Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
MILES
“Okay.”
The single word leaves her lips so softly I almost think I imagined it. For a second, I just stare at her, the world grinding to a halt around us.
“Okay?” I echo, like a complete idiot. My voice cracks with disbelief. “Okay… as in… okay?”
Miranda grins—wide, shy, luminous—and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
A stunned laugh escapes me. “So we’re doing this? This whole relationship thing?”
She lifts one shoulder in a sheepish shrug that absolutely destroys me. “Yeah. I guess we are. I mean… with a declaration like that, how could I resist you?”
“Exactly!” I point at her like it’s the most obvious truth in the universe. “How can you resist me?”
I lean in, unable to hold myself back another second, and kiss her. Really kiss her. Our mouths meet with a slow, gorgeous slide, and her lips part for me instantly—as if they’ve been waiting for this moment as long as I have. Our tongues brush, finding that rhythm that’s all ours. A perfect fit.
I pour everything into the kiss—joy, relief, hunger, devotion—every emotion that’s been living in my chest with nowhere to go. She just said yes. She said yes to us. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of happiness, the bone-deep, soul-lit kind that makes the world feel rewritten.
We kiss until our lips are swollen and tender, until our breathing comes in ragged pulls and we have no choice but to part. Miranda leans back a fraction, giggling—the soft, sweet sound I could get drunk on.
“So… I guess you’re happy about that?” she teases.
“Hell yeah, I’m happy about that,” I laugh, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “That’s the greatest thing you’ve ever said.”
I cradle her face, still breathless, still not believing this is real. “I love you, Miranda.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I love you too, Miles.”
She says it with a quiet certainty that hits me right in the chest. I can feel the truth in her voice, no matter what shadows still linger in her mind. No matter what ghosts she’s fighting off. Her love is real. Solid. Steady. And it’s mine.
She’s mine.
And I know—down to the marrow—that we’re meant for this.
Meant for each other.
Meant for everything that comes next.
Her “Okay” is still echoing through my bones when I lean in to kiss her again—slow at first, reverent, like I’m relearning the mouth that just changed my whole life.
But the moment she sighs into me, the kiss sharpens, deepens, grows hungrier.
Miranda’s fingers curl into the short hair at the nape of my neck, tugging me closer, and the soft sound that leaves her throat punches straight through me.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
“Are you sure? Because there are no take-backs,” I whisper—not because I doubt the answer, but because I need to hear it from her lips, need the certainty reflected in her eyes.
She nods once and smiles. “I’m sure. No take-backs. I’m yours.”
It undoes me.
My hand slides under the hem of her sweatshirt, brushing the warm skin of her waist. She inhales sharply, her body arching instinctively into my touch. I lift the sweatshirt slowly. She raises her arms for me, letting me pull it over her head.
My breath stutters.
She’s beautiful. Soft. Strong. She looks at me like she trusts me with every fragile, trembling part of her.
I trail my fingertips along the slope of her ribs, downward, memorizing every inch. She shivers.
“Miranda,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the center of her chest, “tell me you want this.”
Her fingers weave into my hair, and her voice trembles with need. “I want this.”
God.
Her sweatpants are next. I tug them down her hips, my knuckles brushing the delicate lines of her thighs. She lifts her hips to help me, trusting, open, wanting. When she’s finally bare beneath me, I swear the world tilts.
“Come here,” she whispers, pulling me down with her. She slides her hands up my back, slow and deliberate, mapping the shape of me like she’s wanted to for months.
Then I take her hands in mine, threading our fingers together.
Her breath hitches as I slowly guide her wrists above her head, our fingers interlacing, palms pressing together. Her pulse flutters wildly beneath my thumbs.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” I whisper against her mouth.
“Yes.”
“Have I told you how much my body craves to be inside yours?” My hard length runs along her opening.
A broken little exhale. “Yes, Miles.”
I kiss her again—deep, searching, full of everything I’ve held back for far too long. Her legs wrap around my hips, her body lifting to meet mine with a need that steals the breath from my lungs.
I move against her slowly at first—just the tease of contact, the promise of what’s coming—and she lets out a quiet, needy sound that I feel everywhere. She arches, gasping, and I press my forehead to hers, trying not to lose myself completely.
“Miranda…” My voice cracks. “I want you. I will always want you.”
Her thighs tighten around me. “Then take me.”
I catch her mouth with mine again, my hips sinking into hers in a slow, devastating slide of heat and closeness that lights every nerve in my body. Her fingers tighten around mine, our hands still locked together above her head as I move with her—deep, rhythmic. Pushing in harder with each thrust.
Her soft moans melt into my mouth. My own breath stumbles out against her lips. Our bodies find a rhythm instantly—urgent, desperate, perfectly matched—as if months of longing have finally found their release.
I kiss her through every movement, every gasp, every tremble, kissing her until I’m not sure where she ends and I begin.
And when her voice breaks on my name—shaking, pleading, beautiful—I know with absolute certainty that I’ll never want anyone the way I want her.
“I just need you,” I groan, slamming into her again, needing to be deeper.
“You have me,” she breathes, her voice shaking with each thrust.
God, the sensation. I’ll never get enough of this—of her.
Her leg hooks tighter around my waist, granting me access to the deepest parts of her, and I drive into her relentlessly. It’s almost too much—too exquisite—my body strung tight with pleasure.
In broken, strained whispers that fall apart between thrusts, I hear myself chant against her mouth, “I… need… you… fuck… yes… so… good.”
Our ragged breathing rises and falls in wild sync.
The sharp sound of our bodies meeting fills the room, echoing off the walls. My eyes fall shut, my lips brushing hers, drinking in everything—her heat, her scent, the way her body wraps around mine like she’s always been meant to hold me this way.
It’s intoxicating.
The noises she makes.
The trembling pull of her body.
All of it. Too good. Too much.
Her orgasm arrives all at once—fast, hard, undeniable. She cries out and bites down on my shoulder as her body seizes around me, shaking with raw ecstasy. The sensation of her inner walls pulsing around me is devastatingly perfect. Consuming.
I thrust deeper, helpless against the tightening coil of pleasure ripping through me. My body trembles. A guttural, almost pained grunt tears from my throat as my release explodes inside her, shuddering through every inch of me.
We collapse together, our slick, overheated bodies sliding against one another as I fall onto her. The room goes quiet except for our shared breaths.
I gave her everything…and somehow, impossibly, I already want her again.
I press slow kisses along her shoulder, lingering over the constellation of freckles there. “I think another day without power might be perfect, actually.”
She giggles, soft and sweet. “We can do this with power, you know.”
“I guess that’s true.” I roll to her side, still breathless.
She finds my hand immediately and threads her fingers through mine. The contact makes something deep inside me settle.
“I have a secret,” she murmurs, tracing her thumb over the back of my hand.
I bring our joined fingers to my mouth and brush them with a kiss. “What’s that?”
“I’ve never had an orgasm with another person,” she says quietly, “until last night.”
I freeze. “What?”
She turns her head toward me, eyes steady. “You’re my first.”
“Your first?” I repeat, stunned.
“You’re my second partner…but my first orgasm. I’ve never had one with a partner before.”
“You’re kidding.”
I’m not even sure which part I’m reacting to—the fact that at twenty-seven I’m only her second partner…or that I’m her first orgasm. Both hit me like a punch, pride mingling with a strange ache for everything she’s never been given.
But she’s opening up to me. Trusting me. So I don’t pry further. I’m just grateful.
Still holding her hand, I shift onto my side to face her fully. “Well,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “if that’s the case, then we have a lot of catching up to do.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” I tug her closer. “And it’s going to be fun.”