip of a berry. He sucks on it like it's some part of me.
I try to collect my thoughts. He wants to break a record. That means five orgasms. He must mean today. Five orgasms in one screw would kill me.
He moves closer, undoes my top button, presses his lips against my neck. "You were begging me last night."
"Not begging."
He undoes another button, and the blouse flops open. He slides his fingers over the edges of my bra. "You were desperate."
I dig my nails into my thighs. "Not entirely."
"It took everything I had to turn you down." He sinks his teeth into my neck and slides his hand inside my bra.
I plant my hand on his knee. "Why did you?"
"Because I don't want you thinking about anything else when I touch you." He slides his fingertips over my nipple.
"I won't. I couldn't."
His breath gets heavy. He undoes the rest of the buttons and pushes the blouse off my shoulders. "I need to hear you come again."
"Okay."
He laughs. "You really are adorable."
"No."
He slides his hands over my back and unhooks my bra. "Would you prefer sexy as all hell?" He pushes the bra aside and cups my breasts.
"Yes." I press my eyelids together. We were talking about something, but it seems so irrelevant now. I don't care what he calls me as long as he keeps touching me.
He takes my hand and pulls me out of my seat. "This will be easier on the couch."
"Right." I toss my clothes aside and follow him.
His eyes pass over my body. "Definitely sexy as all hell."
I kick off my skirt.
Miles's hands slide over my hips, under the sides of my panties. He digs his fingertips into my skin and presses his body against mine one part at a time—his hips, his stomach, his chest, his mouth.
He tastes like strawberries.
He sucks on my lips, his hands on my ass. I can feel his erection through his boxers, and I want so badly to wrap my hands around it, to prove I really am sexy as all hell.
I dig my hands into his hair like I'm holding on for dear life. His kiss is intense. It engulfs me in a desperate desire.
He grabs my hips and scoops me onto the couch. I'm flat on my back, one leg hanging over the side of the couch, the other pressed against the cushion. Miles stands above me, light falling over every perfect inch of his body. He looks even hotter with lust in his eyes.
He's stares at me, into me, through me. It doesn't feel casual, but then again, what could possibly be casual about him being inside me? I press my eyes closed. Nothing matters but his body against mine.
He moves onto the couch, planting his body on top of mine. I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer.
His tongue slides into my mouth. His fingertips skim my sides, my stomach, my chest. He cups my breast, and I burn with want. His hands feel good. They should never be anywhere but on me.
He circles my nipple with his thumb, sending pangs of desire to my sex. I pant to contain the sensation. It only feels better.
His breath gets heavy. He wants this as badly as I do.
I arch into him, straining to feel him against me, to get these stupid clothes out of the way. Miles kisses me again. It's a little softer this time. He's slowing down.
Like hell. I slide my tongue into his mouth and swirl it around his. His body shifts. He presses his lips against my neck again. Then they're on my collarbone. He sucks on my nipple like it's his plaything. I'm his plaything, and he can do whatever he wants with me as long as he doesn't stop.
He grabs the sides of my panties and slides them down my legs. All the way to my feet. His hands close around my knees, and he pries them apart.
His fingers brush against my thigh, closer, and closer, and closer. He runs them against my clit. "I'm going to eat you out. Have you done that before?"
A pang of desire shoots through me. I need that amazing mouth on me. Nothing else matters.
"No," I breathe. "But I don't want you to go easy on me."
"Couldn't even if I wanted to."
He press his lips into my stomach. My belly button. My inner thigh.
They're on me. His mouth is different than his hands. Softer. Wetter. Just as amazing.
I lean my head back and surrender to the sensation. His fingers dig into my thighs, pressing my legs against the couch. His tongue slides over my clit. It's so soft and so wet. He's hitting every nerve ending I have. Pleasure surges through my body, collecting in my sex. I'm close already.
"Miles," I groan. I dig my hands into his hair.
He licks me again, and again. I rock my hips in an attempt to contain the sensation. It doesn't slow him. He holds me against the couch and licks me with steady strokes.
Pressure builds inside me. I'm so light, so free. I'm flying. I dig my hands into his hair and rock against him.
