CHAPTER 21
SHERIDAN
We end up having fish and chips because it’s Friday and we British people are stuck in our ways like that. I have a battered sausage, chips and gravy, which Myles finds abhorrent by the look on his face— “Who has gravy on chips?” he asks with disgust —while he settles with the traditional battered cod, chips, mushy peas and curry sauce. I’m too polite to slag off his food choices but I absolutely cannot stand mushy peas and spend most of my time trying not to gag while I eat.
When we’re done, I clear away the plates and top up our wine before sinking back into the sofa. I was ironing out the final plot points for the very last Goth Frogs episode when Myles turned up and we ate in the dining room, so it’s very quiet in the house. Hector is already asleep.
“Can I ask you something?” I say when Myles has resettled next to me.
“Sure.”
“What’s going on between you and Beau?”
He seems a little put off by the question, but he doesn’t deflect, he just sighs. “He’s been a prick.”
“Not unusual. What did he do?”
“He told me to stay away from you because collectively we’ve got too much baggage and I’m not good enough for you. I’m probably not good enough for you, but it was shitty hearing it out of my best friend’s mouth. Especially when Brin’s boyfriend is such a colossal bellend.”
For a second, I’m speechless. Beau and Myles aren’t speaking because of me? “What? Why does he think you’ve got too much baggage?”
“Probably because I grew up in care.” He shrugs.
“Oh.” I didn’t know that. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologising? It’s not your fault my parents didn’t want me.”
I flinch and he winces.
“Sorry.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. “It just pissed me off that Beau used that against me, basically from day one, when it came to you.”
“Day one?”
“Oh yeah. Literally when we were at the services on our way to the cabin, he pulled me aside and told me I’m not good enough for you. Apparently, I’m that transparent.”
I scoff at him. “You did not like me that quickly.”
“Birdie, I fancied you the second you got out of that little green car of yours.”
A shiver runs through me from his blunt honesty. “Oh.”
“That’s it? Oh?” He nudges my calf with his foot.
“What else do you want me to say?”
“I don”t know, maybe that you fancied me straight away, too?”
“I did.”
His head rears back. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God.”
I try, and fail, to fight my smile. “When was the last time you spoke to Beau?”
“Your Dad’s birthday. And even then, it wasn’t very pleasant.” He pauses for a moment, shoving a hand through his gold locks. I track the movement and hate the way my mouth salivates. “I haven’t gone to any games, either. Stavros has been borrowing my season ticket.”
This I find particularly interesting. Myles point-blank refusing to go to a game because he and Beau aren’t talking. Diehard football fans with unlimited access would attend games come rain or shine, snow or sleet. Which leads me to believe that maybe Myles isn’t as hardcore a fan as I thought. Really, he’s just there for Beau. “Are you going to ignore him forever?”
“I hope I don’t have to, not least because he’s my best friend but also your brother. But until he apologises, I don’t want to know.”
“He’ll come around eventually.”
“I don’t know… He’s stubborn as a mule.”
“That’s true. When we were kids—I reckon maybe nine or ten—Mum and Dad bought all of us scooters one Christmas. Beau played with his so much it broke so he started using mine. Eventually that broke too, and I was so upset the only thing I wanted to do was retaliate. So, I went up to his room and threw his Nintendo at the wall.”
Myles laughs so hard it startles me. “Holy shit.”
“I’ve never been in more trouble than when I did that, and Beau didn’t speak to me for like a month. I never apologised either, because I wasn’t sorry.”
“Remind me to never break anything of yours,” Myles jokes.
“He was made to apologise to me for being careless with my stuff and that was that. He’ll realise the error of his ways eventually.”
“It’s weird not talking to him or going to games, I will admit.”
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go. What he said to you was rude and completely uncalled for. Also, it’s not his place to dictate who I can and can’t date.” The more I dwell on that part, the more pissed off I become. “Or you, for that matter. Sister or not, he doesn’t own me, and he doesn’t own you. Fuck him.”
“Exactly. Fuck him. So what if we’ve got baggage? That’s our problem, not his. And we work through it in our own time.”
“Plus, my baggage is from years ago and stopped being a problem when I was like sixteen. How dare he put that on you. That’s my story to tell.”
“And you’ll tell me when you want to,” he assures me, his thumb stroking lightly across the back of my hand.
I think about my teenage issues and what I put my family through, and those insecurities rear up for a moment. Swallowing, I say, “It’s quite heavy—my baggage. You sure you don’t want to run now, while you still can?”
