"Don't be. You were always honest about that. You don't do boyfriend. I don't do girlfriend. It should’ve been easy."
"Meg."
It's a desperate plea, but it's not enough for him to want to trust me, to want to share himself with me.
He needs to do it.
His hands find my shoulders, and he turns me around. Our bodies connect, and I swing my leg over his hip.
His lips find mine. There's something so needy about his kiss, but I try not to make much of it.
This is all we're ever going to be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I catch a ride with Kara and hang out on the couch while she sets up for her party. Tom tries to make conversation. Then Pete. I send them both away, claiming a pressing desire to read, and hide out on the upstairs terrace.
In a few hours, this place will be packed to the brim with people getting drunk or high. It will be loud, crowded, and suffocating in every possible way.
The sun is setting. It casts an orange glow over the hills. The view here is gorgeous—the Hollywood sign, the Downtown LA skyline, the gridlocked streets all the way to the coast.
Rock stars get all the breaks.
"How come every time I see you, you look like you're waiting to be mounted?"
No doubt about it, that's Miles. And he's in smug, sarcastic mode. Fine by me. The mounting part would be better than listening to another piece of bullshit.
"Excuse me." I push out of my chair and make for the house.
He grabs my wrist. "How about you talk to me?"
"How about when I woke up this morning, you were gone. No note, no goodbye, nothing."
"I had to take care of something."
"Whatever," I say. "But you could’ve mentioned that last night."
"You fell asleep before I had the chance."
I roll my eyes. He had plenty of chances. We were pressed together on that bed until well into the morning. No sex. Just kissing. He had a million chances to come up for air and tell me he couldn't spend the night. It's not like I care either way. It's not like I wanted to wake up in his arms. Not at all.
"I've been thinking," he says.
"That doesn't sound like you."
"There's at least an hour until anyone gets here," he says.
"And I was planning on lounging silently."
His fingers brush the inside of my wrist. He plants his body next to mine, sliding his arm around my waist. "I could do a lot more with that time."
He leans closer, until his body is only a few inches away. Something inside me takes over. I need to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him pressed against me again.
I close my eyes. His hand slides up my arm and between my shoulder blades. It leads me into a kiss. I'm desperate instantly. I kiss him hard, sucking on his lower lip, tugging at his cotton t-shirt to pull him closer.
Miles grabs my hips and holds my body against his. We're standing in plain view of the backyard. Someone is going to see us. Someone is going to make this into a big deal.
He traces the seam of my jeans, the one that goes between my legs. Holy shit. Desire floods my body, pushing away any reasonable objections. I need him. Now.
I scrape my teeth against his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He's not playing fair. I'm not going to stand for it.
His fingers skim my stomach, under my t-shirt. Up, up, up. He traces the outline of my bra.
"Someone will see," I say.
"Come to my room."
"Miles...I can't keep doing this. I have to know what this is."
"What do you want?"
He's pressed against me, his hands on all the places that crave his touch. This is what I want. But my head is swimming.
"This needs to be on my terms," I say.
His breath is warm on my neck. "And what are you terms?"
"You come when I call."
"Mhmm. I like the sound of that." He presses his lips into my neck.
"Come over," I say. "And you don't pretend that this is more than sex. Not unless you're going to offer more of yourself."
He drags his lips over my skin. "Okay."
His eyes find mine. There's something deadly serious about his expression, but he blinks and it's gone.
Miles drags me into his room. He locks the door behind him.
It's different from his room in Malibu. It's fancy and gorgeous, but it's utterly devoid of personality.
"I've been going crazy without you, Meg." He unzips my hoodie and pulls it off my shoulders.
I shake my head.
"I miss the way you taste." He sucks on my neck. "The sound of your moans in my ear."
"What else?" I ask.
"The look on your face when you come." He pulls my t-shirt over my head. Then it's the bra. He unclasps it and tugs it off my shoulders.
