Chapter 32
Emma
T his week can munch on my ass. Monday was wall-to-wall meetings that made coming home to dinner and Gossip Girl a breath I was eager to exhale. Everything was perfect until the text that shifted the air, thickening it until it was no longer breathable.
I made a mess of my arrangement with Miles. I was in my feelings, not because he said yes to Brandice, but because of how hard I pushed him. I’ve tried hard to dodge how effortless it is to fall into each other. There’s no safety net, which makes intimacy an act I’m avoiding at all costs, because the price is too high. I’ve had men hurt my feelings before, but no one I let close enough to break my heart.
Until him.
Two days blurred together. We barely texted Tuesday, when he was out with Zo’s staff all day, or Wednesday, when I took an unexpected day trip to San Francisco for work. Now it’s Thursday. The night Miles goes out with another woman.
He had no business glistening this morning in a sheen of sweat after his run. We caught each other in the kitchen. Him shirtless in compression leggings under basketball shorts with a beanie tipped to the side for no damn reason. Me cramping with a mess of curls plopped on my head and cotton pajamas that are comfortable but no match for the well-muscled body moving around my appliances with ease.
We sat at the marble island with a reusable water bottle and two coffee mugs between us. “I won’t be back until later,” he told me, his focus on the waves crashing in the distance. He wanted me to ask him not to go. To stay for me.
So I ripped the Band-Aid off by reverting back to my old self, where feelings lose their daggers because there are none.
Now, I have no dick, no contact, and am in the fight of my life with my period. Here I am, tucked underneath a heating pad with a bowl of ice cream and a horror movie while Miles is on his date with Brandice.
“Shit.” My hand flies to cradle my head thanks to the brain freeze I caused chewing through a bite.
Miles’s date started hours ago, at six. It’s past eight—not that I’m paying attention. Day is already turning to night in a streak of sherbet pastels across the sky.
Him out with Brandice is a good thing. He’s leaving in a few weeks, back to a reality that doesn’t include me. We’ll see each other in passing should our schedules overlap visiting Justice or Terrence. We’ll hold the memories of us as a blip in time when we surrendered to unspoken passion we gave language. Then we’ll move on, because that’s who we are.
“Time to go upstairs.” Lying on a sofa, pondering why opening myself up to Miles terrifies me more than The Conjuring is not how I’ll spend the rest of the night. It’s no secret how dates end, and I don’t need to replay all the possibilities in my mind of a model taking my man out for a spin.
My man .
“He is not,” I say to the home furnishings around me who are bearing witness to the demise of my common sense. Claiming Miles and talking to myself are grounds to call the therapist.
I lift my battered body from the couch, grab the remote, and scream at the figure on my balcony.
The glow from the television teases a wide torso and thick legs. The beach is private. No one should be on my deck. I have nothing to defend myself with outside of a spoon with remnants of rocky road ice cream on it and a heating pad.
Knuckles tap against the glass door. “It’s me, Em,” the baritone voice says.
I blow out a breath, grateful that I didn’t manifest a killer from the movies I’ve been flipping through all night. “Why are you on the balcony?”
“Having a conversation through a door for the hell of it.” He snickers. “I told you to let me install the one-way window film.” His grin deflates when I step closer. “You sick?”
I scoff. Typical . “If you must know, it’s my time of the month.” I smooth out the fluffy gray robe Justice got me for my birthday. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw me looking like a JCPenney catalog, but comfort beats expensive sleepwear tonight. I feel and look like shit.
Miles takes in my bare feet and face. My hair is a thick, curly pineapple on top of my head. Unsexy to the max. He should get in his car and go back to wherever Brandice is. She’s likely runway-ready and not engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a menstrual cycle.
“Will you open the door?” The rich timbre of his voice washes over me.
I step back to let him in and fail miserably at blinking away the confusion on my face at his presence. He’s staying here but isn’t supposed to be here .
Prying myself away from the attraction holding me in place is damn near impossible. It’s overpowering, daring me to look Miles in his probing eyes. There’s desire in them, but also affection.
He steps closer. “You in pain?”
“I’m uncomfortable,” I admit, not that it isn’t obvious.
He nods and toes off his shoes to place near the back door. He rinses out my empty ice cream pint, tosses it in the recycling, throws the spoon in the sink, and grabs the heating pad. I’m airborne before I process him moving us upstairs.
My eyes balloon as Miles carries me bridal style. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
I open my mouth to scold him until he walks through my bedroom and heads straight to the bathroom. I skimped on a large walk-in shower for space to have a freestanding tub.
Miles sits me on top of my double vanity. “Salts and bubbles?” I hold in a chuckle at his question and point below my feet. He drops to his haunches and pulls out a wire basket with my bath accessories, but not before his thumb skims up my calf. I shudder at his touch and watch in silence as he tests the water temperature, sprinkles salt, and squirts aromatherapy bath liquid.
Once it’s ready, Miles scoops me off the counter and carries me to the bath like the distance is a trek and not a few feet. I unknot my robe and let it pool at my feet. His eyes smolder at the curves of my naked frame. I don’t feel my best, but I look good. He steps out for me to discard my tampon and pulls the pouf next to the tub once I’m in.
