Chapter 10 Oops, Feelings
oops, feelings
. . .
Derek
Morning light filtered through the tall windows, turning everything in the apartment soft gold.
I turned, expecting the bed to be empty.
Instead Miles was there—sprawled, one arm thrown over his face, sheets tangled at his hips.
His curls were a mess; in the light he looked younger, like the armor had slipped off overnight.
My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine.
I eased out of bed, pulled on sweatpants, and padded to the kitchen. Coffee first. Then whatever last night was. Then whatever this morning meant.
Halfway through grinding beans I heard him pad up behind me.
“Morning,” he said.
I kept my hands on the grinder a beat longer than necessary. When I turned he was framed in the doorway: my shirt draped over his shoulders, boxers low on his hips. The sleeves swallowed his hands. It was a stupidly domestic sight, and more dangerous than it had any right to be.
“Morning,” I managed. My voice came out gravelly. “Coffee?”
“Please.” He crossed to the fridge, slid it open like he belonged, and his face creased in mock suspicion as he sniffed the milk. He held the carton up between us. “This expired three days ago.”
“You’re dramatic.” I reached for the milk, but he set it on the counter and pushed it away with the back of his hand, playful and decisive.
He made a face. “It’s chunky.”
“Texture,” I said, pouring water into the machine with the practiced motion that steadied me. The steam rose, and I caught the smell of him—coffee and that faint, clean scent that always seemed to orbit him.
“You’re disgusting,” he said, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth.
I glanced at him over the espresso machine. The shirt hung off his shoulder just so; my thumb caught on the hem of a button and I let go, pretending my hands had something better to do. “You work in a café that puts edible glitter on everything.”
“That’s ambiance,” he replied, folding his arms and leaning against the counter. He watched me the way someone reads the weather—curious, assessing. “You ever surprise yourself, Derek? Getting sentimental?”
A laugh escaped me. “I’m evolving.”
“You’re terrifyingly evolved.”
He watched my face when I said it, and for half a second the room narrowed to the space between us—the rise of his collarbone, the soft light on his cheek. I wanted mornings like this.
“Want breakfast?” I asked, turning to pull two mugs.
He shrugged, the motion loose. “Depends. Can you cook?”
“I can make toast,” I said. No flourish, just efficient honesty.
“Revolutionary,” he said, and when he rolled his eyes the small laugh that followed sounded like permission.
Toast popped. He took his slice, buttered it with a distracted air, and came to stand beside me.
Our shoulders touched. Warmth spilled across my ribs and I let it.
We didn’t need to name it yet—none of that—just the safe, steady press of being near someone who had been across the room and was now right beside me, in my kitchen, wearing my shirt.
“Derek,” he started, then stopped, biting his lip.
“Yeah?”
“Last night...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Was that a mistake?”
My hands stilled on the coffee cup. “Do you think it was?”
“I asked you first.”
I turned to face him, studying the uncertainty in his eyes. The way he was trying so hard to look casual, like the answer didn't matter, when we both knew it did.
“Not if you don't want it to be,” I said quietly.
He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a shaky breath. “I don't know what I want. I mean, I do, but I also don't, and that probably doesn't make any sense, but—”
I crossed the distance between us, my hands finding his hips, pulling him closer. He went still, his eyes wide, and I could feel the tension thrumming through him.
“Miles,” I said, keeping my voice low, gentle. “Breathe.”
He did, his chest rising and falling against mine, and I felt some of the tension ease out of him.
“I'm not asking you to have all the answers,” I continued. “I don't have them either. But I know I like you. More than I should. More than I want to admit, honestly. And last night wasn't a mistake. Not for me.”
His eyes searched mine, vulnerability written across every line of his face. “I like you too. Which is fucking terrifying, by the way.”
I smiled. “Yeah. It is.”
“So what do we do?”
“We could...” I hesitated, then decided to just say it. “We could see where this goes. No pressure. No expectations. Just... us. Figuring it out.”
“That sounds remarkably mature for two people who spent the last month trying to sabotage each other.”
“I'm growing as a person.”
“It's very unsettling.”
I laughed, pulling him closer, and he came willingly, his arms wrapping around my waist. We stood like that for a moment, just holding each other in the morning light, and it felt right in a way I hadn't expected.