He grabs my hips and pushes me onto the bed so I'm flat on my back. He straddles me, his legs around my hips, his crotch grinding against mine.
I missed him, too...I missed all this.
I dig my hands into his hair. Our lips meet, and I hold him against me. It's hot and electric, and I let go of any intentions I had of keeping the upper hand.
Miles runs his fingers over my nipples. I moan into his mouth, bucking my hips, scraping my nails against his skin.
"You feel so good," he groans.
His teeth sink into my earlobe. Pleasure shoots through me, pushing away my last remaining doubts. This is how he needs me. It's not perfect, but it's a hell of a lot.
He drags his lips over my neck and collarbone. He sucks hard on my nipples, first one, then the other. My body screams with want. This is all we have, but this is perfect.
Miles tugs at my jeans. He pulls them to my knees and off my feet. Then he tugs at my panties, practically ripping them off.
His teeth sink into my thigh. "I've been dreaming about this." He moves higher, higher, higher, nibbling my inner thigh until he's almost there.
Palms flat against the inside of my knees, he pushes my legs onto the bed so I'm splayed open for him. His plaything again, but God, do I love the way he plays.
He runs his tongue over my sex. Pleasure screams through me as my body remembers how good this feels, how much it misses him.
He sucks on my outer lips. Then it's the gentle scrape of his teeth. He works his way to my clit, his fingers trailing over my inner thighs.
"Miles..." I groan. I dig my hands into his hair.
His tongue slides over my clit.
Anything teasing or gentle is gone. His mouth is on me, and he's licking me in every place that craves his tongue. My body reacts quickly. The knot inside me is so intense, and he's the only thing that can undo it.
He licks me, dragging his fingertips over my thighs. I groan; then it's his nails. He holds me to the bed, even as I rock against his mouth.
His tongue, his mouth, his lips—they're perfect. He explores my sex until I'm shaking then he focuses right on that spot.
His mouth is soft, warm, so perfectly wet. That knot of pleasure inside me grows and grows, until it's so tight...so intense...
I scream in ecstasy. I'm sure someone downstairs hears me, but I don't care. I scream until I'm sure I'm breaking glass.
He licks me again, and it sends me over the edge. That knot unravels and pleasure washes through my body. My muscles relax, my legs flopping against the bed.
He drags his lips over my stomach, stopping at my breasts to draw circles around my nipples. "You're sexier than I remembered." He sucks on my nipples until I squeak.
He bites my nipple. Lust shoots through me again, washing away whatever thought was forming in my brain. Conversation...we have no use for that. The only appropriate sound is a throaty groan.
He moves to my other nipple and sucks gently. I moan, rocking my hips against him, scraping my nails against his back.
"I missed you," he says.
"You missed this."
"No." He flicks his tongue against my nipple. "I missed you." His hands plant aroun
d my shoulders, and he meets my gaze. "Do you believe me?"
He's staring at me, staring through me. But there's something in his gorgeous eyes—I do believe him.
"Fuck me,” I breathe.
"Fuck, yes."
Miles cups my ass, bringing my body towards his. And there it is. The tip of his cock strains against my sex.
He sighs as he enters me. Any hint of tension or doubt flees my body. This is exactly where I need to be.
I arch my back. His legs are outside my hips. It's tighter and deeper than it was before.
Miles kisses me. It's still needy, still desperate. He moans against my lips, his tongue swirling around mine, exploring every inch of my mouth.
He tastes like me.
He thrusts into me. I bring my hands back to his hair, holding him close.
Miles makes a move to pull his mouth off me, to groan or sigh or maybe scream my name, but I hold him close.
Right now, he's mine.
I arch my back and rock my hips, pushing him deeper. He follows my lead. Faster. Harder. Deeper. So he's mine, and I'm his, and he's so deep inside me I might scream.
But I don't. I groan into his mouth, and I tug at his hair, and I kiss him like I'll never get another chance to kiss him again.