His touch hardens. His nails dig into my thighs, commanding me. I want to be commanded, I want to be his plaything, I want anything he's willing to give me.
One more lick, and I go over the edge. It's so tight, so intense, so fucking amazing. Everything inside me releases in a cascade of ecstasy.
I groan again. It's exactly what he wants to hear, but I don't care.
"Mhmm." He pins me to the couch, his hands firm against my hips.
He licks me again. His tongue slides from my sex to my clit. Around my outer lips. He moves with long, slow strokes. With fast, hard ones. Front to back, side to side, zig zag.
Pleasure builds. It's more intense, more pressure, more of everything. I do everything I can to contain the sensation, to hold it in my body. I throw my head back. I close my eyes. I dig my nails into his shoulders. But it's so damn much. The pressure inside me builds, and builds, and builds, and an orgasm crashes over me.
I collapse on the couch, soaking in the flow of pleasure. Every part of me is wrecked with bliss.
Miles presses up. He runs his fingertips over my thighs. "Please, don't tell me you're spent."
"No." Please, no. Please, don't say something awful like you don't want to fuck me now.
He shifts to a seated position. "Good. I'm dying to get inside of you."
Yes, please.
"Come here."
He sits on the couch like he's a mechanical bull, like he's waiting for me to ride him.
I pull myself up and straddle him. Knees planted outside his thighs. Hands on his shoulders. Chest inches from his mouth. Sex inches from his cock.
"No more teasing," I plead.
He nods. His hands close around my hips, and he brings my body towards his. His tip strains against me and then he's all the way inside me. I grab his shoulders to contain the sensation.
He grabs my hips and moves me over him, letting out a groan of relief, like everything in the world is suddenly where it needs to be.
I match his movements, sliding over him again, and again. He moves his hands to my chest and plays with my nipples. I'm his plaything again. God, how I love being his plaything.
He brings his mouth to my chest, and he swirls his tongue around my nipple. I move faster, pushing him deeper. Every flick of his tongue sends pangs straight to my sex. He's inside me, filling me, and his mouth is on my breast. It's so much sensation I can barely stand it.
His mouth closes around my nipples, and his hands close around my hips. His groans send vibrations over my skin. They're low and desperate. He must feel as good as I do.
I rock into him, my clit rubbing against his pubic bone. It all feels so good, so perfect. We're pressed together, moving in unison, lips locked like we'll never get another chance to kiss.
His groans get louder. His nails dig into my thighs like it's the only way he can contain himself. He's about to come. It's a beautiful thing to watch.
I'm almost there, too. I squeeze his shoulders trying to contain myself. I don't want this to end, but I can't fight how good it feels. All the tension in my body releases, replaced with a sublime sense of warmth. It radiates all the way down to my toes.
Miles brings his hands to my hair. He presses his lips to mine, kissing me hard. He tastes like me.
His tongue slides into my mouth. He grabs onto my ass and shifts our position, so he's on top of me, so my legs are pinned to his shoulders.
"You feel so fucking good."
He thrusts into me, hard and fast, like he can barely control himself. I watch the expression on his face. His eyes flutter closed. His lips part and a groan escapes.
He's about to come.
I arch my body into his, desperate to feel every pulse of his orgasm. He moves harder and harder, so hard it hurts in the best possible way. His nails dig into my skin. Harder, and harder, and harder.
And they release. He comes, groaning and panting and shaking with pleasure.
He collapses next to me. Kisses my neck. The two of us are pressed against each other on the tiny couch. It's like our bodies are still interlocked, like he's still a part of me.
He shifts off the couch. Everything rearranges, and I have no idea where anything stands anymore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Miles is standing in the pool. Naked.
His eyes meet mine. "You're going to melt in the sun."
I shake my head. The sun is right above us, and it feels like it's a million degrees. Of course, there's no telling if that's because it's actually hot or because Miles is naked.
He dives with a huge splash then peeks his head out of the water. His eyes pass over me, and his lips curl into a smile. "It's cruel that you're so far away."
