Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
MIRANDA
The heavy cocoon of blankets is wrapped around me so completely that the only thing sticking out is my head—topped with a knit beanie and the hood of Miles’s massive sweatshirt.
Miles sits across from me on the couch, facing me, equally buried under his own mountain of fabric.
From the outside, we probably look like two sentient sleeping bags trying to survive the apocalypse.
One of his hands emerges from the blanket like a pale, heroic groundhog holding a slice of pizza. He nudges it toward my mouth.
I lean forward and take a bite. “Oh my God,” I mutter around the molten cheese. Thankfully, the local pizza place has a generator. Because let’s be honest—whatever nonsense is in our pantry was not going to keep us alive.
Miles snorts. “Hits the spot, right?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “I’ve never tasted pizza so good and warm.”
He grins and hands me the rest of the slice.
“Okay,” I say, chewing, “this is getting a little ridiculous. It is so cold. I think it might be time we venture to a hotel.”
Miles barks out a laugh. “What are you talking about? We’re totally fine.”
“Miles, look at us.” I gesture to our blanket mummification. “We’re not fine. It’s so cold in here now that we can’t even have skin showing. We look… ridiculous.”
“You look adorable.” He lifts an unimpressed brow. “And I think we’ve been filling our time just fine.”
Heat curls through me because he’s not wrong. Granted, it’s been over a decade since I’ve been intimate with anyone, but the past twenty-four hours with Miles have been incredible.
I always knew sex with Miles would be amazing—he’s so giving, so attentive, so ridiculously loving on a daily basis that it just made sense he’d be an unbelievable lover.
And he is. Part of me wonders why I waited so long, but the other part—the terrified part—still fears it’ll all come crashing down.
But I shove that fear to the furthest corner of my mind because, for once in my life, I’m being selfish.
I want Miles. He makes me happy. And I want to see where this can go.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, taking another blissful bite, “this pizza is so amazing.”
He smirks. “A true delicacy.”
“But seriously,” I continue, “should we go to a hotel? I know you wanted to show me the ways of a Michigander during a power outage, but I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten the full experience. Lesson learned. Badge earned. I’m ready to graduate.”
Miles laughs again. “Honestly, Miranda… I’m pretty sure all the hotels are booked.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Yeah.” He shrugs, unbothered. “They were probably booked the first night. I think this”—he gestures at our blanket kingdom—“is as good as it’s going to get unless we travel.”
“Okay, then let’s travel,” I say, like it’s the obvious answer.
“That’s the easy way out,” he replies. “We’re fine. We’re warm. We’re happy. We’re keeping ourselves entertained.” He shoots me a wink that heats every inch of me far more effectively than the blankets. “And we have delicious food. There’s nothing wrong here.”
“The fact that I can’t take a warm shower is wrong,” I protest.
“Just wait a little longer,” he says, hopeful. “It’s going to come back on any minute. The snow’s died down, the wind stopped—surely, they’ll have the facility fixed soon.”
I sigh dramatically and take another giant bite of pizza, chewing like it’s the only thing keeping me from losing my sanity.
Because honestly? Amazing sex aside, this is getting a little rough. I hate being cold.
“This pizza is so good,” I say again. “Why haven’t we gotten it before?”
“We have.”
“We have? Why don’t I remember it? It’s seriously the best pizza I’ve ever eaten, and I don’t remember eating it before.”
“That’s the power-outage-snowed-in effect,” Miles says, handing me another slice of heaven-sent pizza. “Everything’s just better. Warm food is better. Conversation’s better. It’s a whole experience.”
“Oh, I see,” I tease, chewing. “So you’re saying once we have lights again, I’m not going to appreciate the sex as much?”
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing through the arctic tundra of our living room. “Hell no. That stays the same. I perform the same with or without power.”
“Alright, good.”
He raises a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I quip. “You know you know what you’re doing in the bedroom, so don’t go fishing for compliments.”
“Well,” he says, all faux modesty, “I think I know what I’m doing, but it’s always nice to hear.”
“Okay, Miles. You’re a sex god. Is that what you want to hear?”
