Chapter 26
Emma
T uesday couldn’t end sooner. Seriously, the bitch can hurry up and rename itself PMS. Probably More Shit is a good summary of my first day back after a month away. I always take the day off after I return from a trip, to settle in, but I spent most of yesterday preparing the room Miles will use. The last time Justice used it was over a year ago. I doubt he cared to lather up with the citrus body wash she keeps in the bathroom, which led to me shopping for toiletries and bigger towels. He’s on his own with everything else and is likely making himself right at home, fucking mine up in the process.
I groan thinking about the text he sent two hours ago, about the flood lights and surveillance cameras he wants to install. They’re probably already up, along with drones and missiles for the long list of burglars he thinks are waiting to break inside. I texted back that it was excessive, to which he replied about shipping his flamethrower from New Jersey. Thank God they’re restricted in California. Also, why the hell does he have one?
My house is fine the way it is. No one is checking for me like he thinks, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the gesture. No one has ever thought about my safety. Not even my father, a veteran US senator who might have a long list of enemies, for all I know. He gets along with his colleagues from what I can tell, and he hasn’t made national headlines for pissing off any particular group.
Still, it was nice of Miles. Unexpected.
I want to keep you safe, kitten. Will you let me?
Sex, this is just sex. It didn’t happen last night, but maybe Miles was tired from his first day in Lorenzo’s office. He only brought two bags with him when he came over, and he said he’s been busy settling in today.
He was a little distant last night, a detour from our usual banter. I didn’t push it and stayed on my side of the second floor, in my room, with a vagina in need of a tune-up.
Back to work and this mess of a schedule .
I lean into my executive chair and exhale a long, unsteady breath.
Every humanly possible meeting happened today, no thanks to my assistant cramming in a team brainstorming session, three check-ins with clients, and a budget meeting in a five-hour window. I had no time for lunch, which meant I was cranky and hungry and had to plaster on a smile without baring my teeth.
The prick who touched the stash of Twizzlers in my drawer will get a stapler to the forehead.
A tap on my office door has my fingers massaging my temples. If it’s another meeting, I’ll need a flamethrower.
“Knock, knock!”
“Ko—oh my goodness!” I run barefoot from behind my desk into Kojo’s arms. Notes of basil and amber from his cologne tickle my nostrils as he pecks my cheek. “Why aren’t you in Milan for the shows?”
He flicks a bracelet-clad wrist and walks into my office in patent-leather boots, black trousers, and a white tee under a black vest. “You didn’t stay, and I have business here. When are you done? Quitting time was”—he checks his watch—“three minutes and twelve seconds ago.”
Is it five already?
I reach for my phone to check my messages. Nothing new from Miles.
“Dinner?” I slip my cell into my pocket.
“Traditional,” Kojo says.
“Drinks?”
“Expected.”
I huff and roll my eyes. “Let me send out a few emails.” I swat his ass perched on my clear glass desk on the way back to my chair and scoop up my YSL pumps. They’re a standout against this red pant set. “Pick a place, but I’m not staying out late.”
His face twists into a frown, tipping his dreads in a ponytail with his head tilt. “Why not? I’m only here until the end of the week.”
What is my excuse?
Going out with Kojo is better than staying in the house with a tight lip and dramatic coochie if Miles is in another mood.
“You’re right. Let’s go.”
“That’s the third time you’ve ignored his call.”
“Fourth.” I hit decline again.
“Oop!”
My only response to Carter’s calls and texts was a thumbs-up to confirm my father coming on Thursday, a tidbit the senator was too busy to share himself.
“Remind me why you two haven’t fucked? The man is fine.” Kojo tips his glass and takes a sip of Sazerac.
They never met, but a photo of me and Carter with my father was enough for him to question why I won’t let the Grey’s Anatomy lookalike play doctor.
I sigh and twist the stem of my martini glass in my hand. “Carter and I have what you call a volatile relationship.”
