"You'll have to remind me," he groans.
I guide him under the water. He rinses his hair. I'm not going to remind him, not with words anyway.
We do the same with conditioner, kissing in between the lather and the rinse. Then it's soap. He squeezes body wash into his hands and rubs every inch of my body. It takes everything I have not to scream, not to beg him to fuck me right here and now. My body is on fire with want. It shouldn't be possible to crave something this badly.
He helps me rinse off, and it's my turn to torture him. I rub body wash over every inch of him, and once my hands are nothing but water, I rub his cock for good measure. He's hard, and he feels so damn good in my hands. I need all of him, more of him.
He groans. It's a desperate groan, an I need you groan.
I press my lips into his. He kisses back hard. His tongue slides into my mouth, claiming it. His hands slide over my chest, my sides, my ass. He's my plaything now, and I know exactly what I want to do to him.
I wrap my hands around his cock and stroke him. He groans into my mouth. His body is shaking. Because of me. Right now, it's mine.
He's all mine.
I pull my lips from his. I kiss his shoulders and chest, grabbing on to his hips for support.
"Meg..."
"Yes?" I slide to my knees and press my lips against his perfect stomach.
He digs his hands into my hair. "You're sexy as hell."
It occurs to me that I've never done this before either. But with Miles in front of me, I know everything I need to know—that I'm going to do whatever it takes to make him feel as good as I felt this morning.
I slide my tongue around the head of his cock. He shudders, so I do it again. Again. Again. I suck on his tip. He's hard, but his skin is soft. And it tastes like Miles. Not like soap or chlorine, but like him.
I take in as much of him as I can. He releases a deep groan that echoes around the glass shower. It pushes me forward. I need that sound in my ears. I need to take him to the edge and watch him fall over it.
I press my tongue against his base, and I slide my mouth over him again, and again.
His groans get louder. "Sexy by every definition of the word."
I dig my hands into his ass and use it for leverage, to take him as deep as I can.
He groans, he shakes, he tugs at my hair. Perfect. My body courses with pleasure. I need to take him there. I need to feel him come.
I suck harder, faster. He groans, tugging at my breasts, pinching my nipples. It only makes me want him more, need him more.
"Sexiest girl I ever met," he breathes.
I run my tongue around his head until he's shaking. Until his groans are low and deep. His heavy breath fills the space until it's almost drowning out the shower pounding behind us.
He squeezes my nipple. "Mhmm."
I suck on him harder. He's almost there. Almost mine. I press my hands into his ass, pushing him deeper.
His grip tightens. His muscles clench.
And he comes. I wait until he's finished, and I swallow hard. Satisfaction spreads through me. Different than an orgasm, but just as good. I made him come. I made him desperate.
He pulls me to my feet and wraps his arms around me.
"Now you're only punishing yourself." His voice is breathy, desperate.
I shake my head. That was far from a punishment, but I don't bother verbalizing the sentiment.
***
My clothes aren't in the spare room. They're still on the floor downstairs. I hug my towel to my chest and move to the living room.
Miles is sitting on the couch. Next to my neatly arranged clothing.
Okay then.
I put on my bra, my top, my skirt. But my underwear is nowhere to be seen.
There's a devilish grin on Miles's face. I'm sure he has something to do with this, but I'm not going to admit it's an issue. So I don't have underwear—so what?
Miles pulls me onto his lap. "You can have your panties when I'm done with you."
He presses his lips to mine and slides his hand under my skirt.
It would be silly to object.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We arrive at the restaurant just as it's opening for dinner. The host is very polite. He shoots Miles a knowing look. It's not a hey I recognize you from your Rolling Stone photo shoot look. It's more like bringing another woman here, Mr. Webb? I'll make sure she's wined and dined and sixty-nined.
Of course, Miles hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol in my presence. It doesn't seem possible that the player rock star could be sober, but stranger things have happened.