His grin is so smug it should be illegal. “Yeah, I could get used to that title. Sunshine and the Sex God.”
I snort. “Speaking of… now that we’re—what?—officially dating?” I raise a brow at him.
He nods without hesitation. “Yeah, I’d say we’re officially dating.”
“Okay, so we’re officially dating.” I chew another bite and gesture with my pizza. “What are we going to tell our friends? Are we keeping it a secret? Letting it just trickle through the group? I don’t really want to make a big deal about it, but people are going to find out.”
Miles thinks on it, his head bobbing in the ridiculous pile of blankets like a confused, cozy turtle. “I say we tell Jaden and Anna and let them inform the others. As long as one person knows, it’ll work its way through the group. No need for some big announcement.”
“True.”
“Plus,” he adds, shrugging, “if I’m being honest, I don’t think anyone’s going to be surprised.”
“Really?”
“Hell no. Everyone knew the second you moved in with me that we were going to hook up.”
I gasp. “No way.”
“Yeah, totally, Miranda. It’s obvious we have chemistry and a connection. I think they’ll be more surprised it took us this long.”
“Well, they don’t know me very well,” I say, lifting my chin. “Because I am one stubborn lady.”
Miles nods, leaning back with a grin. “That you are.”
The lights flicker once, twice, and then—WHOOMPH.
The furnace hums alive, a warm rush filling the vents as the entire room wakes up in a blanket of golden, beautiful light.
I launch off the couch like a firework. “Oh my gosh—we have power! We have power!”
My hands shoot into the air, and I burst into a full-body happy dance. Miles laughs, his blanket cocoon slipping off his shoulders as he watches me lose my mind.
“Do you know what this means?” I demand, pointing at him. “We can take a hot shower.”
I bounce on the balls of my feet, knees lifting high like I’m doing some sort of victory parade. My entire body vibrates with relief.
“Yes, we can.” Miles grins. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be much longer.”
“Oh my gosh, it’s like we talked about it and the universe listened. We manifested this. We did that. We made it happen.”
“Yep.” He nods solemnly. “Totally us. Absolutely our doing.”
“I am so happy to have power,” I say, hands on my cheeks.
“And I’m telling you right now—if I’m going to live here, we are getting a generator.
There is no universe in which you do not have a generator.
I didn’t harp on it before because we were busy, you know, surviving, but now that time is over?
Miles—you are forking out the cash. We’re getting one. ”
“Really?” He tilts his head, that soft smile tugging at his lips. “Because I kind of liked being snowed in with you. In fact… I think it was perfect.”
“Next time,” I counter, holding up a finger, “we can pretend we don’t have power. We can do all the fun things we did this time, but without freezing our asses off. Deal?”
“Okay, fine.” He laughs, surrendering. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call and set up an appointment to get a generator installed. Are you happy?”
“I am so happy.”
I extend my hand. Miles reaches for it immediately, his palm warm against mine. With zero hesitation, I tug him up from the couch.
“Come on,” I say, already dragging him down the hall, our laughter echoing off the newly lit walls. “I am not waiting another second.”
Together, we sprint toward the bathroom—because I am about to take the longest, hottest, most glorious shower of my entire life.
The hot water is blissful, a velvety rush against my chilled skin. Steam curls around me, softening every edge. When Miles steps in behind me, the curtain of heat parts, and I turn—slowly, deliberately—to face him.
All of him.
For the first time in real light.
My gaze drags down his body, unhurried and reverent. Every inch of him is impossibly sculpted and beautiful. From the damp strands of his dark hair to the shape of his calves, there is nothing I don’t find perfect. Nothing I don’t want to worship.
“I have another confession,” I say, breathless from more than steam.
He steps closer, circling my waist with his arms as the water pelts my back in a steady, searing rhythm.
“Yeah?” His voice is low, curious. “What’s that?”
“This is my first shower with a man.”
The smile that blooms across his face is slow and devastatingly tender.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep.” I nod. “My very first one.”