The lights dim on command from the remote in his hand. I sink into the tub and moan at the first strokes of a sponge on my shoulders.
“This okay?”
My eyes flutter closed. I lift my chin to expose my collarbone, which he cleans. “Yes.”
Miles bathes me and massages my aching muscles, sending me to heaven. He erased every pain and discomfort with hands that have yet to leave my body. His touch isn’t sexual. It’s soft, a steady pressure devoted to my well-being.
“Did you have a good time tonight with Brandice?”
He studies me. “It was alright.” His fingers trail down my neck. “She’s someone I can kick it with who’s down for whatever.”
I pull in a breath and nod. Of course they hit it off. It’s neither surprising nor unexpected. Miles is fine to the fifth power. I don’t know Brandice personally, but she’s attractive. They’re both single and free to do what they want, and a tryst is no different than our setup. Hell, she’s in his backyard. Why not sample each other now?
My mind understands the logic, but my heart twists. As casual as I’ve been with partners, I don’t want to share Miles. Not his time, and certainly not his body.
You need to tell him.
Feelings are territory I don’t wander into intentionally. I’ve had them before, but never this strong or this quick. I thrive on being in charge, and a relationship has too many variables that leave you vulnerable. Does Miles feel the same, or is this kind of attention for whatever woman holds his interest?
“Do you take a lot of baths when you aren’t feeling well?”
“That’s the question you want to ask me?” A shadow of annoyance crosses Miles’s face at my change in subject. His forearms flex over the lip of the tub as his gaze sharpens. He breaks his stare to reach for my foot. “I’m not into them, but my mama was. She had all types of lotions and shit from catalogs. She worked too much to use them, but I added to her collection with the money I made. Now I pay for her fancy spa visits.”
My smile switches to a groan as his firm hands rub the arches in my foot with perfect pressure. “You’re a good son.”
“I try to be.” He chuckles. “Deborah Walker will always have the best. I take care of mine.”
He tugs on my other foot, exciting a fresh wave of pleasure. I sit back, my nipples peeking through the now bubble-free water and catching his eye. My breasts tingle under the stroke of his unwavering eye contact. “Feel better, kitten?”
I suck my lip between my teeth and damn near purr. This man is good with his hands. My body settles, every ache long gone. “Yes,” I say through a moan that arches my back.
“You asked about Brandice,” Miles says, his eyes still on me. “I could fuck her, but I don’t want her. We both know she and anyone else are a distraction.” My breath hitches at the deep circles he rubs into my thighs. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Of?” My clit pulses.
“Fighting this. We are inevitable.”
His mouth collides with mine. Miles kisses me like it’s the first time his lips are discovering mine. He slips his tongue in my mouth and presses me against the hard shell of his chest. Water sloshes in the tub and sends a wave into his dress shirt he removes without pulling his lips from mine.
Miles strips off his clothes, and we head to the shower. He covers my body under the spray and backs me up against the white tile wall. I writhe beneath him as his hands brush my nipples, exploring the soft lines of my breasts. He bites my lower lip, and I whimper, digging my nails into the muscular flesh of his ass.
Miles makes me melt.
Under him.
On him.
For him.
He breaks us apart in a groan when I yank him to me by the dick. “Emma.” His voice is hoarse, hanging on to the last thread of self-control. “You don’t feel well, kitten.”
I kiss his chest and tug again. “Put me to bed. Please.” I suck his lip into my mouth and rub his tip up my slit. Any cramp I had put itself in time-out the minute his length came out to play.
Miles turns serious, his warm brown eyes fixed on me. “I missed you.”
My fingertips sweep across his cheeks. “I missed you too.”
He leans into my touch and grazes his lips over my hand. We share a smile before Miles steps out of the shower to put on one of the condoms we keep around the house. My legs wrap around him, and I quiver when he slowly enters me. Heat ripples under my skin as his hands cup my thighs to deliver cautious strokes.
“You okay, kitten?” Miles rolls his hips and thrusts me against the wall.
“ Yes. Right there!” I tighten my arms around his neck to brace for the first orgasm charging through my body.
“Shit, Em,” Miles says through gritted teeth, knocking at a spot that has my next orgasm on standby. He sucks on my neck and pistons into me. The slap of our skin carries over the steady hum of the shower. He lowers into a squat and pumps his hips to grind our pelvises together.
“Take every inch.” He kisses my slack jaw and curls me to suck on a nipple.
Passion pinches through my veins. I don’t remember how many times I cry out before I jerk in his arms. Miles’s thrusts turn erratic. His legs widen, and I grip his ass as he drives home.
“ Fuck ,” he groans, swirling his hips to draw out the last of his release.
Miles drops a kiss onto my nose. I’m not ashamed when he picks me up and puts me on the countertop to take care of the condom. He returns with a washcloth and cleans us up.
I vaguely remember him towel-drying me. I put in a tampon, brush my teeth, and run through my nightly skincare routine on autopilot.
Then I pass out once my face hits the pillow.
He really did put me to bed.