Chapter 15
“You’re such a fucking liar,” I mutter, dragging Miles up the porch steps. His arm’s slung over my shoulder, his breath reeking of tequila and skunk against my neck. “Pulling that wasted act so I wouldn’t get laid. Real mature, dude.”
He stumbles, but it’s all performance.
I creak the door open, and Miles lets out this exaggerated groan, sagging against me like a total deadweight. I roll my eyes.
“Quit the act,” I hiss, grabbing his waistband and yanking him toward the stairs. His laughter’s muffled against my shoulder, but I still feel it.
His room smells like weed and old laundry, his bed a mess of sheets and discarded hoodies. I dump him onto the mattress harder than necessary, just to hear him grunt, and he sprawls out with this lazy, shit-eating grin.
“You’re such a prick,” I tell him, climbing over him, knees bracketing his hips. His glasses are crooked, the lenses catching the dim light.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he says.
“For what? Straight-up sabotage?”
“For saving you from mediocre dick.”
I snort. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Not yet,” he says, grinding up against me. “But give me another hour.”
Miles’ personality when he’s high shifts to match Finn’s, with all the dogshit he says. I’d normally give him shit for that, but he’s grinding slow against my ass and his hands are on my thighs. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, but still.
And fuck, I’m so horny right now it’s not even funny. My dick’s been half-hard for the past hour, and I’d be getting my guts rearranged right now if Miles hadn’t faked an OD like a fucking psychopath.
“You good?” he asks, completely ignoring the fact he’s been grinding against me for the last minute. His glasses are fogged at the edges, his pupils blown wide from whatever the hell he smoked.
I swallow hard. “Peachy.”
His thumb rubs circles over the inseam of my jeans, right where my thigh meets the root of my dick, and my breath hitches. He doesn’t even seem to notice, the bastard.
I could play dumb. I should play dumb. But my brain’s too fried from horniness to bother with subtlety. I don’t want to be Kit right now. I want to just be a place for him to dump his load.
“You need to use the doll?” I ask. “Because the doll really needs to be used.”
Miles goes statue-still underneath me. His hands stop moving.
I don’t look at his face. I look at his collarbone instead, at the stretched-out neckline of his hoodie, at the way his chest is heaving a little faster than before.
“Kit—”
“It’s a yes or no question, dude.”
The silence stretches out. I can hear his breathing. My own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Then: “Yeah.”
I nod. Push myself up off him to lay down flat on my back on his messed-up sheets, staring at the ceiling. I go still.
The mattress dips as Miles moves, and then he stops pretending. It’s actually kind of funny how fast it happens. One second he’s doing the wasted-guy slouch and then he’s just not. His fingers hook into the low-cut neck of my tank, pulling the fabric even lower.
“This shit’s such a tease,” he mutters.
The cotton’s thin enough that when his thumbs find my nipples, they stiff and throb immediately. He pinches one, pulls, watches it peak through the fabric before his mouth closes over it. My whole chest is immediately on fire.
“Remember when these used to be shy?” he asks, pinching one between his nails with a mean twist. “Now they’re always swollen and begging for it. You ruined them, dude.”
Yeah. Okay. Yeah, they’ve been sensitive.
That’s an accurate description of the situation.
Weeks of the guys fucking with my chest, biting and twisting and slapping until my nipples stayed permanently swollen and sensitive as fuck.
I don’t even need to touch them anymore; just the drag of a shirt is enough to make my dick throb.
Miles dives in and latches onto one of them again, shirt and all, his spit soaking through the fabric while his free hand rolls the other between his fingers. My cock leaks into my boxers, and Miles groans like I’m the one wrecking him.
“Fuck, Kit,” he mumbles against me. “You taste so fucking good.”
He drags his tongue up my sternum, nosing aside the stretched neckline to lick at my collarbone. Long fingers hook into the gaping armholes of my tank, and the fabric is so loose he can bunch both sides toward the center. The cotton drags over my nips, and then my chest is finally bare.
“Fuck,” he mutters, sounding surprised, even though he’s the one who did it.
He fists my pec like it’s a tit, kneading the meat and pulling it up. Then he clamps my nip between his knuckles, squeezing it so viciously I have to bite my tongue to keep from breaking character.
“They’re so fucking hard,” he says, kissing it better. “You just let everyone trash them? Let them do whatever the fuck they want?”
