38. Mia
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mia
I don’t know at what point of the day we ended up having lunch in bed, but here we are.
After a very eventful morning, we had breakfast, we showered together for the first time, and well, we did more than just shower.
He sets the tray on the bed. The edge of the metal is warm against my thigh. He smells like heat and soap and something that has rapidly become my favorite scent on earth. It feels domestic, and easy. Way too easy.
Dangerously easy.
He sits beside me on the bed, close enough that the mattress dips and my whole body tilts toward him. His knee brushes mine. My breath stutters a little. We eat together, like this is our normal. And I’m enjoying every second of it. There’s hunger in his eyes.
I swallow hard. “You’re staring again.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I know.”
My pulse spikes.
We finish lunch, but neither of us moves to take the tray away. It stays between us—unnecessary, and ignored—because he’s looking at me like he’s cataloging every place he wants to touch. And I’m looking at him like I want to give him permission.
Finally, he reaches forward, moves the tray to the floor, and settles it quietly beside the bed. Then he looks back at me, eyes dark, voice low. “Come here.”
I don’t think.
I don’t breathe.
I just move.
The moment my body touches his, everything inside me unravels once again.
His hands are on my hips, gripping hard, and he's pulling me onto his lap.
Our mouths crash together, hot and urgent and devastating.
He kisses me like everything we've been doing all day was just foreplay, like he's been starving for months and I'm the only thing keeping him alive.
I moan into his mouth, and he groans into mine.
His fingers slip under the hem of the shirt—his shirt—and he skims up my waist, my ribs, my sides. His thumb brushes just under the curve of my breast, and my entire body arcs into him involuntarily. I'm completely at his mercy.
“Fuck, Mia,” he murmurs against my lips. “You're driving me insane.”
His words send heat flooding through me. I clutch the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He lays me back on the mattress and follows, bracing himself above me with one arm while his other hand slides down the inside of my thigh, moving closer to where I'm already aching for him.
My breath shatters. “George—” I can barely get his name out.
“Yeah,” he whispers, lips tracing along my jaw. “Say it. Tell me what you want.” His fingers find the edge of my panties, and I'm lifting my hips, desperate for him to touch me.
“I want you, fuck—” It’s all I manage to say. God, I’m trembling.
He drags my panties down slowly, teasingly, kissing me the entire time, tasting every sound that spills from my mouth. When the fabric slips past my knees, he drops it without looking, his eyes blazing into mine with hunger and need.
Then, softly and hungrily, he says. “I need you to come in my mouth again.”
My gasp is immediate and loud.
I grab his shoulders, breath shattering. He kisses a slow trail down my body, my ribs, my stomach, the inside of my hip, until I'm shaking violently under him, my fingers buried deep in his hair. And when his mouth finally reaches me, I completely fall apart.
I break open against his tongue, his mouth devouring me, and the sounds he makes, the groans, the hunger, they destroy me. My hips lift helplessly, seeking more. My fingers tighten hard in his hair. My voice spills out loud, desperate, and unfiltered.
“George—oh fuck.” I gasp, my hips lifting helplessly, seeking more of his mouth, more of him. “George, yes—just like that. Oh—”
He loves every second of it.
I can feel it in the way he groans softly against my skin, in the way he holds my hips down when I try to pull away from the intensity, in the way he murmurs, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you.
” He slides a finger inside me, then another, curling them inside me while his tongue continues moving on my clit.
The combination is devastating. I'm completely helpless, completely at his mercy, my hips moving against his face desperately.
I come hard. Shaking and barely breathing. My vision is blurring with the force of it. I can feel how wet I am. He climbs back up my body slowly, kissing everywhere he can reach, until he’s hovering above me, breath ragged, pupils blown wide.
I reach for him and pull him down hard, feeling his weight settle over me. His mouth crashes into mine again, desperate and intoxicating, like he can't get enough of me. His hips press into mine, and I feel him right at my entrance.
I gasp into his mouth when he enters me, pushing inside me, stretching me to take all of him. His breath completely stutters.
“Mia,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I want you. I want you so bad.”
“Then take me,” I whisper, tugging at his waistband.