“Why? You a murderer or summat?”
I give him a half smile. “No.”
“Then I’m not interested in bolting, Birdie. I’m interested in you. I saw some shit growing up in foster homes that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. Whatever you’ve got going on, or are carrying around with you, I’ll share the load. If you’ll let me.”
I blink at him once, twice. I neck my full glass of wine and abandon the empty glass on the coffee table, and then I use my liquid courage to crawl the distance between us and straddle his lap.
Myles’s hands find my hips, and my mouth finds his mouth before my brain has the chance to second guess itself. I cup his face with my hands and lean all of my weight against him, and he lets out a satisfied moan.
Our kiss isn’t rushed or frenzied. It’s sensual and tender and exploratory. It’s the perfect kiss for the moment. It makes sense. And I can’t help but feel like Myles makes sense being here with me, in my house—my sacred space.
Beau can take his opinions and shove them where the sun doesn”t shine.
Myles’s tongue swirls with mine, his breaths deep and heavy. His hands have started roaming—up my sides, over my shoulders, in my hair, down my back. I feel consumed and I like it that way.
I scratch my fingernails over his neat stubble, and he growls, his touch growing heavier. I feel his length harden, poking against my thighs, and it takes everything in me not to just take it out and sit right on it.
I pull back but rest my forehead against his, breathing heavily. Myles slips his hands underneath my shirt, resting his palms just underneath my breasts.
“Is it stupid that I missed you?” I ask, still panting. “I knew you for seven fucking days and I missed you after we went home.”
“Not stupid. I missed you, too.” Myles rubs his nose against mine, and his thumbs skim along my breasts. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I wanted to ask someone about you so badly, but I know how private you are. It was a lose-lose for me.”
Rubbing my palms down his chest, I say, “Last weekend, after you scribbled on my arm—in ink that was annoyingly hard to clean off, by the way—I did this really sensible thing where I put your number in my phone and saved it.”
He laughs, pinching my nipples with it. I swat him but he does it again. “Really? That’s such a clever idea, I wish I’d thought of that.”
I make a flat humming sound. “Yeah.”
“What’s my contact name?”
“Man Who Forgets to Check His Pockets Before Washing His Jeans.”
That earns me a smack to the backside, and I gasp, leaning forward. He keeps his hand on my bum, squeezing it roughly, and I can’t help my moan.
“You are cheeky.” He says, his mouth hot against my cheek.
In response, I grind myself over his semi. He makes a pained noise and smacks my bum again.
“Myles!”
“You don’t like it?”
Far from it. I like it a little bit too much.
Rather than answer him, I grip his shoulder and look him in the eye. “This weekend—what are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong. You’re doing me.”
He grins so big he could light up the Blackpool Illuminations with the wattage. “I”m forgiven?”
“Mostly. But we’ve gotta catch up on two months” worth of sex. Think you’re up to it?”
“I’ll certainly try my damn best.”
I waste no more time and yank my T-shirt over my head, baring my tits to him. Before he can bury his face in my cleavage, I lean back and snatch his full wine glass off the coffee table and take a swig. I offer him some, but he shakes his head.
Before I replace it, I dip two fingers in the liquid and rub it over each of my nipples.
Myles’s dick twitches between my legs, and he hisses, “Fuck me.”
In the next breath, he’s got his mouth around one.
His large hands knead each of my boobs while he licks the wine clean from each of my nipples. I shove my fingers into his messy hair, savouring the softness of it between my fingertips. He laps and laps and laps away at my breasts, lick suck lick suck, to the point my breathing is ragged and serrated.
I love the feel of his hands playing roughly with me. I didn’t know I’d like it so much, actually. I can’t help but touch them, encouraging them to squeeze harder, pinch tighter.
“Yes, Myles,” I pant when he complies, “like that.”
“You want it a bit rough, Birdie?” His voice is pure gravel, and it only encourages the slick between my legs.
Involuntarily, I roll my hips over him, and he groans loudly.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He persists with his heavy touches, using his teeth around my nipples.
I lean in closer, shoving my chest into his face while my mouth finds his. I feel my own tongue on my skin, paired with his, and shiver violently.
Myles claims my mouth in a punishing kiss, his tongue plundering, teeth nipping and lips sucking. It’s the kind of kiss that renders you dumb, and I surrender to him like he’s a lifeline.