At nineteen, Carter had his swagger down. The custom suits weren’t in rotation then, but the cocky smile was, along with the red flags spelling out “trouble” in Broadway lights. He was my first crush, and he’s still an anomaly.
Charming yet exhaustive.
Addictive yet enraging.
Like Miles.
I used to think my immediate attraction to Carter and our par-for-the-course back-and-forth were signs we’d fall into place. The senator’s daughter with his chief of staff would be a match made in Washington if it didn’t make my skin crawl. I have a connection to Carter by default, but something is off.
“Were you ever attracted to someone but knew if you got together, you’d lose more than you’d gain?”
Kojo nods.
“That’s Carter.”
I always follow my gut, and it says not to trust myself with him.
Carter or Miles?
A dry martini coats my throat on a long sip. There are parallels to both men. Miles is exhaustive and enraging, but he’s also nice—caring, even. He never tries to hurt me but possesses Carter’s same ability to get under my skin.
“Sounds like a damn mess. So no Jesse Williams then. Who is in your rotation?”
“I, um. There’s no rotation right now.”
Kojo pulls another sip and tips his head from side to side. “Dry spells happen. I was in one myself until this morning.” He crosses himself.
“It’s not a dry spell. It’s kinda been the same person for a minute.”
“Define a minute.”
“I don’t know. A month, give or take a week or two.” I scan the bar menu but freeze at the heat of his gaze on the side of my neck.
Kojo is a damn fool, staring at me with wide eyes, an open mouth, and the spring roll the bartender dropped off seconds ago now inches from his lips. “What?” I laugh.
He discards the roll and scans the room. “We need a table for this.”
The spot Kojo picked is a cocktail bar in the Art District. The dark wood bar with matching molding and floors now has a crowd gathering for drinks as throwbacks from the ’90s and 2000s play.
A booth opens for us in the corner, where I spend twenty minutes catching Kojo up on Miles and our volatile relationship, the singles’ retreat, New York, and Milan. It’s a relief to get everything off my chest. I haven’t told Justice yet, because she’ll make a big deal out of nothing. Weddings and soulmates will come up, and I don’t need that drama in my life. Sex is the arrangement.
You keep telling yourself that.
By the time I finish, Kojo snaps his mouth shut and flops back into the leather cushion. My snort morphs into laughter. “Say something.”
He wiggles his jaw before picking up a slice of the salmon flatbread between us. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re here with me and not at home with more of that good dick.”
We crack up.
“It’s better to have space, you know? We’re not trying to develop feelings.”
Kojo’s Tuh! draws the eyes of three tables. “You have a man in your house for the first time ever, and you want to play make-believe about not catching feelings.”
“Did you forget who I am? I catch many things, but feelings aren’t one of them. This is a temporary situation with the benefit of in-house penis.”
Part of my allowing Miles to stay with me is to prove to myself that he doesn’t have a hold over me. We’ll have sex and see other people. When he leaves California, we’re done. “I can handle it,” I declare to Kojo, who’s ready to tell me I’m full of shit.
Why is it so hard to believe I can get close without feelings?
Can you?
The intro to Keri Hilson’s “Pretty Girl Rock” pumps through the speakers. Kojo grabs my hand to pull me to the makeshift dance floor, which is now full of people.
“Koko, I do not dance!” I lean back into the booth but get pulled out anyway.
“You don’t do relationships either, but you’re about to have a whole man!” He spins and sways me into a two-step. “Send me your measurements when the time comes. I call dibs on your wedding dress!”
It’s past ten by the time I make it home. I reset the alarm, remove my heels, and head upstairs to my bedroom. Light peeks from under Miles’s door. Did he hear me come up? There’s no television in either bedroom that might mask the creaks in the wooden staircase.
“Whatever,” I mumble to myself. So much for in-house dick.
I strip off my clothes, toss them into the laundry basket, and head to my bathroom, where I spend more time soaking under the rain shower and thinking about Miles than I should. Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t need a roommate, least of all him.
