Chapter Thirteen Milo #2
“ This is a feeling,” I argue, pulling her in close so she can realize just how much of an effect she has on me. “There will be feelings.” Her eyes dip down to the nonexistent space between us, no doubt trying to see the outline of my hard cock that I’m pressing against her.
“You know what I mean.” She looks down at my forearm. I loosen my hold on her neck, realizing I’d accidentally begun pressing my thumb into the front of her throat. “We will stay—”
“Friends,” I finish for her. The word tastes bitter on my tongue, but I repeat it regardless. “We’ll be friends who make each other feel good.”
“Friends who try to,” she says. “I don’t know if I’ll…” Her gaze slips away from mine, and I use the hold on her neck to tilt her back up to face me. “You’ll have to teach me.”
“I’ll show you,” I promise. “I’ll show you,” I repeat before finally taking what I’ve wanted since the moment I got to town.
I kiss Prue like she deserves to be kissed.
How I imagine a woman like her wants to be kissed.
I pour every ounce of passion and wanting I have from the depths of myself into it.
Gliding my tongue, controlling her with my hands, rewarding her with breaths and moans as she follows suit—letting her know I’m an equal benefactor in this.
And, despite her hesitancy, it is good. Great, even. I feel that pinprick sensation under my skin that acts like a signal for my brain to start removing clothing, a sensation I’ve followed over the cliff time and time again.
And, despite her lack of experience, Prue must feel that call too.
“Killer,” I warn, gripping her wrist as her hand fights a losing battle against my belt buckle. “Stop that.”
“Sorry.” She pants against my mouth, hooking me back in with her tight grip on the back of my neck. She’s needy, pressing her thigh against mine and moving her hips like she wants the more I’ve been chasing for my entire adulthood.
Not now, I tell myself, when I’d normally be bending down to pick her up and hook her legs around my back. Not now, I tell myself when she grabs a handful of my ass and I want to ask her to get on her knees. “Not yet,” I tell her out loud when she reaches for my belt again.
“Prue,” I say between the vicious kisses she’s attempting to bury into my neck. “Prue, I’m going to need you to stop now, okay?”
“Why?” She’s disappointed. Her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils make me shut my eyes to focus on my next words.
“Because if I’m going to be the one to teach you things, I need to be in control.” I open my eyes again and feel my dick surge at the sight of her, breathless and panting and looking up at me like I hold all of the answers. “And I’m losing it…. Quickly.”
“Let’s start all of that tomorrow,” she responds unabashedly, grabbing my hand and placing it on her breast.
My fingers, not yet accustomed to my newfound self-control, move to outline the shape of her bra from under the fabric of her sweater. I have to consciously breathe in as I gather myself, fighting the urge to pull her damn sweater clean off.
I groan, tossing my head back toward the sky as I shakily place both of my hands on the back of my neck, already missing the touch of her. I cannot believe what I’m about to do. What I have to do. This is my karma for the dirty virgin-fantasy thoughts earlier. “Prue, I—”
“ Please, ” she whispers, her teeth skating against the tattoo on my throat before she kisses to the left of my Adam’s apple.
That’s my weak spot and, somehow, she knew instinctively how to find it.
No, not instinctively. It can’t be. She, obviously, is an agent that has been sent to fuck with me by all the lovers I have previously scorned.
A perfect weapon made in a lab to destroy me.
That is the only explanation for any of this, any of her.
“Я сейчас умру,” I plead. I’m going to die.
I whimper as she flicks her tongue against the column of my throat and rubs her palm over my cock as it further tightens my jeans.
Fuck, yes, yes, yes. Her fingernails scrape against the denim, soliciting a lustful whimper from me that acts as a wakeup call. Shit, no, no, no.
I need to remind myself of the facts here.
She has been drinking.
Prue places both of her hands on the bulge in my jeans and begins exploring.
She’s far less experienced than me.
