30
Miles presses his body into mine, pushing me against the dressing table. His kisses deepen and his hands move into my hair. It’s mostly fallen out of its elegant updo now, but I still hear hair grips clatter to the dressing table behind me.
I pull my own hands through his hair, savouring the softness of his curls between my fingers, and grinding up against him. I am momentarily shocked by the hard length of him pressing into my stomach, but then my brain catches up to my body and I press myself against it harder. He groans into my lips and rolls his hips against mine.
I ache between my legs, heat pooling there as Miles pulls away from my lips to trace kisses all the way up my jaw and then down my neck. He kisses and nips his way along my throat before pulling back and pressing his forehead to mine.
“Fuck, Del,” he says, “I’ve wanted to do that all night,”
I try to fight the huge fucking grin, but it doesn’t work, “Really?” I ask.
He smiles for a moment and then nods. Looking down at my body and pulling at my top, he says “This is going to have to come off,”
“Only if yours does too,” I mutter, pulling at the buttons on his shirt.
“Deal,” he says, pressing his lips to mine and beginning to unhook my corset top.
Well done, Delaney. Wear the dumbest fucking top ever for hooking up. It’s going to take him about a week to get it off.
I reach around to help him a little, and then the top springs open. Miles’s hands move up my bare stomach, over my ribs, and then over my breasts. He pushes the shoulder straps down until the top falls to the floor and I am bare-chested.
He takes me in, running his hands over my full breasts again and muttering something that sounds like fuck me.
He rolls one of my nipples with his thumb, and then leans down and takes the other in his mouth. I groan, settling back onto the dressing table and pushing my chest up to him. He pulls my hard nipple between his teeth, the sharpest twinge of pain, followed by laps of his tongue, making up for the nip. He does it again, before moving over to the other one and giving it the same treatment. All the while, all I can think is that I’m probably going to come before he gets my pants off.
He moves down then, pressing kisses across my stomach and then running his fingers along the waistband of my jeans.
He kneels, and then looks up at me, “May I?” he asks, smirking a little. I nod, and he unbuttons my jeans, pulling the zip down slowly and revealing my lacy underwear that I thank the heavens I remembered to put on.
He pushes the jeans over my arse and then down my legs, helping me to step out of them, before pressing kisses to the inside of my thighs. Then he runs his finger along the scalloped edges of my underwear, before hooking his fingers inside. He pulls one long stroke through my wetness and groans.
“Fuck, Del, you’re soaked,”
I whimper as his hands reach up and pull my underwear over my hips and down my legs. I step out of them as well, now overwhelmingly aware that I am completely naked and he is still fully clothed.
But all thought mysteriously leaves my mind the next second when he pushes two fingers inside me slowly, pumping them softly in and out and looking up at me. He’s still watching me when he runs his tongue over my clit in a few maddeningly slow circles before pulling back.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans.
“Ah, fuck,” I moan, pushing into his touch and grinding down on his fingers, needing more.
“Miles,” I moan, and he seems to get the idea because suddenly he is pushing me back onto the dresser, moving my legs onto his shoulders and holding me down, his hand on my stomach, as he laps at me, sucks, nips, strokes, in the most overwhelming way. The noises that come out of my fucking mouth would embarrass me if I could even think straight, but all I can think about is the man between my legs.
I push my hands in his hair, grinding against his face. He groans into me and the vibrations almost push me over the edge.
“Fuck, Miles, I’m so close,” I groan, and he pulls back.
“Come for me, Del,” he whispers, and then he sucks my clit into his mouth and I clench around his fingers, crying out, and coming so hard that, I swear to God, I see stars.
He laps at me all through my orgasm and when I am finally completely spent, half on and half off the dressing table, he pulls back, standing up and pulling his shirt over his head.
I look up, taking in his tattooed torso, and wondering which god created him.
“I know you’re not done,” he teases, leaning over me and kissing my neck.
“Absolutely not,” I groan, pushing my hips up and grinding against his erection.
He groans into my neck and then pulls back, pressing his lips to mine again. I taste myself there and it turns me on even more. I stand up, pushing him toward the bed and walking us over there.
He spins us when we reach it, laying me out beneath him as he comes over me. He presses kisses to my jaw, collarbone, chest, breasts, and then stops to suck my nipple into his mouth again, rolling it with his tongue as I groan, I reach down to the waistband of his jeans, palming his erection and fumbling to get his pants off.
He kneels back on his heels, unbuttoning his jeans, and pulling them down. He stands to pull them off and then pulls his boxers off too and I am suddenly worried about what’s about to happen.
He must sense it because he leans over, putting his fingers under my chin and looking deep into my eyes, “Hey, what’s up? We can stop, Del,” and the way he says it, I know that if I were to ask to stop now he would. He wouldn’t try and convince me or push me, he’d just lay down with me and sleep.
I shake my head, “It’s not that,” I say, wanting to cry that;
a. The bar is so fucking low I am turned on by proper consent, and;
b. That he is so fucking sweet.
