Chapter Fifteen
May
The second I get Miles alone backstage, it’s game over.
I barely wait for the velvet curtain to fall behind us before I’m grabbing him by the lapels of that ridiculous Santa coat, hauling him into a kiss.
The kind that’s all teeth and tongue and a little desperation, because I’m pretty sure the only way to process what just happened is by physically merging with this man.
He makes a low sound in his throat, a groan that goes straight to my core.
His hands settle on my hips, dragging me flush against him, and I can feel the hard ridge of his cock even through all the layers. Jesus. My knees nearly give out.
I break the kiss, but only because I’m panting too hard to keep going.
“You absolute maniac,” I breathe, forehead pressed to his, our noses bumping.
“You didn’t tell me you were planning a full striptease tonight.
” My hands are fisted in the fake-fur collar, knuckles white with the need to keep touching him.
Miles just grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You like the show?” He’s still out of breath, cheeks flushed, his whole body buzzing with the aftershocks of adrenaline.
I want to eat him alive.
“That was the single sexiest thing I have ever witnessed in my life,” I confess, not even pretending to play it cool. “I will be thinking about that harness and those hips until the day I die. In fact, I might never recover. I hope you’re prepared to live with that on your conscience, Dalton.”
He laughs, deep and open, then kisses me again like he’s got something to prove. Maybe he does. Maybe we both do.
I pull him in tighter, barely aware of the commotion on the other side of the curtain.
The squeal of heels on tile, the shrieks of queens rehashing every second, the thunder of music and applause echoing through the floorboards.
None of it touches us. It’s just him, me, and this wild, electric thing humming between us.
He nips at my bottom lip, gently, then runs his nose along my jaw, his voice gone rough. “I meant what I said up there, you know. I love you, May. I love you so damn much.”
The words hit me straight in the chest. I’m suddenly seventeen again, terrified and hopeful and so full of want it could crack me open.
I let out a shaky breath, cupping his face in both hands, dragging my thumbs along the sharp lines of his cheekbones.
“I love you,” I whisper, soft and bare. “Always have. I never stopped. Not once. Not for a fucking second.”
I’m still in full drag, hairline slick with sweat, robe clinging to me, makeup probably halfway to tragic, but none of it matters.
Not when he looks at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.
Not when his hands settle around my waist, anchoring me, making me feel more desired than I ever have in my entire life.
Somewhere behind us, Patti is already orchestrating an afterparty, but I don’t even try to play hostess. All I care about is Miles. I want him upstairs. I want to taste him, wreck him, make him say my name until it’s the only word he remembers. I want to make up for every single second we lost.
Miles is the one who finally breaks the moment with a breathless little laugh. “If we don’t get upstairs right now,” he rasps, “I am going to fuck you silly right here backstage.”
I shiver, not even pretending to be unaffected. “Tempting,” I admit, “but I am not giving Dee the satisfaction of catching us. Upstairs. Now.”
I shove him toward the stairs, not subtle, not gentle, just pure need.
He laughs, voice gone ragged, and follows, matching my urgency step for step.
We barely make it through the staff-only door in the upstairs lounge before I have him pinned against the wall, my mouth devouring his, hands everywhere.
He tastes like vodka and sweat and the wild, electric charge of being seen, really seen.
He’s still dressed in the Santa coat, the harness biting into his skin, dollar bills tucked haphazardly into his waistband.
It’s obscene. It’s gorgeous. I want to eat him alive.
At the landing, I fumble the keys, hands shaking so badly I can barely line up the teeth with the lock. Miles steadies me, one hand flat on my belly, the other braced against the doorframe, pinning me in place with his body and the sheer, radioactive energy between us.
The second the lock turns, we’re inside.
I slam the door with my hip, turn on him, and he’s right there, hands bracketing my jaw, eyes blown wide and hungry.
He kisses me, devours me, lips rough, tongue hot, every trace of the cool, controlled Miles from the bar gone, replaced by the man who just risked public humiliation to tell me he loves me.
I want to say it back again, want to put it on a billboard or have Patti skywrite it with glitter. Instead, I pull him close, crush our bodies together, and whisper against his mouth, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” until the words dissolve into noise.
