He pulls away to catch his breath and speak. “I forgot how good this feels.”
He’s comparing me. I don’t like that he’s comparing me to whoever else once made him feel this good.
“Want to know something?” he says.
I do. I want to know everything, but for some reason, I pick this moment to get revenge on that one word he spoke to me.
“No.” I pull him back to my mouth. He doesn’t kiss me back right away, because he doesn’t know what to think about what just happened. His mouth catches up pretty quickly, though. I think he hated my clipped response as much as I hated his, and now he’s using his hands to get his own revenge. I can’t tell where he’s touching me, because as soon as he touches me in one spot, his hands move to another. He’s touching me everywhere, nowhere, not at all, all at once.
My favorite part about kissing Miles is the sound. The sound of his lips when they close over mine. The sound of our breaths being swallowed by each other. I love the way he groans when our bodies join together. Guys usually tend to hold back their sounds more than girls do.
Not Miles. Miles wants me, and he wants me to know it, and I love that.
God, I love that.
“Tate,” he mutters against my mouth. “Let’s go to my bedroom.”
I nod, so he pulls away from my mouth. He reaches across the bar to get the box of condoms. He begins walking with me to his bedroom, but he quickly walks back into the kitchen and grabs the orange juice. When he shoulders past me to lead the way to his bedroom, he winks.
The way that one little wink makes me feel leaves me terrified about what it’ll feel like once he’s inside me. I don’t know if I can survive it.
Once we’re in his bedroom, I begin to grow apprehensive. Mostly because this is his place, and this whole situation is pretty much on his terms, and I feel a little bit at a disadvantage.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. He’s slipping off his shoes. He walks to the bathroom and flips off the light, then closes the door.
“I just got kind of nervous,” I whisper. I’m standing in the middle of his bedroom, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Usually, these things aren’t discussed and prearranged like this. They’re spontaneous and heated, and neither party knows what’s happening until it happens.
But Miles and I both know what’s about to happen.
He walks to the bed and sits on the edge of it. “Come here,” he says. I smile, then walk a few feet to where he’s seated. He cups the backs of my thighs, then presses his lips to the T-shirt covering my stomach. My hands fall to his shoulders, and I look down at him. He’s looking up at me, and the calmness in his eyes is contagious.
“We can go slow,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. That wasn’t one of the rules.”
I laugh, but I also shake my head. “No, it’s fine. You’re leaving in a few hours and won’t be back for, what, five days?”
“Nine this time,” he says.
I hate that number.
“I don’t want to make you wait nine days after getting your hopes up,” I say.
His hands slide up the backs of my thighs and come around to the front of my jeans. He flicks the button open effortlessly.
“Being able to imagine doing this with you is in no way torture for me,” he says as his fingers touch my zipper. He begins to pull it down, and my heart is hammering away in my chest so hard it feels like it’s building something. Maybe my heart is building a stairway for himself all the way to heaven, since he knows he’ll explode and die the second these jeans slide off.
“It’ll for sure be torture for me,” I whisper.
My zipper is undone, and his hand is sliding inside my jeans. He pushes his hand around to my hip, then begins to tug them off.
I close my eyes and try not to sway, but his other hand has lifted up my shirt just enough for his lips to press against my stomach. It’s overwhelming.
Both his hands slip inside my jeans now, around to my backside. He pushes my jeans down slowly until they’re around my knees. His tongue meets my stomach, and my hands get lost in his hair.
When my jeans are finally around my ankles, I step out of both them and my shoes at the same time. His hands slide back up my thighs and to my waist. He pulls me to him so that I’m straddling him. He adjusts my legs on either side of him, then cups my rear and pulls me flush against him. I gasp.
I don’t know why it seems like I’m the inexperienced one here. I certainly expected him to be a little less take-charge, but I’m not complaining.
Not at all.
I lift my arms for him when he attempts to pull off my shirt. He throws it to the floor behind me, and his lips reconnect with mine as his hands work the clasp of my bra.
It’s not fair. I’m about to be left with one article of clothing, and he hasn’t removed anything yet.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pulling back to slide off my bra. His fingers slip beneath the straps, and he begins to slide them down my arms. I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to take it off. I want his mouth on me so bad I can’t think straight. When the bra lowers, revealing all of me, he exhales. “Wow,” he says with shaky breath.
He tosses the bra onto the floor and looks back up at me. He smiles and briefly presses his lips to mine, kissing them softly. When he pulls back, he brings his hands up to my cheeks and looks me in the eyes. “You having fun?”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling as much as I want to smile right now. He leans forward and takes my lip into his mouth, pulling it away from my teeth. He kisses it for a few seconds, then releases it. “Don’t bite that again,” he says. “I like seeing you smile.”
Of course, I smile again.
My hands are on his shoulders, so I slide them lower on his back and begin to tug on his shirt. He releases my face and lifts his arms so I can take it off of him. I lean back and take him in, just as he’s taking me in right now. I run my hands over his chest, touching every contour of every muscle. “You’re beautiful, too.”
He presses his palms into my back, urging me to sit up straight. As soon as I do, he lowers his mouth to my breast and softly glides his tongue across my nipple. I moan, and he covers it with his mouth completely.
One of his hands moves to my hip and slides beneath the hem of my underwear. “I want you on your back,” he whispers. He keeps one hand on my back as he seamlessly switches positions, pulling me from his lap to his bed. He’s bent over me now, pulling on my underwear as his tongue dips inside my mouth. My hands immediately fall to the button on his jeans, and I unbutton them, but he pulls away quickly. “I wouldn’t do that yet,” he warns. “Otherwise this will be over faster than it started.”
I kind of don’t care how long it lasts. I just really want his clothes off of him.
He begins to slide my underwear off of me. He bends one of my legs and slips it off my foot, then does the same to the other. He’s definitely not looking me in the eyes anymore.
He allows my legs to fall back to the bed as he stands up straight and backs two feet away from me.
“Wow,” he whispers, staring down on me. He’s just standing here, staring at me as I lie naked on his bed, while he’s still in the comfort of his jeans.