Another ten minutes of serums and lotions, and I’m back downstairs for a snack. Stress-eating is a habit I need to break, but I’m in peen withdrawal, and the source of my problem is feet away. I pop three more grapes into my mouth and close the refrigerator door.
The “Jesus!” I yell is a jumble around the fruit in my mouth at Miles standing behind the stainless-steel door. I chew on overtime and clutch my heart, which is doing sprints under my silk robe. “Announce yourself next time.”
Miles pulls his black headphones off and frowns. “My bad. Got caught up in a simulation.” He waves the phone in his hand as evidence. He scans me from my toes up to my thighs before his eyes land on my lips. “When did you get in?”
“Close to an hour ago. Guess you didn’t hear me come in with those things.” I point to the headphones curled around his neck.
“We still on for tomorrow?” I step back so Miles can open the refrigerator. He pulls out a refillable water bottle, unsnaps the top, and takes a generous sip.
“Yes,” I say, too breathless at his stare. I swallow hard as I watch him drink. The suction from his mouth works the muscles in his neck, which is adorned with a single gold chain. His chest is bare, with pecs the size of my head on full display, glimmering in the moonlight.
Miles is blemish-free and every desire in gray sweatpants.
The intensity of his appraisal under thick lashes and hooded eyes has us reaching for each other at the same time. Miles anchors me to him with his tongue and picks me up. Our kiss is slow, a whirl of emotions through deep strokes. His thumbs rub circles into my back, and I sink into his embrace.
Cold marble sends a shiver up my spine as he lays me on the counter, licking and savoring my neck. His soft lips move to my collarbone, and he slips a hand through my satin robe to knead my breast. I hiss at the pinch to my nipple that he laps at with his mouth.
My fingers breach the band of his sweatpants and stroke his length. Miles bucks in my grasp and palms my pussy with his hand. I rock against the friction and moan into his mouth at the fingers he pumps in and out of me.
“Squeeze my shit,” he says, curling to reach my G-spot. My heels dig into the counter to ride out the orgasm charging up my body.
“Oh my—”
“Let it drip.” Miles sucks his fingers before diving between legs. He traps me in his arms and curls me to his mouth.
I don’t know what school of eating pussy Miles graduated from, but I will create a scholarship in his name. He sucks on my vagina like it holds the meaning of life and never once comes up for air. The massage to my clit with slow drags of his tongue is my undoing. I try to wiggle free, but he doubles down, burying his face with a satisfied groan.
I need his dick. Now.
“Top drawer on your right,” I push out between breaths. Miles frowns until he opens the drawer to find the stash of condoms I keep inside. Most are upstairs, but I have a few down here in case I’m in a rush.
He pulls out a gold wrapper he rips open with his teeth, his eyes trained on me. My body hums in anticipation. The muscles in his abs contract when he pulls down his sweats. His dick bobs, his head thick and angry. He sheaths himself, and I lick my lips.
Our gazes tangle when he reaches for me and steals my breath with a single thrust. We kiss at a lazy pace to match the rhythm of his hips grinding against my thighs. Miles pulls back to take in our bodies and rubs his thumb over my clit. He slides in and out with deep strokes before leaning over me. The tempo changes, and his ab muscles contract as he comes with my name on his lips.
“ Fuck , kitten.” Darkened eyes reconnect with mine as Miles stands. I move to get up but remain fixed on the marble by his hand. “I want to see you.” His tone is soft, barely above a whisper.
I unravel my robe and pull the lapels open to bare myself to him. Miles’s gaze is a gentle caress over my face before it travels the curves of my breasts, over my nipples, down my navel, and to my parted thighs. He’s seen all of me countless times but relishes in every dip and arch of my body like it’s the first time he’s bearing witness.
Miles bends to inhale my nectar scenting the air and groans before taking a long swipe with his tongue. My body is vibrating, still high off the ecstasy we created on my kitchen counter, but I’m ready for another round. He tongues down my other lips while he replaces the old condom with a fresh one and sends us soaring until we both need water and a shower.
We clean up and say goodnight on our way to our rooms.
I remind myself sex is all this can be.