43
Our toilet corridor conversation was interrupted by Emme sprinting past me into the toilet covering her mouth as it turns out one of our old pals from uni dared her to do five shots of tequila in a row. But after copious amounts of water, she stopped vomiting, found a mint from someone and wound up twerking against this guy she always fancied in our halls. He’s a painter now, so exactly her type, and looked like he was having the time of his life with Emme grinding on him.
At some point, Emme’s dancing turned into really aggressive making out though and so now, we’re all standing outside the pub waiting for Ubers and trying not to feel uncomfortable about Emme and that guy, Glen, literally procreating against the wall.
“So, what you’re saying, is that us getting engaged has actually meant you two got back together?” Daisy is saying, grinning between Miles and me.
I snort, I don’t think being each other’s dates to weddings we didn’t want to go to counts as being together, but I don’t say that. The crazy anxious lady is also screaming at me to not define anything without Miles saying it first, but I don’t have to worry for long because Miles answers.
“Ya, Dais,” he says, “You’re basically like Cupid,”
Harry laughs, “Don’t say that to her, she’ll start setting all our friends up,” he says, “Though I am now thinking that I was an idiot for not seeing how perfect you two are for each other,”
I raise an eyebrow at him and he grins, “I still haven’t forgotten you drunkenly telling me you wish Caleb had tattoos,”
I burst out laughing and Miles grins, “Having met Caleb, he’s not cool enough to pull them off,”
Daisy wrinkles her nose, “Caleb isn’t cool enough for anything, particularly being with someone as fucking awesome as Delaney,” she says, grabbing me in a hug, then she leans in and whispers, “I’m so happy for you,”
I grin, “I’m happy for you too,” I say and she smiles.
“Delaney,” I hear Emme scream really loudly. She drags out my name until I turn around, then sidles up to me, Glen now speaking to an Uber driver, “We’re going back to our place because I’m slightly suspicious that he might murder me, but it means that either you have to listen to me get absolutely railed or you go back to your handsome florist’s place,”
My mouth drops open as Daisy, Harry, and Miles burst out laughing. Emme looks around me at them, “Hey, at least I’m telling her upfront. The last time she heard me have sex she told me I sounded like a hyena and I hated her for a week,”
I snort, “Emme, you have to tell me when you get home at least,” I say, and then I add, “And it was a fox, not a hyena. I think it would be weird if you’d been laughing during sex, but whatever,”
She nods, clearly too drunk to take in what I am saying, “If he does murder me, please do a podcast about it,” she says, pressing her forehead to mine in earnest.
“I promise,” I say, and she grins and then runs back to get in the taxi.
I turn back to Miles who grins, “The Uber is 3 minutes away,” he says, as if he’d already planned on taking me back to his place anyway.
*
We get back to Miles’s flat a little after 1 and I am impressed by my ability not to freak out. It feels like a new level of calmness has settled over me. In the past six weeks, I’ve had to manoeuvre myself out of having to go back to the Tinder guy’s house because of the genuine terror of having to go through the motions of sleeping with someone, but that worry isn’t there right now.
Emme may have been drunk, but I feel like she knew what she was doing.
I am worried about what this whole thing means, though. I feel like I need some definition. I can’t have the mess that we had before.
“Do you want water?” Miles asks, dropping his keys onto the kitchen island. I nod and he grabs me a glass, “Look, I can see the worry on your face, and I know you kind of got told to come here, but if we’re really going to do this, we can take it slowly,”
I smile, “I am freaking out a little,” I say, “but I think we kind of shot taking it slowly,”
He smiles, “I know, but we can start again if you want,”
I shake my head, taking a sip of water from the glass he hands me, “I’m not worried about being here,” I explain, “It’s more that I think I need some clarity before we get back into this. Before, the lack of any clarity really stressed me out and it kind of led to me freaking out and thinking you were going back to your ex, and stuff. I’m not particularly good at picking up on what others are feeling, at least not romantically. You’ve got me right, as usual, I don’t tend to believe people want to be with me, or even like me, so I kind of need to know what’s going on before we go any further,”
He nods, “I know,” he says, “And I want this. I want a relationship. The whole thing, with you, if you want it too,”
I nod, putting my glass on the counter.