We kiss and we kiss and we kiss, time but a mere concept. Not important. Completely irrelevant.
The length of him hardens like a steel rod, surely, gradually, until I feel it pressing against my thighs, calling to me like a fucking beacon. I grind over it once, twice, three times, until I’m a moaning mess and Myles hisses like a panicked cat.
“Bloody hell, Sheridan,” he grunts into my mouth, “you’ll be the death of me.”
I smile at this, and at the way his hands grip my posterior, encouraging my dry humping.
I tease him out of his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one and leaving kisses in a scorching trail down his torso as I go. His breathing is laboured, his warm honey eyes on me. I sponge my lips over every inch of him, paying special attention to that bear tattoo when I reach it while palming over the stiffness in his trousers.
Myles’s hands find my hair, a makeshift tie keeping it all out of my face.
I find his mouth again while easing his trousers down, “Can I?”
“You never need to ask me permission to do that.”
I grin, giving him a hard kiss on the mouth, then another, before completely sinking to my knees between his legs.
“Fuck, look at you.” He breathes, “I know you’re not a fan of praise, but the sight of you on your knees like this is banking material, baby.”
I can feel the heat on my cheeks, but I ignore it as I take his cock in my grip. “Is it worth a lot in this bank of yours?” I ask, starting to stroke him up and down with both hands. And it requires both, because he’s big and my hands… aren’t.
He makes a strangled noise. “The most.”
Okay so maybe praise is a little bit my thing. I just like the idea of him using me in his imagination to get himself off.
I take him into my mouth, easing him in bit by bit as if he’s working his way into my pussy. He’s warm to the touch, filling my mouth with a delicious heat that has me salivating. I have to spit on him just to get rid of it.
The satisfactory noises he makes are like the best audio porn available. It sends a white hot pleasure zipping down my spine straight to my clit. I’m not wearing any knickers and I know for a fact my leggings are soaked.
I take him all the way down, as far as he’ll go until my body convulses, stroke him a couple of times, and then start fucking him with my mouth properly.
“Fuuuck, Sheridan,” he grips my hair tighter, “who taught a quiet little thing like you to take a cock so well? Hm?”
I’m bobbing my head like a mad woman when he asks and decide to use answering him as an excuse to take a breath, “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
He leans forward and kisses me with such ferocity it leaves me dizzy. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
He kisses me again, but I snatch myself away to return to my ministrations.
I give him everything I have from my mouth. I suck his tip; I use my teeth; I choke him down, down, down.
He holds my head still and fucks into my mouth, which serves to positively destroy my throat and tonsils. His cock is a weapon in size and my mouth isn’t that big. Yet when my lips come away sore in the corners from being opened too wide too long as he eases off, I can’t find it in me to feel mad about it. It just turns me the fuck on.
We give my poor lips a break while I lick up and down his shaft, and then I lift him up and suck on his balls a little bit.
“Baby girl, you’re gonna end this before it’s even begun sucking on me like that,” he warns.
I just grin, drunk with pleasure, and carry on. I don’t need praise, but I have to admit the power that comes with giving a man head is a heady, delicious thing.
I start rubbing my clit over my leggings, just to ease some of the pressure down there. It causes me to whimper, which in turn has Myles shuddering.
“Christ, look at you,” he groans, one hand slipping to stroke my cheek, “I’m gonna come all over you if we keep this up any longer.”
Shameless, I rub his wet dick across my cheeks as I say, “Maybe I want that.”
“You want me to come all over you?”
“Kinda.”
“Motherfucker,” he hisses, then springs into action.
He helps me up, and, noticing the damp spot on my leggings, he brings my crotch closer to his face.
Those yellow-green eyes meet mine and I’m thrilled to find I don’t have an ounce of embarrassment in me about it. He rubs two fingers into it, causing a dirty moan to tumble from my sore lips.
“This for me, Birdie?”
I nod, biting my lip.
He growls and buries his nose against it, and fuck if that doesn’t only just make me a whole lot wetter.
He licks a stripe up from the seat to the top of my pubic bone, turning my legs to jelly.
“Something about you, Sheridan, turns me into some sort of feral beast.”
I shrug, pushing my fingers through his sandy hair again. “I don’t mind.” In fact, I encourage it.
He growls, and I giggle when I find myself on my back and sprawled across the sofa.