“I just, I haven’t done this in a while. I don’t, er, hook up often,”
It’s not that I don’t like sex. I have had hookups in the past, but they’ve been with people I already knew and liked. I hate the idea of a one-night stand, mostly because I don’t want to get murdered, but also because I need to feel comfortable enough with a person to be this intimate. This vulnerable.
And that vulnerability takes so much work. I am either too lazy for it or I have some aversion to romance in general. I’ve never really taken the time to think about it, I just know what I want, and right now, that’s Miles.
He nods, “That’s okay,” he says, “We only do what you’re comfortable with,”
I nod, and he presses his lips to mine before pulling away and scanning my face again, “I do want this, though,” I clarify.
He nods again, smiling, “Me too,”
He presses his lips to mine again, twisting and pulling me on top of him. We make out like teenagers for a good few minutes, hands roaming each other’s bodies before I palm his erection again. He groans and I grin into his mouth before pulling back.
“You do have a condom, right?” I ask.
“Stay there,” he says, getting off the bed.
I do as I’m told as he goes over to his wash bag and pulls out a condom. Then I watch him roll it down his length before he comes back over, reaching a hand under my waist and moving me further up the bed as he climbs over me. He pushes my legs apart, lifting one under the knee before settling between them.
“Is this okay?” he asks. I nod but he shakes his head, “I’m going to need to hear you say it,”
“Yes,” I say, looking up at him and smiling softly.
He leans down, pressing a soft and delicate kiss to my lips and then pressing another kiss to my jaw. Something hangs between us in that moment, as though we’re both making the decision to cross the line. Like the fake dating was just a game and this is the real thing. Neither of us speaks as he reaches down between us, lining himself up at my entrance, and then pushing himself inside me.
He seats himself fully and then draws out slowly. I groan and grind against him as he pushes himself back into me, needing more again.
“Fuck me, Miles, please,” I beg.
“As you wish,” he says, smirking and then pulling out again before slamming home.
He sets a relentless rhythm, slamming into me at the sweetest angle. He is somehow managing to hit a spot deep inside that I’m pretty sure no man, except my vibrator, has ever found, and I can’t keep my thoughts to myself.
“Fuck Miles,” I groan, “Ah fuck, like that,”
He smirks again, and then draws back, pulling my leg onto his shoulder and pushing even deeper into me. I tilt my head up at the ceiling, as though I can see fucking heaven up there, grasping at the sheets and groaning. His hand trails over my calf then down my thigh. He leans down and presses a kiss to my neck and I pull my hands into his hair again, gripping him as though I’m holding onto the edge of a cliff and the only thing stopping me from falling over is Miles.
“Del, you feel so fucking good,” he groans against my neck before pulling back and slowing the pace. He stops, still inside me and brushes the hair out of my face, pressing a kiss to my lips and asking, “Do you want to turn over?”
I grin and nod.
He pulls out of me and sits back on his heels as I turn.
I lay on my stomach, letting him lift me at the hips and lining himself back up at my entrance. I am positively aching with need when he pushes back into me. I grind my hips back against him and he groans, moving harder and faster than before. He’s so deep at this angle, I am close to release already. Groaning, and making noises that probably come from somewhere incredibly animalistic in me, I clench around him.
“Ah, Del,” he groans as I clench again. His fingers are digging into my hips and I’m convinced I’ll bruise tomorrow.
“Fuck, Miles, I’m so fucking close,” I groan, hands knotted in the sheets in front of me. And then he moves his hand from my hip and brings it to my clit. Pushing his fingers over the little bud in relentless circles, I cry out and clench around him one last time before I come apart at the seams.
“Fuck, Del,” Miles moans pounding through my orgasm and coming apart himself. He keeps the rhythm unrelenting until we’re both coming down from a collective high and then he slowly pulls out.
I hear him stand and go into the bathroom to sort the condom out as I lay face down on the bed, unable to move. Miles comes back a few minutes later and climbs onto the bed behind me.
“Lift that pretty little arse, please,” he mutters.
If I had the energy, I’d tell him my arse is not little but I don’t, so I just do as he asks and he cleans me up with a warm washcloth. I almost cry as he does it because literally not a single man has ever done that for me. Like, if I had known this was a thing men could do and that I didn’t need to waddle to the bathroom, I would have been expecting it my entire life.
Miles Stuart, setting standards for men since 1993.
Once he’s done, he goes back to the bathroom and I turn over to look at him. He looks so fucking good as he comes back into the room, bathed now in the light of morning. It hits me how tired I am then and Miles grins at me.
“Are you tired?” he asks.
I nod and he comes over to the bed and pulls the sheets back. He lies down under the covers and then opens his arm to me. I nestle in against his chest and he pulls the duvet around us.
I am so tired, and I know that I should sleep. It’s probably about 8 am now. But all I can think is that my time with Miles could be fleeting. I don’t know what he wants after this. This was all supposed to be fake, so I need to soak up as much of him as possible, just in case it still is.