He motions come here. I swallow hard, trying to wipe the nervous look off my face.
Miles smirks. "Meg, Meg, Meg...Sometimes, I think you live to drive me crazy."
"I do."
He pushes himself out of the pool. He's wet, soaking wet, and he's practically shining in the sun. He plops on the lounge chair next to mine. It's just Miles, lying next to me, totally naked. I can touch him if I want. I can kiss him, fuck him, do anything except fall in love with him.
"God, you're cute when you blush."
"Not cute."
He shakes his head. "Cutest thing I've ever seen." He grabs my hands and pulls me towards the pool.
"How would you like it if I constantly called you cute?"
"Only one way to find out." Miles smirks.
I want so badly to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but the only way to do it is with my lips.
His hands close around mine. He takes a step back, pulling me into the pool with him.
The water rushes around me. It's the perfect respite from the blazing sun, and it's smooth around my skin. I pry my eyes open. There's a sting of chlorine and everything is blurry, but I can make out Miles swimming to the deep end.
He turns his attention to me. There's something on his face—some hint of sadness—but I blink and it's gone.
The words form on my tongue—are you okay?—and stay there. It doesn't seem like he wants me asking.
I keep things light. "You worked up my appetite."
He snaps back immediately, smug as ever. "You like sushi, or are you just trying to fit into your neighborhood?"
"Whatever."
"I'll take that as a yes." He brushes my wet hair over my shoulder. "There's a great place a few miles up PCH."
"Sounds good."
He swims to the ladder, backwards, so his eyes stay on me. "I hate to make you wait when you're already so cranky, but I'm going to take a shower."
"I'm not cranky." Just a little irritable from the hunger.
He pulls himself onto the concrete. "Then you'll join me."
***
The shower is huge. It could fit my entire bathroom. It's as gorgeous as everything else in this house—glass walls, aluminum fixtures, nonslip mat rolled over the floor.
The sun streams through the high windows. I'm sure there's some vista point where the neighbors can see us, some palm tree an intrepid paparazzi can climb, but I want this too much to care about ending up online as the girl in "Miles Webb H
as Shower Sex with Unidentified Girl."
He turns on the water, takes my hips, and moves me under it. I tilt my head back to rinse my hair, trying my best to stay a calm, composed tigress.
A tiny groan escapes his lips. This is torture for him, too.
Miles is staring at me like he wants to consume me, like he's desperate to touch me. I step back and my hands hit the tile wall. It's smooth and warm and perfect.
He moves under the shower head, tilting his head back the way I did. His body is so close to mine, and water is streaming over his chest and stomach.
I run my fingers over his chest. It's slick from the water, but it still feels like Miles, like what I know about his body so far.
He returns to a normal position and points to a rack in the corner. "Shampoo."
"Of course." The rack is filled to the brim with organic soaps and shampoos. I pick the only brand I recognize, squeeze it into my hands, run it through my hair and return it to the rack.
He smirks. "You're going to pay for that insolence."
"I'd like to see you try.”
I go to run a hand through my hair, but Miles stops me. He digs his fingers into my scalp. I groan, shifting my body towards his reflexively.
He runs his hands through my hair. His touch is soft and gentle, that version of Miles I'll never understand. He brings me back to the showerhead and tilts my neck back so the water rinses my hair.
I grab onto his hips to stay upright. Damn, those are some amazing hips, and I already know how well they move.
"This doesn't feel like punishment," I say.
"Mhmm." He presses his lips into my neck. "It will."
My breath catches in my throat. "When?"
"When you leave this shower without fucking me."
I am utterly unable to contain a gasp. "That will punish you more than it punishes me."
He murmurs another "Mhmm." He presses his lips into mine. His hands find my chest, and he rubs my nipples.
The water is streaming over us. Everything is slick and wet, and every motion of his fingertips is enough to drive me mad.
He releases the kiss. "That was just for starters."
"I like starters."
He smirks. "You’re so damn cute you might ruin my plan entirely."
I move back to the rack, squeeze shampoo in my hands, and return to him. "We discussed this." I run my hands through his hair. It's nice hair—thick and dark.
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