“We’re gonna get you out of these leggings, and then I’m gonna fuck those pretty tits of yours and paint you like a damn canvas. And once I’ve done that, I’m gonna bend you over the back of the sofa until you’re screaming my name so loud your neighbours in the next fucking village can hear it.” He’s already got his fingers in the waistband of my leggings, “How’s that sound?”
It’s difficult to hide the excitement quite obviously glittering in my eyes, so I simply don’t. “Sounds marvellous.”
He growls, but he’s obviously pleased with himself as he strips off my leggings and throws them over the back of the sofa. His eyes feast on my glistening pussy, taking two laboured breaths before he swipes a finger through my folds and tastes me with his tongue.
I can’t help but groan as I watch, because it’s so filthy yet so utterly sexy I don’t care to fight the heat coursing through my body.
“Push those tits together, baby,” he demands as he rids himself of his trousers properly.
I do as he says, and in the next breath he’s leaning over me, all but straddling my waist, and pushing his dick through my cleavage.
He’s imposing above me—a God made just for me. He looks incredible. Strong and masculine and all fucking male. I love his body. Stacked but not overly so. Lean but capable. His skin sheens with sweat, his shirt still hanging off his shoulders—the only garment left between either of us. Except his socks.
I’ve never had a man boob-fuck me before, but I’d let Myles do it every day until I die if this is the view I’ll get.
“God, I love your tits.”
For some reason, that compliment, of all things, brings a blush to my face.
He fucks and fucks and fucks my cleavage until I feel it chafing, and then I spit on myself, something else I’ve never done before.
Myles groans again, and apparently the sight of that alone is enough to get him off, because in the next breath I’m decorated, neck to navel, in ropes of his thick seed.
“Fuck,” he pants, milking his cock to the very last drop.
I glance down at myself, somewhat startled. I feel like an oil painting. I don’t know how to explain it, but I do. Before I can stop myself, I’m touching the come he’s left on me, spreading it down the valley of my breasts.
Myles watches in rapt fascination as I continue to smear it all over me, until I decide I’m done. And I put my wet fingers in my mouth to taste him.
“Bloody hell,” he says, but his voice breaks so many times it just sounds like a sharp rasp, “I think I like seeing that a little too much.”
I smile around my fingers and sit up. I take his face in my hands and kiss him. He doesn’t deny me, not even a little bit. Just continues to consume me, bit by bit.
His hands squeeze my waist, large and bruising, and then to my arse, where he gropes me until I might combust. He trails a finger between my cheeks and then through my folds and all that wetness collecting down there. The noise he makes when he eases one long finger into my heat is downright animalistic.
“God, I can’t wait to be inside you again.”
I kiss my way around his chin, his jaw, his neck as he finger-fucks me. “Find us a condom and you won’t have to wait much longer.
He grunts, biting my bottom lip before pulling away, finger and all. He sucks on that finger while digging around in the back pocket of his slacks, producing his wallet. After some filing around, he finds one.
“Is that your only one?”
He gives me a funny look. “No, Birdie. I’m ashamed to say I was optimistic and there’s a full box of them in the bag I brought with me.”
I press my lips together in an attempt to stifle my giggle and fail. “Let’s call it cautious.”
“Rather that than assuming,” he mutters. He rips the foil open and rolls it on, then finally rids himself of his shirt. “Come on, baby. Show me that ass.”
Surprising myself with my own eagerness, I drape myself over the back of the couch and stick my backside in the air, completely forgetting I’d smeared his fluid all over my chest not two minutes ago. Oh well. This blanket can be washed.
Immediately, Myles’s hands find my cheeks and starts squeezing. And kneading. And squeezing. Then he buries his face in my cunt and licks me clean like I’m a fucking passionfruit margarita.
“You taste…” he bites a cheek and I squeak a little, “fucking divine.”
He smacks my arse once, and I yelp, but I’m delighted by it. He does it again and the sound I make is just downright dirty.
“Like that, Birdie?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly.
He brings his hand down on my other cheek, and the sting resonates across my entire body, but it’s not painful in a bad way. Oh, no. The slick between my legs is back, and I’m dripping.
“Fucking hell, you really did like that.”
Then he shuffles, and before I have a chance to think about it, he’s spearing me with his cock.
I choke around an expletive, because I forgot what it feels like to have him inside me, and I think I might die from the size of it.
Death by dick.
Not a bad way to go.
“Oh, Christ, that’s good.” Myles sighs like he’s just entered the gates of heaven. His body drapes over mine, lips skating across the skin of my shoulder and neck. He nips my earlobe, “Forgot how tight you are.”