We take our seats on the patio. The sun is warm, but there's a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean. I shiver, hugging my arms to my chest. Miles slides his leather jacket off his arms and drapes it over my shoulders.
A perfect gentleman.
My heart thuds against my chest. I'm sure I'm getting the wrong idea again. I'm just another girl in a long list of Miles's playthings.
I push my concerns aside. It's not every day I'm wined and dined—well, dined, at least—by a hot rock star. And it's certainly not every day he makes me come more times than I can count.
Miles watches me open the menu. He laughs, a deep I'm obviously making fun of Meg kind of laugh. I'm sure my jaw is hanging, but the prices here are insane.
"You really are adorable," he says.
I fold the menu together and cross my legs. I'll show him adorable. "Those weren't your words in the shower."
He bites his lip, and his eyes light up. It's sexy as all hell, but it is not a look of defeat.
"Order whatever you want," he says. "It's on me."
"I know."
He's smirking, again. I entertain him. No, it's worse. I amuse him.
Okay, fine. There's only one way to put an end to this. I need to convince Miles I'm on his level. That I'm not intimidated by his rock-star money, his perfect body, or his amazing, amazing hands.
When our server arrives, I pick the most expensive sashimi on the menu, and I order two of everything. Well, four of everything since sashimi comes two pieces to an order. I request salt instead of soy sauce. I snap the menu closed and hand it to the server.
"And to drink?" he asks.
Damn. I order a green tea and offer my best smile. The whole unflappable thing does come off a little cold, and I'm not going to be one of those people who’s an asshole to wait staff.
Miles is still staring at me like I'm a puppy. Apparently, he’s not impressed by my display. He requests his usual.
The server leaves. I take a long sip of my water. I stare at the ocean—it's only thirty feet away—to avoid the look in his eyes.
"You really like sashimi," he says.
"Yes."
He laughs. "You okay, Meg? You seem a little out of sorts."
I bring my gaze back to him. "I'm fine." It's a lie. I'm not fine. I'm crumbling. His eyes are so gorgeous, and the way he's staring at me—I could melt. I'm going to melt. It's impossible to do anything except melt.
"I'm not cute," I say.
"We'll have to agree to disagree there."
"Fine. But I'd rather you not keep bringing it up." I cross and uncross my legs. This seat suddenly feels so uncomfortable. I need to be somewhere else, around someone who doesn't insist I'm adorable.
He lowers his voice. "What's so bad about being cute?"
"It’s what you say about your little sister. Or about someone who is clueless and totally uncool."
"No," he says. "It’s the girl who blushes when you compliment her, who cares enough to try to impress you while she's ordering dinner."
"Whatever."
"And the way you say whatever when you run out of snappy comebacks—"
"If you say it's adorable, I'll put you in a headlock."
His eyes light up. "Do you know how to put someone into a headlock?"
I clear my throat. "No."
He smirks.
"Okay, fine. I'm adorable and clueless and aw
kward and you're sexy and suave and in control. Should I keep going?"
He lowers his voice. "It's not a competition. I like you the way you are."
"But..." I bite my lip. I'm not helping my case. "Okay."
"And we're friends."
Right. Friends.
His eyes find mine. "I want you to enjoy this as much as I do, Meg. If calling you adorable really makes you that miserable, I'll stop. But I'd rather not. I love watching you blush."
I swallow hard. "Okay."
"You sure?"
I nod. There's something about his voice when he calls me adorable. It fills my body with warmth and my stomach with butterflies.
I'm affecting him. Maybe I'm not driving him mad with lust. Maybe I don't have him under my spell. But I am affecting him.
"You really think we're friends and not just two people hooking up?" I ask.
He weighs my words. His gaze drifts to the ocean and back to me. "Not best friends. But something."
"So you'd tell me if there was anything I needed to know about you? Anything you usually keep secret."
He raises an eyebrow. "You getting at something?"
I nod. "With my sister...if there was anything like that."
"I'm not doing drugs behind your back."