That knot returns. He feels so good inside me, and the more he shakes, the more he moans, the more his fingers dig into my skin...
The pressure inside me builds. It's so tight, so intense.
Miles pulls his mouth off mine. He groans into my neck, sending vibrations across my shoulders and back.
His eyes find mine. It's like I can see inside him, see all those things that make him hurt. It's too much. I press my eyes closed and kiss him.
He thrusts into me again, and again, moaning into my mouth, tugging at my hair. Everything inside me winds up until it's so, so tight. And then he's shaking, and he's screaming, and he's sinking his teeth into my skin.
Everything inside me releases in a wave of ecstasy. I hold him tightly, riding it as long as I can. He's there, too. His cock pulses inside me as he rocks me through another orgasm.
He groans.
His teeth sink into my neck, one last time, and he comes, filling me.
Miles collapses next to me. He pulls me close, holding me the way he did last night.
"Better than I remembered," he groans.
"You have a terrible memory."
"Or it's like that song—I love fucking you more today than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow."
I murmur something that’s supposed to sound like shut up but it comes out more hell yes, please test this hypothesis with me tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Downstairs, the party is in full swing. I plow through two dozen people to find Kara. She's already tipsy. Verging on drunk, even.
She slurs her words. "Sweetie, where have you been? Do you want a drink? You should have a drink."
Okay. Past verging and all the way into drunk. It's her birthday. Not the time for a lecture.
"Maybe later. Right now, I need my costume."
"Right!" She bounces to her purse, digs through it, and hands me her car keys. "Knock 'em dead."
I change in the backseat of her car, stuff my clothes into a backpack, and dump it on the patio furniture. No matter how many times I adjust the costume, I feel uncomfortable. Damn my unwillingness to shell out a hundred bucks for something new. Miles is never going to let me live this down. Anything would be less embarrassing than Princess freaking Leia.
The party is about as crowded as the last, but there are far more college students than beautiful people tonight. I perfect my I really love parties smile. Drew spots me and waves. I wave back, my best nice to see you, but please God leave me here on this couch alone wave.
It doesn't work. He strolls over and plops down next to me. He's dressed as a police officer. It suits him.
His tone is serious. "Can I ask you something personal?"
My heart thuds against my chest. Please don't let it involve Miles. "Sure."
"You miserable because you hate parties or because of Miles?"
Dammit. No luck today. I shrug. "Tired."
Drew shakes his head. "I don't know you, and I still know that's bullshit."
He scans the crowd. There's no way of making out the expression on his face. Drew is unreadable.
"I meant what I said about Miles—I'll beat him to a fucking pulp if he hurts you."
"That seems extreme."
"I've been around extreme too long to notice." A guy in a sleek suit catches Drew's eye. All the energy drains from his face.
"My manager," he says. "Let me know if you need a ride." He lowers his voice. "There are condoms in all the bathrooms. Just don't fuck in my room."
"I'm not—"
He raises an eyebrow. "I'll keep this conversation between us."
"Thank you."
"None of my business." He waves goodbye and makes his way to the manager.
I hang out by the beverage table, nursing a tall glass of grapefruit juice.
Tom interrupts my peace. "All the couples’ costumes have to dance together."
"What are you talking about?"
Tom isn’t wearing a costume. Unless his costume is guy who isn't full of shit. Maybe Miles took that one.
Tom drags me to the suddenly empty dance floor. Everyone has made room for the poor suckers in couples’ costumes, apparently. There are two superheroes, a Buttercup and a Dread Pirate Roberts, and there’s Miles, dressed as Han freaking Solo.
His lips curl into a smile. He raises his eyebrow and offers his hand. "Princess."
"Asshole."
He slides his arms around my waist and pulls me close. A few people cheer. Tom scurries around, forcing more people together. I'm sure he's doing this at Kara's request, but it's still obnoxious to be so close to the spotlight.