I need him to move, because right now I can practically feel him in my throat and it’s making me mute. I wriggle against him, urging him to move without my voice.
Myles coughs, “Oh, shit.”
He pulls out, leaving just the tip in, and I take a deep breath before he slams back inside me.
“Myles!”
He nuzzles my neck as he pulls out again. “Like music to my fucking ears, baby.”
Slam.Choke.
Jesus, I’m going to be split in half by the time we’re done.
Over and over again he slams his cock into me with the force of a damn missile, and each and every single time I feel my organs rearrange themselves inside my body. The centre of gravity shifts around us. Ours is no longer the core of the Earth; it’s where his dick joins my pussy.
As his pace evens out, Myles pulls his weight off mine, sponging kisses down my spine, and straightens up. His grip on my waist is bruising in its intensity, but I like it. I want his marks all over me.
I yelp again when his palm comes down on my arse cheek, immediately followed by another.
“I love your arse,” he grunts, back to soothing the sting he created.
“I thought you loved my tits,” I say breathlessly. I can feel said tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts, grazing the back of the sofa.
“I’ve got enough affection for both, baby.”
His hand comes down on my backside again.
“Fuck, Myles!”
“That’s my new favourite sound,” he decides, voice utterly ragged.
His pace gets faster, more punishing, and I take it and take it because it feels so fucking good.
“Yes, Myles,” I pant, “just like that. So good. So fucking good.”
“You like that, Birdie?” He cups a breast, squeezing harshly, and takes my hair in a tight grip.
“Yes,” I groan.
“You like it when I shag you hard and fast?”
“Yes!”
He releases my hair in favour of clasping my shoulder, and then finds my clit with his other hand. He pairs his powerful thrusts with flicking my clit with his fingers, and he absolutely fucking obliterates me.
My orgasm builds, crests, and detonates in the space of seconds, my tight heat suffocating Myles’s dick for all its worth. “Fuck!” I scream, voice hoarse from the sheer volume of it.
“Oh my fuck,” Myles leans over me, bites my shoulder, and then I feel him shudder and freeze.
He roars with his release, so loud it hurts my eardrums, but it’s glorious and magnificent and wonderful to feel him come apart like this around me, over me, for me.
He buries his face in my neck, lips nipping and sucking at my skin as we catch our breath. I reach up to play with his hair, scratch his scalp, and he purrs like a damn kitten.
It feels different to when we were at the cabin. We were holding back, keeping quiet, because we had company, and we didn’t want to get caught. There’s no chance of that now.
We’ve been unleashed.
* * *
I’m spent and sore in more places than just one. Myles seems equally spent but is likely less sore.
He’s currently lying on his front, starfish-ing, but with his head resting against my stomach. I’m idly pushing my fingers through his hair while I stare at the ceiling above my bed.
I came seven times. Seven. Myles Wilson—aka The Bear—spanked, choked, and fucked seven orgasms out of me. The man’s libido is insane because we went four separate times; one on the sofa, one against the hallway wall, one in the shower, and then finally in my bed.
I am exhausted.
Myles hasn’t moved for twenty minutes. He could be asleep, but something tells me he’s staring into space like I am.
“Myles?” I mumble, pausing my grooming.
Silence.
“Myles, are you awake?”
“Dead.”
I giggle, resuming my stroking. “We should probably go to sleep.”
He grunts, and then he brings his arms in to wrap them tightly around my middle. Finding a morsel of energy, he sucks a love bite onto my midriff to join the ten others there.
Seriously, the man has given me so many I look like a damn Dalmatian. I gave him a few of my own, too.
Slowly, Myles crawls up my body until he’s hovering over me, and he presses a slow, delicious kiss to my lips. “You, Sheridan Bennett, are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
Besides the absolute marathon we just completed, my blush comes up something fierce.
Myles pecks the tip of my nose, then my cheek, before he collapses onto his back beside me. Missing his warmth, I curl into his side. He slides an arm around my shoulders and brings my leg to hook over his with his other hand, leaving it to rest on the back of my thigh.
I peer up at him, and he meets my gaze with those warm green-gold eyes.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more content.
We engage in another kiss—this one lazy and unhurried. It could last seconds or hours. All I know is that it doesn’t matter. I’m just happy he’s here with me.
“I’m really glad you’re here, Myles,” I whisper when we finally break apart.
Still holding me tightly, he says, “I’m really glad I found you, Birdie.”