Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
MIRANDA
Miles carries me through the dark hallway like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
His body radiates heat, his breath warm against the side of my neck.
When he nudges my bedroom door open with his shoulder, the soft glow of the candles we lit earlier spills across the room, painting everything in gold.
He sets me on my feet slowly, like lowering something fragile and precious. His hands stay at my waist a moment too long, thumbs sweeping gentle, reverent circles against my skin.
“Miranda…” His voice is barely a sound.
“Yes.” The word breathes out of me on instinct.
He cups my face with both hands, and the tenderness in his touch nearly knocks the air from my lungs. His forehead presses to mine, his breath unsteady, like he’s holding back the weight of everything he’s wanted for months.
“I want tonight to be perfect for you,” he whispers.
“It already is,” I whisper back.
His mouth meets mine—slow, warm, searching. A kiss that unravels thought. A kiss that feels like he’s finally home.
He lifts the edge of my sweatshirt, and when I raise my arms, he pulls it over my head with aching care. His eyes roam my body like he’s memorizing every inch, not with hunger first, but awe. His fingertips trace the little curve beneath my ribs, soft enough to make me shiver.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
The words hit me deeper than they should, settling somewhere fragile inside me.
I reach for him too, lifting his shirt, running my palms over his stomach and chest. Heat rolls under his skin, and he shivers when my hands spread over his heart.
We move to the bed without even realizing it—stumbling, laughing quietly, kissing in broken breaths. The covers are cool against my legs as he lays me down, but his body is a furnace hovering above mine.
“Miles…” I whisper, aching and unsteady.
His hand trails down my thigh, slow, deliberate, worshipful. He lifts my foot to his lips and kisses the arch with a tenderness that steals my breath. Then my ankle. My calf. The inside of my knee. Each touch deeper, warmer, pulling a whimper from my throat, I can’t swallow.
He kisses a path up my body like he’s discovering sacred ground.
My hips.
My waist.
The soft dip of my stomach.
My ribs, where his lips linger as if he wants to breathe me in.
My collarbones, where his mouth burns a brand I’ll never forget.
By the time he reaches my lips again, I’m trembling with something too big to name.
He kisses me harder this time—slow turning urgent, tender, turning hungry. My fingers sink into his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. He groans against my mouth, a low sound that sparks heat everywhere.
His body lowers to mine, chest to chest, heat to heat. The sensation is overwhelming, grounding and electrifying all at once.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers between kisses, his breath shaky with restraint.
“I don’t want to stop,” I breathe, my voice breaking with the truth of it. “I want all of you.”
His eyes close for a second like the words undo him.
“Sunshine…” he exhales, rough and reverent.
He reaches my panties, the last article of clothing I wear, and pushes them aside, sliding two fingers into me. A shared, guttural groan escapes both of us as he discovers just how ready I am for him.
With one impatient movement, he tears my underwear away and returns his fingers to me—slow at first, then deeper—while his tongue circles my swollen bundle of nerves. The combination is devastating. It’s everything, and somehow still not enough.
I fist his hair, tugging hard, my hips lifting toward his mouth like my body is begging for him on its own.
“I need you, Miles.” My voice is breathless—wrecked—already undone. “Now.”
His tongue moves faster, drawing another desperate sound from my throat.
“Miles, please,” I plead, pulling him up my body.
He kisses a path up my stomach, over my breasts, leaving my skin trembling in his wake. When he reaches my mouth, his eyes lock onto mine, dark and primal, like he’s hanging on by a thread.
“Condom?” he rasps.
Selfishly, hungrily, I shake my head. I don’t want a single thing between us. “I’m on birth control, but if you want—”
I don’t even finish the sentence.
Miles thrusts into me in one swift, deep stroke, and the air rips from my lungs. My cry fills the room, and his answering groan vibrates against my lips. His eyes roll back for a moment, pure ecstasy overtaking his expression, before his forehead drops to mine.
His hips begin to move—slow at first, then deeper, harder, finding that rhythm that steals every coherent thought from my mind. I dig my fingers into the firm curve of his ass, urging him, begging him, pulling him closer.
“Harder,” I whisper—though it barely comes out as sound, more like a plea carved directly from my soul.
He gives me exactly what I ask for.
He pounds into me until the room blurs, until sweat slicks our skin and our breaths turn ragged, until every inch of my body feels like it’s burning from the inside out. I’m unraveling fast, chasing the edge with frantic need—and then I’m there.
My release crashes over me, violent and complete.
My senses explode.
My body convulses as I scream his name—over and over again—until his name dissolves into a hoarse whisper on my lips.
Miles follows with a guttural sound, spilling into me as he shudders through his own orgasm. Then he collapses beside me, both of us panting into the warm, lust-thickened air.
The world feels hazy, unreal. In my entire life, I’ve never felt this level of euphoria. Not even once.
Our bodies fit together like they were carved from the same shape, molded by the same hands, meant to find each other in every lifetime.
We don’t need words. Our bodies say everything—louder, truer, softer—than language ever could.
Miles and I make love until neither of us has the strength to move. Until my limbs shake from exhaustion, until I melt beneath him like my bones have turned to liquid, until my heart feels swollen with a fullness I’ve never known.
When sleep finally pulls me under, I’m wrapped in Miles’s arms—warm, safe, and completely, utterly his.