He curses roughly, grinding into me hard, completely stealing my breath. “Oh, I will,” he says, voice breaking with desire.
I wrap my legs around him tight, pulling him deeper, my hips aligning with his. “Fuck Mia—”
He pulls back slightly, then thrusts forward hard, and the sensation is overwhelming.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please—” I can feel him so incredibly deep inside me, hitting places that make my whole body quake, that my legs almost give out.
And then—the front door slams open.
The sound is violent, echoing through the apartment. I jerk beneath him. George freezes above me, and his muscles go rigid. “What the hell is happening here?” A woman’s voice. She sounds sharp, loud, and furious.
Monica.
My blood runs cold.
George lifts his head, eyes flashing with disbelief and something darker.
He turns slowly, protectively, shielding my body with his.
Monica stands in the doorway of my bedroom, arms crossed, eyes wild with outrage.
She takes in the scene, my bare legs tangled with his, his body hovering over mine, the shirt halfway pushed up my ribs, his hair messy from my hands, my panties on the damn floor.
Her face twists.
“Oh. My. God.” She spits. “Do you think just because you’re renting my apartment, you get to fuck my fiancé?”
“Ex-fiancé,” George snaps instantly, voice low and lethal. He stands, pulling the blanket over me with one quick, possessive movement. He doesn’t hide me out of shame. He hides me like he’s preparing for war.
Monica laughs, sharp and cruel. “Funny, I don’t remember us talking about breaking our engagement.”
“That’s because you dumped me in a letter,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, in a letter you never cared to reply to, so that doesn’t give you the right to—”
“To what? To come back to my apartment?” George cuts in. “To be with someone who actually gives a fuck about me. To move on from someone who couldn’t be bothered to show up when I almost died?”
Monica’s face goes pale. “You—wait, what? Nobody told me that.” She snaps weakly.
“Well, Monica, you never reached out to me. You never replied to any of my letters. But yes, I almost died.” He steps forward, still half shielding me. “You lost the right to be angry the second you walked away without looking back.”
I rise slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
Monica’s gaze snaps to me, full of venom. “I did write to you. I explained it all in my letter. What are you even—”
“Oh, yeah, that letter. Mia sent it to me after you told her to discard all of my mail to you.” George looks at me, then really looks at me, and something fierce settles into his expression.
Monica recoils. “ I wrote back to you, and I never heard back. How was I supposed to know you moved on?” She spits, grabbing her bag from the doorway.
“I was alone for months and months. I never heard from you, and now you think you have the right to what? Come into my house and cause a scene? In your letter, you told me not to contact you, that you needed space, that we’ll talk about all of this later.
But that later never arrived. That sounds like a breakup to me.
So no, we have nothing left to talk about. ”
I sat frozen in bed. I don’t know what the hell I am supposed to be doing right now. Should I say something?
“You are unbelievable, and you little slut—”
“Don’t you dare to disrespect her like that.”
“Oh. We need to talk about this. Now.” That’s when she storms out, slamming the door so hard the frames rattle.
Silence follows.
George turns back to me, chest rising and falling with adrenaline. “Are you okay? I'm so sorry about this, Mia. Oh fuck, I'm so sorry,” he says softly.
I nod, breathless and shaking.
He sits beside me, takes my face in his hands, and kisses my forehead. “I’m done looking back at my relationship with her. I swear.” He murmurs. “You're the one I want. You're the one I choose. I don't want her. I don't want whatever that was. I want you, Mia.”
“George…” I whisper, my voice unsteady. My hands find his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing under my palms. “I need you to mean that, because I already was a second place for someone who I thought I was everything to. I can’t do that anymore.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and I see the certainty there. “I mean it with everything in me,” he says, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn't know had fallen. “You're not second place to anyone. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
I lean into him, pressing my forehead against his, needing the closeness, needing to feel grounded in this moment.
“ I’ll deal with her. I promise. I’ll get her out of here. I'll get her out of my life. But I need you to know that this, us, is what's real. You're what's real.”
I nod against him, and he kisses my forehead tenderly, then my temple, then holds me close for a long moment before pulling away.
“I’m going to fix this,” he promises, and this time he looks back once more before heading toward the living room.