"Yeah, but if you were, would you tell me?"
His gaze drifts away again. For the first time ever, Miles isn't confident. There's uncertainty all over his face. His brow is knotted, his eyes turned down.
"There's nothing you need to know," he says.
The words don't feel quite right, but I can't bring myself to ask him to promise.
***
Back at his uncle’s place, I change into a pair of extra boxers and a t-shirt. His extra clothes. Not some random thing he keeps around for the disposable women he brings here.
We settle onto the couch. The couch we had sex on earlier today.
Miles slides his arm around my shoulder. He pulls me closer. I rest my head on his chest. There's something so comfortable about it, but I can't dare consider what it means.
He turns on the TV and his PS4—he, or his uncle, is already onto the latest video-game console—and scrolls through a streaming service.
He runs a hand through my hair. He whispers in my ear, "So, this is what you want to watch, right?" He navigates to The Lost World. He's mocking me.
"Clever," I say.
"It's 'clever girl,' and that's in the first movie."
I roll my eyes. "Clever boy."
"I'd love to not watch dinosaurs destroy San Diego, but if you'd rather watch something else, go for it." He hands me the remote.
"You're going to mock me whatever I pick."
His breath is warm on my ear. He runs his hand along the neckline of my t-shirt, his t-shirt. "Likely."
"It's a lose-lose situation."
"You're pressed against me on the couch. It's a win-win situation."
I clear my throat. "That's one way of looking at it."
"Uh-huh." He slides his fingertips under the t-shirt all the way to my chest. His fingertip brushes against my nipple. "You're stalling."
I'm what? I'm not doing anything with him touching me. I close my eyes, squeezing the remote to contain myself. He runs his fingers over my chest, holding my body against his.
"We can watch whatever," I say.
"Mhmm." He sucks on my earlobe. "You pick."
"You're going to make fun of me."
"You're not going to pay attention to the movie anyway. You pick."
His teeth scrape against my earlobe as he squeezes my nipples. I can't contain it anymore. I groan and press my body into his.
"Miles..."
"I'm not familiar with a movie by that name."
He's trying to kill me. There’s no other reasonable explanation.
He brings his lips to my neck. They're soft, warm, ever so slightly wet. He pulls me onto his lap and runs his hand over my thigh.
"This doesn't seem like the easiest way to pick out a movie," I say.
He murmurs. "Mhmm." He grabs my boxers, well, his boxers, by the waist, and pulls them down.
"Miles...you can't...don't tease me..."
"Me, tease? Never." He sinks his teeth into my neck and pulls the boxers off my hips.
"I don't care about a movie."
"I know."
He strokes my inner thighs with a light touch. He gets closer, closer, closer. I throw my head back and relax my body into his. Movies are stupid. Movies are so much less amazing than this.
I lift my arms and Miles pulls my t-shirt, his t-shirt, over my head. I'm on his lap, naked, in the middle of the living room, the stupid TV still waiting for my movie selection.
No way in hell I'm selecting a movie now.
He grabs my wrist and plants my hands on the couch, right outside his thighs. His lips find my neck again. He sucks on my skin, and a pang of desire shoots through my limbs. Yes. Please. Do. Not. Stop.
He can tease me all he wants if it's going to end like this.
He finds the place where my neck meets my shoulders, the place where my skin is the most delicate and sensitive, and he bites me. It's a quick burst of pain, just the smallest, lightest amount of pain, but it wakes up every nerve in my body.
I press my palms into the couch. I'm his plaything, and I'm not about to object to this performance.
He strokes my thighs with a light touch, getting closer, and closer, and closer. He's an inch away from my sex, and my body is shaking with want. All it knows is how badly it wants his hands, how badly it wants whatever it can get from him.
He draws zig-zags over my thigh with his fingertips. He finds the spot where my thigh meets my pelvis, and he scrapes his nails against my skin. It's another pang of hurt. My body hums with desire. Miles's touch is everything, it's perfect, and today is my day to be part of his perfect life, his perfect, white house.