The music is fast—a pop song I don't recognize. I can't keep up so Miles moves slow. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his chest. Whatever the circumstance, his arms feel nice. Everything about it is so damn nice. It's practically normal.
We slow dance for the entire song. Then it's over, and his arms are at his side. I mumble an “excuse me” and disappear into the crowd. Everyone around me is dancing or screaming or chanting shots! It's worse in the kitchen. A dozen people are crowded around a table, playing King's Cup. I know some of them from school. But, worse, they know me as the sullen bitch who wants to ruin everyone's fun.
One of my classmates—I think her name is Sally—waves me over. "Hey, Meg, wanna play?"
"No thanks. I have uh..." I try to think up an excuse that won't end with someone asking why I'm not drinking.
"There you are." Miles slides his arms around my waist. He nods to my fellow students. "Sorry, to drag Meg away from you, but I need her desperately."
Sally's face lights up with joy. Hell, the girl looks like she's about to wet herself. I nod, yes, obviously, I can't play your drinking game because I’m needed desperately by the hot rock star. See, I'm fun. I'm cool. I'm not a buzzkill.
Miles leads me outside. It's dark and cool, and he looks so damn beautiful under the light of the moon.
He brushes my hair from my eyes, hooking it around one of my messy side buns.
I can see his breath, that bit of heat escaping his body. I can see right into his eyes, but it doesn’t tell me anything. He's still a mystery.
"You're sober, aren't you?" I ask.
He nods.
"I think we're the only two sober people at this party."
"You looking for a ride home?" he asks.
"No." I move to the patio furniture. My backpack is still on the table. I sit next to it. "I don't know. Were you looking to get out of here?"
He sits next to me. "Soon. What about your friend?"
"She's fine. Drew cleared his room for her."
"His room or his bed?"
I roll my eyes. "They're just friends. Not that I'd expect you to und
erstand that."
He grabs my wrist. "Don't patronize me again."
"Don't bullshit me again." I pull my arm free. "Maybe she is fucking Drew. We haven't talked about guys in a while. I've been trying hard not to think about anything but midterms and medical school."
"Have you made any decisions?"
I look out at the moon. It's so big, round, and silver. "Not yet." I pull my gaze back to Miles's eyes. There’s so much in them, so much I'm never going to figure out. "But I don't want to think about it tonight."
His voice is low. "Come on. Let's go."
"Where?"
"My place in Malibu."
"Your uncle's place?"
He stands and offers his hand. "Hey, Princess, I've got the fastest ship in the galaxy. I can get you wherever you want to go in the blink of an eye."
"You mean the death bike, don't you?"
He smirks. "You'll hurt her feelings."
I take his hand, follow him to the death bike, and climb on behind him. My heart races. There's this lightness in my chest, a rush of adrenaline. It's still there when we arrive, even when I'm tucked onto the couch. So, the motorcycle isn't the thing that's terrifying me. It's all the other feelings swirling around inside me.
It's how badly I want to be here.
We spend the night on the couch, watching the Star Wars prequels. There isn't all that much watching going on. Mostly kissing, touching, fucking. I don't know how to place it, how to explain it. All I know is that it feels damn good next to Miles on his couch, his floor, his bed.
And I know I'm positively fucked, because no matter how hard I try to erase him from my heart, I can't.
***
Back at my place, Sunday is a blur of brunch, highlighters, green tea, and supermarket sashimi.
Around midnight, I collapse and turn my phone back on. I'm greeted with a wonderful email from my mother.
From: Susan Smart, MD
Subject: Thanksgiving.
Megara,
Your father and I want to see you for the holiday. Are you working? If not, we can pick you up on Wednesday evening. If you'd rather take the train, there's a schedule attached.
If you're working, we'll take you to a restaurant. Remember that place in Brentwood we went June last year? It's serving a wonderful three-course dinner.
We miss you very much.
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