Chapter 11 #2
Hanna’s eyes squeezed shut. She sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. She’d already made the bad choice in her mind a million times.
Could it really be that much more harmful if he already occupied so much of her mind?
“Time box,” she blurted, her heart jumping from her chest as his hips hit hers. “While I’m here, it’s all on the table.”
“All?” Milo asked, his dark brows knitting together.
“Okay, not all, but like, a lot,” Hanna stipulated, his fingers tightening in her hair and sending a shock from her neck to her stomach. Why are we still talking? “But once I move back across the hall, we’re done. Just friends.”
Milo considered that. “Time box,” he repeated. “I can do that.”
He pressed further into her, sending her mind into space. For the first time in a year, she wasn’t thinking, she was just doing. Milo’s hand came to her hip, pushing at the hem of her shirt and crawling the soft skin beneath.
“Dirty talk?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
Milo nipped at the edge of her jaw. “Do you like dirty talk? Or are you into more of the slow, sensual, love-making shit? I like it both ways, just trying to gauge what you need right now.” He ghosted a hand over her collarbones, pulling at the fabric of her top and slipping it over her head.
His eyes dropped, darkening as he took her in.
Hanna pulled at his shirt, desperate to even the score. He was so warm beneath her touch—so responsive as she grazed his chest. Every touch was met with a low hum, like touching those lightning lamps at museums. Every brush zapped her fingertips and made her hair stand on end.
“I don’t know what I need,” she confessed, his lips dragging down her neck and to her shoulder.
It was stupid. So, so stupid. The anticipatory regret bubbled beside the lust in her stomach, blending into a sick need for him she resented.
“How about I push some buttons and you tell me what works?”
“Okay,” she whispered. He snagged the final sound off her lips, parting them with his tongue, and whether or not it was stupid no longer mattered.
Nothing did.
Hanna let him in, thrilled to discover that the fantasies she’d had about his kissing abilities weren’t even close to how attentive he actually was.
It made sense, a man didn’t look like Milo, talk like Milo, smell like Milo, and not kiss like a fucking professional.
She’d gotten a preview, but his matinee performance didn’t compare.
Milo was a slow plume of smoke blanketing every inch of her as he burned away any thoughts of how risky it was. He melted into her, pulling and pushing and biting at all the right turns, destroying her in the most incredible ways.
“Fuck,” she gasped in the brief break she got from his kiss, his lips curling around the encouragement.
“We’ll get there, Arizona,” Milo pressed into her skin, his fingers slipping under the clasp of her bra. She ran her hands over his back, enjoying the pleased sigh from his throat. The hooks popped free and he pulled the straps down, leaving her topless in his kitchen.
“Wow,” he muttered, staring at her. Hanna leaned back, admiring the full range of his tattoos, taking up nearly his entire torso.
She ran her fingers over swirled black ink, tracing the shapes of whiskey bottles and years and geometric patterns.
One day, she’d take a more thorough look at them, but not then.
She needed much less space between them.
Hanna pulled him toward her, clashing their mouths together once again, his slow pursuit of her no longer the case.
Milo moved quickly, hungrily against her as he gripped her breasts, pinching and pulling in time with his tongue.
She rolled into the motion he set, her hips grinding against his as a hand pulled at the button of her jeans.
Losing her patience, she swatted his hand away and peeled them off herself. She tossed them on the kitchen floor and followed him to the living room, where he pulled her down to the couch, over his lap.
Hanna sank over him, hissing as she felt how badly he wanted her.
Milo grabbed both sides of her face, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently, just enough to elicit a gasp from her as he bucked his hips into hers. She wished she’d pulled those damn shorts off before they crashed into the couch.
He dragged her hand up and placed it around his throat, squeezing her fingers around his stubbled flesh as he refocused his lips on hers. Her vision blurred at the edges when a low moan vibrated against her hand.
“Milo,” she breathed, leaning back and sucking in any air she could. Two fingers dipped below the lace of her underwear, pulling at the waistband and searching for where she needed him most.