"I've never cared less about a movie," I say.
"I know."
His breath is warm on my neck, my ear. He sucks on my lobe again. The pressure is intense, and every motion of his tongue sends another shockwave of pleasure through me. It all pools in my core.
Miles can't give me anything more than sex, but, my God, can he give me sex.
"Touch me," I breathe.
"Good things come to those who wait."
"I hate waiting."
"I know." He sinks his teeth into my neck again. His fingers skim my sex. "Fuck, Meg, how do you get so wet?"
"You."
He groans and sinks his teeth into my neck again. Finally, his fingertips skim my clit. Oh. Hell. Yes. His touch sends sparks through my body. It takes everything I have not to pant.
I arch my back, rocking my hips to press myself against his hand. He strokes me with the same slow, steady attention he showed my thighs. His touch is light and delicate, and every part of me is desperate for him. I'm shaking. I can't contain my breath. I can't do anything but surrender to the sensation.
He sinks his teeth into my neck. It's harder now, and every bite amplifies the pleasure building inside me. His touch gets harder, faster, rougher. He rubs my clit with long strokes, his fingers skimming over my sex.
And he slides a finger inside me. I gasp. It's exactly what I need. Then it's two fingers, and I can barely breathe. He's gentle at first, sliding deeper inside me, until I let out a throaty groan.
He sucks on my earlobe, sliding his fingers deeper, faster. I arch my back to push him deeper. He presses his free hand against my chest, holding my body against his.
The pressure builds. Almost. It's so intense. I didn't think my body had anything left, but I'm almost there again. I take a sharp breath, soaking in the sound of his groans, the feel of his cotton t-shirt against my back.
I'm naked on his lap. I'm about to come. He has all the cards, and I don't give a damn. As long as he keeps touching me, keeps making me feel this good.
He moves deeper. I match his motions with my hips. Every stroke moves me closer
. My body fills with pleasure. It starts inside me and radiates through my core—to my stomach, hips, chest, thighs, lips. The fire inside me is so intense nothing could ever put it out.
I groan. Almost. Almost. I squeeze the couch as an orgasm rocks through me. All that pressure builds until it's so much, so tight, it hurts. It releases, washing over me.
He holds me close for a while. Until my breath returns to normal. Until I almost believe I could walk.
His lips press against my neck. "Did that help you decide on a movie?"
"Shut up."
"That's no way to thank the man who made you scream so loudly you almost broke the glass."
I roll my eyes. Of course, with my back to Miles, he can't see it.
How does he snap back to this attitude so quickly?
He scrapes his teeth against my ear. His voice gets low. "I like it." He helps me off the couch and takes my hand. "Come on. I have something to show you."
I follow him upstairs. He opens a bedroom door flips on the lights, and points to a bookshelf in the corner.
"What is this?" I ask.
He pulls me to the bookshelf. "Notice anything?"
Holy shit. There are three or four dozen Star Wars novels here.
"You're a nerd," I say.
"Our secret." He slides his arm around my waist. "I have a reputation to maintain."
I nod. Miles told me a secret. We have a secret. Besides the whole friends with benefits thing. It's not a big secret, but it feels personal.
I pick up one of my favorites. It's faded and dog-eared like it's been read several times. "Didn't the ending break your heart?"
I expect sarcasm but get none.
He nods. "It was sad."
That's a start. I lean against the bookshelf, taking a closer look. "You're up to date."
"I am."
My eyes find his. "Did you play Podracer and Rouge Squadron, too?"
Now, he's the one looking at me like I'm the nerd. "Never had the chance."
"You know what this means?" I ask.
He presses his lips against my neck. "What?"
"We're watching Star Wars."
"Which movie?"
"Four through six."
Miles laughs. "You'll be here until four a.m."
"You can drop me at Kara's tomorrow morning."
Sing Your Heart Out Page 10