Chapter 7
The walk to my apartment building was quiet. We didn’t say anything to one another—we didn’t need to. We know what we’re doing here, we know what’s next. Miles used the “you’re drunk” excuse but we both know that he won’t do anything about it.
“How are you feeling?”
We slow in front of my apartment building. The fall air is crisp, biting at the tip of my nose. But the alcohol that’s coursing through my veins burns my chest.
“I’m mostly sober now.” I reply and Miles takes my cheeks in both hands, staring so deeply into my eyes that my soul feels exposed.
I know what he’s doing—searching my eyes to see if I’ll back out.
Like hell, I will. I brought him here for one thing and one thing only, and I plan to follow through.
Because if I don’t, my mind feels as if it’ll melt.
“It’s cold out here.” He pitches, and I can’t wait to drag him to my room, throw him on my bed, and have my way him. “Let’s get you warmed up inside then.”
He follows behind me shyly, like he’s never done this sort of thing before. But I’ve seen that seductive face he makes. He’s a pro and there’s no denying.
The walk to the elevator is painful, and I can already feel the blood in my body redistributing itself in the best way.
I let out the longest, most satisfying sigh when I press the button to the elevator, and it’s empty.
Miles slides in before me, pressing himself against the handrail, his eyes darting around as he ponders something to himself.
I press the button to my floor and the one to close the door.
I might just die if someone else entered the elevator with us.
But no one does. I couldn’t be more elated.
When doors close I cover his hands in mine, pressing him further into the railing. I wrestle with the decision to take him here, now, or to be patient and wait until we reach my apartment. But he doesn’t give me the option. Miles leans in closely. I can feel his breath on my lips.
“Is it me you want, Mr. Ellis?” He whispers my name oh-so sweetly and it’s torturous.
I want to wait. To take my time devouring him. Every succulent inch. But he does the unthinkable again. He takes my bottom lip between his own and releases it with a soft pop that sends my mind into orbit. My grasp around his tightens.
We continue to just stare into each other’s eyes, daring one another to make a move.
The silence causes my brain to swarm and sobriety causes those swirling thoughts to become cognitive ones.
Is this really a good idea? What happens if I like this?
What would happen to my reputation? What does this make me?
Is this a prank? Is someone setting me up?
Is he going to take a photo of me and sell it? What’ll happen to my career if he does?
I can’t think of anything else to say besides: “Miles?” I sigh, “this is your last chance to leave.” I warn. My point doesn't seem to come across when he responds instead with: “I should be the one saying that to you, Mr. Ellis. This is unfamiliar territory for you. Sure you can handle it?”
His eyes are lit aflame in seduction and I can no longer keep my composure.
“Well?” He leans closer, our lips almost touching, and it’s agonizing.
He pulls a hand from beneath mine and begins fondling me through my jeans.
I delight in the sensation, giving in to the pleasure that’s coursing through my loins.
“If you’re this hesitant now, Mr. Ellis, can you handle what happens later? ”
What he calls ‘hesitance’ I call ‘self-control’.
Because I’m scared—no—terrified that once I start, it’ll take an act of God and nature to pull away from him.
I brush our lips together as he continues to play with me.
Miles is obviously enjoying torturing me because he curls his lips into a wickedly sexy smile.
“Kiss me, Kane,” is all he has to say before I finally give in.