“How many times has this already happened in your head, Hanna?” he asked.
She wanted to lie—to tell him never, but the arch in her back as he found her center gave her away. He turned his lips loose on her breasts, everything wet and pinched and squeezed in a blur of praise and worship for her.
“Too many,” she finally answered, moving her hips faster against him, the hard length beneath her twitching in response.
Milo pulled her hand up between them.
“Do you fuck these fingers and think of me?” he asked, his eyes half closed.
Hanna would have blushed if her entire body wasn’t already cherry red, her lips parting and another gasp escaping as he ground into her. She nodded.
“Say it,” Milo insisted.
“Yes,” Hanna rasped, leaning into him. She drove herself down onto him, cursing those fucking basketball shorts as she circled her hips faster. Her knees slipped against the slick fabric.
“Hanna,” Milo warned her. “Don’t ruin the fun yet.”
“Aw,” she breathed. “What? You’ve also thought about this too many times?”
“I’m serious,” he groaned, his hands pushing at her hips. Hanna didn’t care. She didn’t need him inside of her. She needed him to be at her mercy. She doubled her pace, the pressure sending wave after wave of blinding pleasure over her.
She pitched forward, running her tongue over the black ink at the base of his neck, higher, higher until she found the ridge of his ear, tucking it between her teeth.
She wasn’t as gentle as he’d been, and he only rewarded her for it with a muted whimper, his hands holding onto her hips for dear life.
“Hanna,” Milo gasped. “I’m gonna—”
“Yes, you are,” she whispered, releasing his earlobe.
She could have gone with him, so drunk on the power of making someone like him finish before her clothes were even fully off.
She squeezed his throat again, snagging his lips in a desperate kiss as he groaned against her.
His head fell back against the couch, throat taut beneath her hold as he choked on her name.
A low laugh followed, a fire burning in his gaze that she hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. Milo pushed her onto her back, falling over her. His hand pulled at her underwear, whipping them off and tossing them across the room.
“I’m going to make you pay for that,” he said, finding her eyes as he kneaded the curves of her breasts.
“Promise?” Hanna asked. She tangled her hand in his dark hair and tugged lightly while he slipped from her neck to her stomach, carving a brazen trail into her skin.
“Unbelievable,” Milo mumbled against her as he landed on her hips, biting at her hot skin, mottled with pink marks from his fingers. His hands wandered and he moved between her legs. She tensed against him, her knees clasping around his shoulders as he found a pace that blinded her.
For a moment, she forgot that their best friends—and her ex—were only feet across the hall. She quieted herself, resisting the urge to scream his name, his own moans against her thighs pushing her close to the edge. Her back tightened, the muscles squeezing against the pressure of his work.
If she’d been angry with anyone, she had no memory of it as the world crumbled into tomorrow’s problems.
Her mind floated, any lingering thoughts eddying away with every movement of his mouth. Hanna’s fingers dug into his scalp and she fell over the edge, her face flushing.
“Whoa,” she managed, drawing another laugh from him as she propped herself up on her elbows.
“Yeah?” Milo asked. He grinned, wiping his hand over his mouth.
“Yeah,” she sighed. Her chest heaved. She sat up as he pulled her into a softer kiss, so different from a moment ago.
“Sufficiently distracted?” he asked, running his hand behind her head.
“What?” she asked, her hands slipping over his basketball shorts, the wet fabric tightening something in her belly again.
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Milo said.
“I wanted it to just be fine,” Hanna groaned, covering her face. “That would have been easier.”
“Please,” Milo scoffed. He stood and grabbed her clothes, tossing them onto the couch. “You knew it was going to be so much better than that.”
“I feared.”
Milo dropped his eyes to hers and rested his hands on her knees.
“Me too, Hanna. But we’ll be okay. Time box.”
“Time box,” she reaffirmed.
She rolled her eyes the moment she was up the stairs in his guest room, alone to grapple with the knowledge that there was no boundary strong enough to contain what she’d just had with him.
Idiots.