Or, more likely, she’s a rotten liar. Because that rhythm she’s squeezing is —
She wants me to teach her, not the other way around.
—it’s too good. Too. Fucking. Good .
That is how this arrangement needs to work.
I’m going to come in my jeans if she doesn’t quit .
This balance, this teacher-student dynamic is the only way I can survive this. How I’ll manage to be friends and do all of the weird, nasty, filthy shit I want to do with her down the line. It’s the only way I can leave with all of my heart and sanity in tow in a few months’ time.
I moan, feeling my orgasm build at the base of my spine. “No. That’s enough of that,” I groan, grabbing Prue’s hands and pinning them behind her. I press them against her lower back, holding tightly as she fights it. “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”
She looks up at me, pouting and downright petulant. How she manages to look so innocent and adorable while pissed off is beyond me. This blushing darling cannot be the same woman who just tried to test my will and get me off through my jeans.
I lean down, laying my cheek against the soft cushioning of the hair on top of her head, my chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
“I mean it, Killer. We need to stop there for tonight.” I breathe her in, then press a kiss against her peppermint-scented hair before straightening.
When our eyes meet and I instinctively tighten my hold around her wrists, she lets out a breathy moan.
A shudder courses through me as I struggle to maintain control.
“If you feel this way tomorrow,” I tell her sternly, “you know where to find me.”
I step back, releasing her in one painful swoop.
Three steps closer to shore, I stop to take her in—the softened, moodier version of her heightened by the lantern and what little moonlight there is.
She is a truly devastating creature, stunning in a way that is beyond the words I know.
I’m only as fluent in Russian as my parents’ daily use provided and there is no way they ever felt strongly enough about each other to teach me that sort of word.
“Good night, Killer,” I say, slowly, to capture the mental image of her in my mind so I can sketch it later before I bring it to mind in less honorable ways.
Prue goes shy on me, her head ducking between us as she quickly fixes her sweater back into place. Her arms fold in front of her chest, as that soft pink hue I’m obsessed with turns to a deeper red I do not like.
No, some part of me screams, you can’t leave her like that.
Three steps later, I’m back in front of her—in new, fumbling, unfamiliar territory. “If I’m going to stay, it’s going to be as your friend,” I tell her and myself. “We can’t tonight. I can’t—”
“Okay,” she interrupts.
Was I really about to leave this girl on a dock by herself, surrounded by shit both she and I carried down here, on her birthday? What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I’m new to this part of it too,” I confess. “The…”
“Decency?” She offers a teasing smirk, filling me with relief.
“Yes,” I agree, smiling back. “I’m more of a hit-and-run kind of guy.”
“Don’t you have to hit to run ?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she slowly lowers to sit on the blanket with her legs out in front of her.
“Right, which is why”—I sit down next to her feet, my legs extended next to hers—“I don’t need to run?” I ask it, as if it’s a question.
“Exactly.” She reaches to her left, grabs one of my beers, and holds it out to me.
“Sorry,” I say, taking it from her, attempting to avoid the electric shock of her touch.
“Don’t be.” She leans back onto her palms, stretching her beautiful neck up to the sky. “Sorry for trying to get in your pants on night one.”
“Yes, not very decent of you.”
She returns her gaze to mine, smiling. “I guess we both have a lot to learn.”
“Want to keep playing?” I ask.
She nods slowly. “Yeah, but…we should probably…if…”
“Avoid the sexy kind of questions for the sake of our shared interest in not fucking up this arrangement between us before it begins?” I ask.
“Yes,” she half says, half giggles. “I would hate to begin mauling you again.”
“Or I, you,” I tell her when she hides her face from me. “It could have easily been me needing the reminder to cool off.” She nods, the corner of her lip turning up, as if she needed to hear me say something that seemed so obvious. “All right, Killer, it’s my turn. Truth.”
“Have you ever been handcuffed?”
“Prudence!”
“I didn’t mean it like that!”