“Wow,” he murmurs, amusement sliding into something warm and intimate. “We’re tackling lots of firsts these past couple of days.”
“Definitely,” I agree, my pulse kicking at my ribs.
“Well,” he says, leaning in, “if this is your first time… I want to make sure it’s as memorable as possible.”
Goose bumps race over my entire body.
Miles bends and kisses me, crashing his mouth onto mine—deep, alluring, hungry. One hand splays across my sternum, guiding me gently but firmly until my back meets the cool tile. The contrast of heat and chill makes my breath hitch.
His lips leave mine only to trail a slow, burning path along my throat, across my collarbone, and down onto my chest. He takes his time, lingering over each breast, pulling a nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder, until my knees threaten to give out.
Water cascades over us as he continues his descent, kissing a wet line down my stomach. He sinks to his knees, stopping right at the apex of my thighs. My breath falters.
With one hand, he lifts my leg and drapes it over his shoulder, steadying me effortlessly.
I brace against the wall, anticipation coiling tight.
“I don’t know if I can,” I breathe, thinking of how many times he’s already pulled me apart in the last twenty-four hours, how my body feels deliciously overstimulated and raw.
He looks up at me through long, dark lashes, water dripping from them like something out of a fever dream. His eyes—those impossible blue eyes—spark with mischief and desire. He licks his lips slowly, deliberately.
“Oh, you definitely can,” he says, voice deep with promise.
Then he buries his face between my legs.
His tongue finds me instantly—soft at first, slow strokes that unravel the tension in my spine, then firmer, more intentional, circling the bundle of nerves that makes pleasure crackle through me like electricity.
My head falls back against the tile, my fingers threading instinctively into his hair as a moan breaks free from my lips.
The water pours down in sheets. My body begins to hum, to burn, to come alive all over again. The warm streams beat against my skin, hot and relentless, but his touch is hotter—his lips, his tongue, the firm strength of his hands holding me steady as my back presses into the cold tile.
My breath catches. Then breaks. With a firm swipe of his tongue, I’m gone.
The pleasure takes me by the spine, a sharp, rising pull that steals the air from my lungs.
My fingers twist in his hair, my forehead tipping back against the wall as the world tilts—heat, water, him.
My body tightens around the sensation, trembling as the wave crests and crashes, shudder after shudder rolling through me until I have nothing left to give but a strangled gasp of his name.
He doesn’t look away. He watches me come apart like it’s his favorite sight in the world.
By the time I sag against the tile, boneless, breathless, he rises—slowly, deliberately—his hands gliding up my hips, my waist, my ribs. Every inch of me feels claimed by him, yet somehow worshipped, too.
When he reaches my face, he cups my cheeks with warm, sure hands. Water drips from his hair onto my shoulders. His breath mixes with mine, both of us unsteady for different reasons.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, voice as rough as the storm we survived. “Every single part of you.”
I barely manage a whisper. “Miles…”
He kisses me—deep, fierce, full of the kind of hunger that makes my knees weaken all over again. His body presses to mine, hard planes and heat and urgency, and I feel his need in every inch of him, undeniable and scorching.
My hands slide up his back, pulling him closer. Opening myself to him. I invited him in without a single word.
His forehead rests against mine, breaths trembling as he steadies himself.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate against my chest.
I swallow, heat pooling low and heavy.
“I want you,” I whisper. “All of you.”
He lifts my thigh again, anchoring me against him. My breath stutters at the sensation… the pressure… the promise. His fingers lace with mine above my head, pinning my hands gently to the tile, holding me exactly where he wants me—where I want to be.
His lips trail down my jaw, my throat, then back to my mouth.
And then he moves, pushing his impressive length inside me—slow at first, deliberate, like he’s savoring every flicker of reaction that crosses my face.
The sensation hits like a warm, breathtaking shock, pleasure blooming outward, wrapping me in something molten and overwhelming.
My gasp fractures into a moan, and he swallows it with his mouth.
The water pours over us. The world falls away. Miles holds me through every rising, burning, beautiful second as the moment crescendos again and again until I can’t remember what it felt like not to have him this close.