He answers with a sound that’s almost a sob, or maybe a laugh.
It’s hard to tell with his hands fisting in my robe and his hips grinding against me.
He kisses a line down my jaw, teeth scraping, and I thread my fingers into his hair, holding him to me.
“God, you have no idea,” he breathes against my skin, “no idea how long I wanted this.”
His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking away smudges of makeup. He looks at me like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every line, every stupid freckle. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful,” he says, rough and real.
I snort, but I can’t hide the heat crawling up my cheeks. “Bullshit.”
He shakes his head, dead serious. “Not even a little. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you right now.
” There’s a hunger in his eyes that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with wanting to be loved, to belong.
I recognize it because it’s the same ache that’s lived in my chest since I was seventeen. It undoes me.
I fist both hands in his coat and drag him down for another kiss.
This one is slower, deliberate, but just as needy.
I part my lips, and he takes the invitation, tongue searching, exploring, mapping the inside of my mouth like he’ll never get another chance.
I let him. I let myself be devoured. His hands slide down to grab my ass, tugging me flush against him.
I can feel him, thick and hot through the layers, and it’s all I can do not to drop to my knees and worship him right there.
He tangles his fingers in my wig, tugging just enough to make me moan, and grins down at me, eyes wild. “You’re unreal, you know that?” He groans, grinding against me, helpless. “Fuck, May. You drive me insane.”
“That’s the idea,” I purr, reaching down to cup his cock through the tight velvet pants. He shudders, hips stuttering forward. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking hard. Did I do this to you?”
He laughs, voice breaking, and bites at my ear. “You’ve been doing this to me for twenty-five years.”
I drag him across the tiny apartment, kissing and biting, tugging at his clothes, desperate to get him naked.
He returns the favor, hands greedy, yanking at the tie of my robe, peeling it down my arms until it puddles at my feet in a heap of powder blue and white fur.
I kick it aside, left in heels, matching blue lace, a white corset, and a healthy coat of glitter.
I confess, I had plans for this man tonight and might have prepped before the show, skipping tucking or padding in favor of easy access and a quick undressing.
God bless earlier me and my horny forethought.
He pauses, pulls back just enough to take me in. His eyes go dark, hungry, jaw tight with restraint. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, reverent. “Jesus, May.”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off, but my whole body goes liquid under his gaze. “You just have a lace kink.”
He shakes his head, refusing to let me dodge. “Not just the lace. Not just the drag. All of you. I want it all.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I do the only thing that makes sense. I throw myself at him, legs wrapping around his hips, trusting him to catch me. He does, easily, hands cupping my ass, supporting me like it’s nothing. My back hits the wall, hard, but I barely notice. All I feel is him.
He kisses me desperately, biting at my lower lip, tongue driving into my mouth like he can’t get deep enough. I kiss back, feral, nails raking down his back. He groans, rutting helplessly against me. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he growls, voice gone rough. “Gonna make you scream my name.”
“Promises, promises,” I taunt, breathless, as his fingers tear at the closures of my corset, letting it fall behind us when he finally works it loose.
I grab his harness and pull him in for another kiss, messier this time, all teeth and tongue and years of missing each other.
His hands roam as he lays me out on the bed, stroking up my thighs, fingers finding the lace of my jock already damp with precum.
He palms my cock through the fabric, and I nearly come undone, hips jerking.
“Well, miss May North,” he teases, stroking me with a featherlight touch over the lace, driving me insane. “No tuck tonight?”
“Jesus,” I gasp. “Miles, don’t tease.”
He grins against my jaw. “Not teasing. Just appreciating the view.”
All I manage in response is a whine, which earns me another dark chuckle.
He strips out of his pants in one smooth motion, letting them fall as I watch, licking my lips like the hungry little monster he’s turned me into.
He leaves the harness on, tight and obscene, framing his body like a work of art.
His cock is thick, flushed, and leaking at the tip.
I reach for it, desperate, but he catches my wrists and pins them above my head.
“Not so fast,” he breathes, grinning down at me. “I want to look at you.”