The toaster popped, making us both jump. Miles pulled back with a laugh, grabbing the toast before it could burn, and I watched as he slathered it with butter, taking a bite while standing at my counter like he owned the place.
We ate breakfast in comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other, grinning like idiots. Every time our hands brushed and every time he looked at me, I forgot what I was doing.
“We should probably get to the festival,” Miles said eventually, though he didn't sound convinced.
“Probably.”
“Lila's going to lose her mind if I don't show up.”
“Jenna will kill me if I'm late.”
Neither of us moved.
“Five more minutes?” I asked.
“Ten.”
I grinned, pulling him back into my arms, and kissed him slow and sweet, savoring the taste of coffee and butter and Miles. When we finally broke apart, both of us were smiling.
“Shower first,” I said. “We both smell like festival and regret.”
“Speak for yourself. I smell amazing.”
“You smell like pumpkin guts and bad decisions.”
“The best kind of decisions.”
I grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the bathroom. My apartment’s bathroom was one of the few indulgences I'd allowed myself when I renovated—a massive walk-in shower with rain heads and enough space for two. Or three, if you were creative.
Miles whistled low when he saw it. “Jesus. This is bigger than my entire apartment.”
“I like my showers.”
“I can see that.”
I turned on the water, letting it heat up while I stripped off my sweatpants. Miles watched me, his eyes darkening.
“You coming?” I asked.
“That's the plan.”
He pulled off my shirt. God, he was beautiful. All lean muscle and sharp angles and that defiant tilt to his chin that made me want to kiss him until he softened.
We stepped into the shower together, and the hot water hit us both, steam rising around us. Miles tipped his head back, eyes closing, water streaming through his dark curls, and I couldn't look away.
Steam curled around us, fogging up the glass and turning the whole bathroom into its own little universe.
The heat made every touch feel brand new—like skin on skin was the only law left.
Water poured down, tracing every line of Miles’s body, and I couldn’t stop staring at how beautiful, how hungry, he looked with his hair plastered to his face and his mouth already parted for me.
“Still staring,” he teased, but his voice sounded rougher this time—breathless, almost gone.
The sight of him like that undid something deep in my chest, but I barely had a second to react before he dropped to his knees on the shower floor, water streaming over his shoulders, lips opening with a filthy smile.
My cock wasn’t fully hard yet, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Miles’s hands found my thighs, thumbs digging in, mouth already working up the shaft, tongue tracing the vein with the kind of reverence that made my knees threaten to give out.
The first press of heat around the head of my cock made my breath stutter, made my hand fly to his hair, tugging him closer.
“Jesus, Miles—” The words were a gasp, torn out of me, too honest to hide.
His tongue was hot silk, slick, wrapping around me, coaxing every inch until my cock filled out, heavy and thick, throbbing against his lips.
That filthy, adoring look in his eyes made my head spin.
He wanted me desperate, undone, and he was getting exactly that.
Water pounded down, beating a rhythm against my back, but all I felt was the suction of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the obscene slide of spit and precome mingling, dribbling down his chin.
Miles gagged himself just to take more, greedy and messy, swallowing around me, moaning like he’d never tasted anything better in his life.
His hands gripped my ass, kneading, forcing me to thrust deeper.
“That’s it, take it. Take all of me.” I braced a hand on the wall, hips rolling in time with the bob of his head, watching the way his throat worked as he swallowed, eyes locked on mine, pleading for praise.
I couldn’t deny him. Couldn’t deny myself.
I fucked his mouth, slow and deep, feeling every inch of slick, squeezing heat as he choked and moaned, his own cock pressed hard and leaking against his thigh.
Drool mixed with water, streaming down his chin, and I wiped it with my thumb, shoving the mess right back in.
“God, you’re filthy. Never seen anyone look so fucking good on their knees.
” My other hand found the back of his neck, holding him still as I fucked forward, savoring the way he let me use him, hungry for every inch.
He pulled back for a gasp, spit glistening on his lips. “Want you to come in my mouth. Want to taste it. Give it to me, Derek.” The words were ruined, desperate, almost more a plea than a demand.
Water thundered around us, turning the world hazy and closed-in, nothing outside but heat and the ache that lived between us. Miles gazed up at me, lips swollen, jaw slack, spit and water painting him as ruined and beautiful as I’d ever seen.