“Thank God,” he says, and I laugh.
He watches me for a moment, and then steps closer, placing his hands on my cheeks and pressing his lips to mine. I lean into him, savouring the feeling. So comforting, so normal for me. I’ve missed this.
I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. He gets the memo within seconds and lifts me around the thighs, walking us over to his bed and dropping me onto it. I sit on the edge, and he comes to stand between my legs.
“What happened to slow?” he asks.
I grin, “That was your idea, not mine,” I retort.
He smirks and then leans back and pulls his shirt over his head. “What a stupid idea,” he mutters, leaning down and pushing me backwards. He comes across me, kissing my neck and collarbones, and then reaches down to the hem of my top. I sit up a little to help him pull it off and he throws it to the other side of the bed.
“Fuck,” he mutters, taking in my bare chest, “I forgot about these,” he groans, leaning down and taking my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.
“Miles,” I moan, breathless and whimpering already.
He traces kisses all over my chest, my waist, and my hips, and then he drops to his knees, pulling me to the edge of the bed and pushing my skirt up. He presses kisses to my inner thighs and then runs his fingers over my soaked underwear. I groan as he strokes his fingers over my clit and then pulls my underwear aside and slips two fingers inside me .
“Oh fuck,” I groan as he slips another finger in, drawing them in and out quickly now. My back arches and my core aches with the fullness, “More,” I moan.
“More?” Miles asks, smirking up at me.
I nod, covering my eyes and moaning again. He pulls his fingers out and quickly rids me of my skirt and underwear, and then he pushes his fingers back inside hard and fast. He uses his other hand to open my legs a little further and then leans down to push his tongue over my clit in soft circles.
“Ah, fuck, like that,”
I feel my core tightening, the pleasure building and my climax coming so fast there is no way to slow it. And then he sucks hard on my clit and I explode. I cry out, not bothering to be embarrassed by the horrific noises I make and just moaning as he laps at me and pumps his fingers harder and faster through the whole thing.
Once I am fully satiated, Miles pulls back and looks at me. I remove my hand from my face and sit up on my elbows.
“My vibrator is so crap,” I say.
He laughs, “Well, fuck, that’s not what I thought you were going to say,”
I grin, and then sit up further, moving backwards on the bed and pulling him with me. He kneels in front of me and I press my lips to him, pulling him down as I lie back. His hands wander my body as I press kisses to his neck and jawline, and then I roll us both over so I am sitting astride him. I grind into the hard length pressing between my legs and lean down to kiss his bare chest, then further and further until I reach the waistband of his trousers.
He helps me remove his trousers and underwear, freeing his erection, and then he directs me to the drawer in his nightstand for a condom. I roll it down his length and then straddle him again, lining myself up with his cock and sinking down onto him.
He sits up to meet me as I rock my hips. He meets me stroke for stroke, kissing my neck and saying my name over and over again. His hands are on my hips, pushing us closer and closer. It’s hard and fast and feels like we’re making up for all the time we lost. Like, if we can be close enough together, we might never have spent time apart.
We come together and move through both our orgasms until we’re both laid on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch our breath, sated and happy.
*
Apparently, we made a silent pact to try and make up for every lost opportunity for sex in one night, and so the pink light of morning is streaming in through the big windows of Miles’s flat before we’re both too exhausted to do anything more than stare at the ceiling, limbs tangled under the sheets.
“I can’t believe you thought I could fake all that, by the way,” he murmurs into my hair, breaking the silence “Like, what kind of psychopaths have you dated?”
“What?” I ask sleepily.
“You thought I could just fake everything that weekend,” he says, “And everything before,”
I snort, “My ex had a full-blown, year-long affair,” I say indignantly.
“Fair enough,” he says, “I thought I’d scared you off with all the hair kissing, to be honest,”
I grin up at him and then press my lips to his. It’s soft and delicate and beautiful.
I pull back and shake my head, “You can kiss my hair all you like,” I say, “Apparently, you love me,”
He grins, “Yeah, sorry, I kind of do,” he says.
I nod, “Good,” I say, “Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too,”