Chapter 5
FIVE
Miles King is wrecked.
And I take great pleasure in being the one to wreck him.
Lovingly.
Not love-lovingly. But you know what I mean.
“Summer.”
The way he groans my name makes me think we may up the ante on my three-orgasm minimum.
He grips the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to his. The kiss is messy and desperate and so fucking hot.
His hold limits my movement, so he takes over, driving into me. When he tilts my hips exactly where he wants them, he hits the spot that makes words cease, thoughts disappear.
All that’s left is pure need.
He bites my bottom lip, then sucks it into his mouth.
When it pops free, he speaks against my lips, breath hot. “Come for me, honey. Come on my cock.”
I reach between us and rub quick circles over my clit until my whole body tightens and breaks, doing exactly what he’s asked.
I’m still fluttering around him when his voice filters back in—a low string of curses. But instead of picking up his pace, his thrusts slow down.
“You really undersold your stamina,” I pant, still pulling air into my lungs, my limbs twitchy.
“I don’t want it to end,” he murmurs.
Dangerous words for something that isn’t meant to last.
He eases me off him and sits up, hands staying on me, like he doesn’t want to lose contact. Then he guides me onto all fours. At this point, he could fold me into a pretzel and I’d be okay with it.
“Is this okay?” he checks, chest warm against my back as he presses kisses from my neck to my shoulder.
I nod, but also manage, “Everything is great,” though it comes out dazed.
One kiss after another, he works down my spine, dropping one to each cheek before he lines up and drives back in. The air leaves my lungs in a rush.
He grips my hips and starts to move, almost gently at first, like he’s holding himself back.
He’s big enough that when he pulls me against him, he stays buried deep. His thrusts are shorter like this, but the way he holds me more than makes up for it.
His breath fans over my neck as an arm bands around my waist, the other traveling to my clit. I shake, my hips jerking toward his hand.
“Need you closer,” he mumbles into my skin.
We’re as close as two people can physically get, and somehow, it still doesn’t feel enough.
“Can you come again?” His voice is rough in my ear.
“Yeah. I’m close.” I turn my head, find his lips over my shoulder, and kiss him.
He makes a sound low in his throat, then moves us again, easing me onto my back. He settles between my legs and pushes into me in one long slide.
“Can’t decide how you want to come?” I tease.
“Want to come every way with you,” he pants.
His hips move quicker now, each thrust fraying his control. I wrap my legs around his waist and urge him on.
Before long, that tight coil builds again, starting low, pulling tighter with every stroke, every grind of his pelvis against mine. The sounds he’s making don’t help, rough and ravaged and right in my ear when he tucks his face into my neck.
“Summer,” he groans, lips skimming my skin.
“Right there.” My nails dig into his shoulders as I roll my hips to meet him. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t think he could if he tried.
My pleasure spikes, then I’m shattering again. My body bows, legs squeezing around him as an orgasm rips through me, clenching around him so hard he mutters a curse.
He thrusts once, twice more, then his rhythm stutters. His whole body tenses above me, a strangled sound tearing from him as he comes, his hips pressed flush to mine.
We stay there, breathing hard into the same small space, his weight braced on his forearms, my fingers hooked over his shoulders. My pulse drums in my ears.
“That’s four.” I smile. “Overachiever.”
A tired, disbelieving laugh rumbles out of him as he lowers his forehead to mine. Still inside me, his heartbeat thudding against my chest, his breath ghosting over my lips, I kiss him one more time.
It feels much too intimate and much too soft for what this was meant to be.
But I’ve never been very good at denying myself the things I want.
Right now, I want to pretend this meant as much to him as it did to me.
That we’re both in over our heads in exactly the same way.
A soft puff of air slips from Miles’s mouth.
He’s been out cold since we cleaned up and got back into bed, some unspoken agreement to sleep—actual sleep—together. I managed a catnap before the energy buzzing under my skin jolted me awake.
I prop my notepad on my knees, phone screen lighting the page while I scribble. Mostly nonsensical ideas, a few journal-style brain dumps, and a couple of chord progressions I’m dying to try on my guitar.
Which is, hopefully, still safe in my trunk along with my suitcase. My entire life packed into a duffel bag and a hard-shell case. I’m second-guessing the decision to leave everything in my car, parked outside Mia and Dom’s, instead of dragging it inside for safekeeping.
But to be fair, I didn’t plan on the night going this way. The plan was to crash there, then move into my new place in the morning.
I steal another glance at the sleeping man beside me, his naked chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. At the memory of how we got here, I twist the softest sheets I’ve ever felt between my fingers. Nothing like the scratchy linens I own.
I’m happy with my decision.
My phone screen goes black, and I tap it back to life.
Heck. When did it become six a.m.? If I want any shot at making my meeting on time, I need to leave now.
Miles shifts in his sleep, hair falling over his forehead as his head turns toward me, one hand slipping from his stomach beneath the sheets.
His arms and chest look strong even in sleep, a faint line of dark hair trailing down to his softer stomach.
Not razor-cut abs that photograph well, but don’t make for good cuddling.
Not that we’ll ever cuddle beyond how we fell asleep.
But I wouldn’t hate a repeat of last night.
I know this is supposed to be his thing. One night, no strings. Mia warned me as much.
But it didn’t feel casual. Not to me, anyway. Maybe for him this was just another hookup, but it felt like something… more.
Either way, I wouldn’t even be in Chicago if I weren’t someone who always takes her shot.
I flip to a clean page in my notebook and jot down my number and a short message.
After tearing the page out as quietly as possible, I slide off the bed and tiptoe to his side. I fold the paper once and set it on the nightstand, angling it so he’ll see it when he reaches for his phone.
I hesitate for a beat, then reach out and brush a curl off his forehead. My fingers linger. Then I pull my hand away.
“I had fun,” I whisper, and get another sleepy huff of air in return. “Maybe I’ll see you soon, Sleeping Beauty.”