That’s fucking rich coming from him. But still, I love this kind of talk—the filth makes my cock throb and leak through my jeans, starving to bust. It’s another thing I learned about myself.
His tongue flicks over the stiff peak before he bites down, almost too much, and my hips jerk up off the mattress on their own.
Not supposed to do that. A doll shouldn’t move.
But Miles doesn’t call me out, just swaps to the other side, licking over the already spit-slick bud before dragging his teeth across it.
“They’re so perfect,” he mutters, more to himself than me, thumbing one roughly before leaning down to suck it back into his mouth.
He moves his mouth up from my collarbone, grazing the sensitive skin of my neck with his teeth before he bites down.
His breath tickles my ear when he murmurs, “You’re so hot,” and I can’t tell if he’s talking to the doll or to Kit.
He licks the shell of my ear, then plunges his tongue inside, making my whole body shudder.
His mouth finds my jaw, kissing up to my chin and nipping it, and then—fuck. He hovers right there, face over mine. He stares at my mouth, lingering, while my heart slams against my ribs.
He’s gonna kiss me.
He’s gonna—
But he doesn’t. He exhales a shaky breath and ducks back to my neck, sucking another bruise into my skin. He’s trembling.
“Sorry,” he says, and doesn’t explain what he’s apologizing for. He goes back to my chest, pinching a nipple and diving to suck on it again. “I like them a lot. They’re pretty. You’re—” he stops. “Yeah.”
He stays there for a while, and at this point my brain can’t decide if my nips are aching or just going numb.
“You like it when I play with your nipples?”
I don’t answer, but Miles groans like I said yes anyway, latching onto it again and sucking it deep. Yeah, fuck—aching.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick and red. His glasses are fogged beyond saving now, and he shoves them up into his hair with a shaky hand, blinking down at me like he’s trying to memorize the way my chest looks.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I used to stare at these like a total creep, you know? Even before the whole doll thing.”
His voice is wrecked in a way I’ve never heard before, and my dick twitches against my jeans, really happy that someone is beyond turned-on because of my body.
“I’d tell myself it was just ‘cause you’re so jacked.
Like, ‘oh, yeah, big pecs, of course I’m looking—’” He lets out a half-groan as his palms knead my meat, his thumb rubbing lazy circles around the nub.
“But nah. Nah, man, I just wanted to bite them. Wanted to see if they’d get even harder if I sucked on them long enough. ”
His hips jerk against mine, his cock so hard and so hot. I can feel the wet spot where he’s leaking through his pants.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, like it’s a secret, like he’s not supposed to say it out loud. “I used to imagine how you’d look with my cum all over them. Just fucking glazed, man.”
His admission hangs in the air.
Fine. It’s fine. Honestly, not to sound too narcissistic, but I’m used to being lusted after. And by the way my dick keeps twitching in my jeans, it clearly doesn’t care if the person lusting after me is a guy. Or my friend at that. Or Miles.
My God, Miles.
“At first I thought it was weird,” he continues, mouthing the words against my skin between wet sucks. “Getting boned over a guy’s tits. But fuck, yours are just—” He nips at the peak, and I almost make a sound. “Perfect. Like they’re fucking made to be played with.”
Miles pinches my right nipple, twisting and pulling like he’s trying to lift my entire body by the skin, and then groans, his free hand palming his dick through his pants.
“I don’t think it’s weird anymore,” he mutters, leaning in to nip at my jaw again. “I wanna bite them. Suck them. Wanna fuck them.” His hips jerk forward, his cock pressing against mine through our clothes, and he exhales shaky and uneven. “Fuck, Kit—you’re fucking wrecking me here.”
Dolls don’t wreck people; dolls get wrecked. That’s universal knowledge. But Miles doesn’t seem to care, too busy mouthing at my neck. His breath comes fast, and when he finally pulls back, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.
He’s so horny it completely changes his face, but looking at him now, the truth is he was always this handsome.
Strikingly pretty, even. He has these deep brown eyes framed by eyelashes that are long and dark.
His nose is straight, drawing the eye down to a porcelain doll mouth that’s honestly too pretty.
I always figured it was the half-Chinese thing, the reason he looks like one of those Asian idols.
But nah. That’s just him. There is simply no guy out there as pretty as Miles.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty,” he breathes, staring down at me like I’m some kind of miracle. For half a second my chest locks up, because the thought was so loud in my own head, I honestly thought I was the one who had just said it out loud. Then he adds, “I think I’m in real trouble, Kit.”