Chapter 10
MILES
Walking back to my truck is torture. The ache between my legs is so intense it takes everything I’ve got to move them in a left-right-left-right pattern—like I’ve forgotten how to fucking walk.
“Fuuuuck!” I groan out the moment I slam the door shut, already ripping open my belt buckle with one hand as I start the truck with the other. There’s no fighting it. Not anymore. Not after that kiss.
If you could even call it a kiss. It was so much more than a goddamn kiss.
What was I thinking?
She was so tempting in that dress, smelling so damn good with my favorite hoodie around her shoulders. And it was late. I wasn’t thinking straight after a stressful night. I know suggesting that practice kiss was a weak-ass excuse… But, fuck me, I’d have done anything to touch her.
Gravel skidding under my tires, I try not to peel out of Caroline’s driveway, swinging the truck into the road and scanning for the nearest place to pull over.
I can’t remember how I managed to tear myself away.
Did I even say goodnight?
But Caroline in that fucking gold dress, kiss-stung and breathless? The image is seared into my brain.
In an asinine attempt to take the edge off, I rub myself through my jeans, but all it does is make it worse. My dick is fucking throbbing by the time I get to the turnoff for Cherry Park and pull onto the muddy shoulder.
I kill the engine, praying no one will be here at one in the morning.
In some vain attempt at privacy, I grab a ball cap from the back and yank the brim down over my eyes, then slouch low in my seat.
Stretching the waistband of my boxer briefs over the head of my aching cock with one hand, I firmly fist my shaft with the other.
The first tentative, experimental stroke already has me letting out an involuntary moan.
Shit. I’m so sensitive it almost hurts. Precum immediately beads at the tip and I rub it in with a thumb before I stroke it again, nearly squirming in my seat out of desperation.
I can’t believe I’m resorting to this. Jacking off on the side of the road is for teenagers and deviants, but I feel like some weird combination of both right now.
Maybe I’m extra hard up for a release after tonight.
That kiss… It pushed me past my limits. Just look at what it’s reduced me to: a pervert in a truck, fogging up the damn windows.
Well, guess I’ll have to face being that guy later, because I can’t fucking stop.
Can’t stop thinking about Caroline. Her lips.
Her body. How those long legs would straddle my lap if she were here right now, her perfect little tits pressed right in my face.
I want to nuzzle into them like a fucking puppy while she scrapes her fingernails over my scalp.
This isn’t gonna take long.
It’s a wonder I have the presence of mind to grab an old work shirt from the back seat.
Thanks, Riverside General Paint Supply, I guess.
I might be jerking off in my truck like a pervert, but I don’t need to be gross about it.
Tightening my grip, I speed up, each stroke bringing me closer to oblivion.
God, if I could just touch her now…
I’d kiss and lick every inch I could reach.
I’d bite her tight nipples—softly at first, then harder.
If she told me it hurt, I’d lick them again.
Kiss them. So gently. Make it better. And then I’d cover her mouth with mine when I pushed my fingers inside her, swallowing her moans.
I’d whisper against her lips how good she was… or how bad—whichever she likes better.
That thought alone makes my dick stiffen even more.
What does she like?
Faster. Harder. Fuck.
I try to slow down—try to keep my shit together just a little—but my imagination is having none of it.
Would she like it if I called her a good girl? Would her breath rush out between those sweet, parted lips if I praised her? Would it make her thighs tremble and her pussy clench around my fingers?
As hot as that idea is, it also doesn’t feel quite right. Something about the way Caroline had grabbed my hair tonight had shown a side of her that was almost wild. Animalistic. It hadn’t felt like innocent, good-girl territory.
The devil on my other shoulder takes the mic and I swallow, barely holding onto control.
Fuck, I bet she’d like it if I told her all the dirty things I want to do to her. Teased her. Edged her. What if I wound her up and turned her into a needy little mess… then told her to let her inner whore out? Would she come apart for me? Would she soak my fingers if I called her a slut?
My ass practically lifts out of the driver’s seat—like I could somehow get closer to her by thrusting upward. There’s a rocket-in-my-pocket joke here somewhere, but it escapes the disintegrated pile of goo that was once my brain.
Oh, God. Tighter. Faster. Fuck me.
It’s all I can do to contain the chaos as heat fans up my spine and sweat prickles my neck. With a shaky moan, I break, spurting in erratic, thrumming pulses as I slow my rhythm and wring every last drop of pleasure from my aching dick.
Chest heaving, I collapse against the cool, wet window beside me and try to come to terms with what I just did. As the waves of my release dissipate, the familiar weight of shame settles into me.
Jesus, that was fucking pathetic.
I haven’t been this desperate to get off in… Actually, I can’t remember ever feeling like this. About anyone. But it was either this or drink, and there ain’t no way. Shit. A wry smirk plays on my lips. Guess if I’m gonna jack, it better be off and not Daniels.
I roll up the spare T-shirt, vowing to throw on a load of laundry the minute I get home, then hunt around the truck for something to clean up with—relieved when I find a pack of wet wipes in the glove box.
Ten wisdom points for past Miles.
As I drive home in the dark, the lingering stress from the fundraiser creeps back in.
But it’s way too late at night to be spiraling about how I was so tempted to drink—or how that shithead Pete Brennan blackmailed me.
Especially after what happened between me and his daughter. And after what I’ve just done.
My mind slips effortlessly back to Caroline and a singular pulse of pleasure travels through my body as my thoughts flash back to what she might like.
Does she know? If not, fuck, would I love to help her find out.
Would she like praise? Degradation? A bit of both?
Something even kinkier? Or is she really the sweet, vanilla girl she seems on the outside?
There’s no way. That kiss was…
Fucking hell.
I try to shake off the thought. It doesn’t matter what she likes, because I’m in no position to give it to her.
Besides, this is probably just my ADHD in search of the brain chemicals it craves.
My therapist, Lydia, explained to me how novelty is a powerful source of dopamine for a brain like mine, making it easy to obsess over the new, shiny thing in my life.
I can’t risk letting Caroline become that new, shiny obsession. My need for dopamine is running the show here, and I’ve gotta shut it down before I fuck everything up.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks, bro.” I slap Gus on the shoulder, then hand him the paper bag and coffee before slumping into one of the seats around the huge table in the fire station’s kitchen.
My alarm had been particularly grating this morning after only a few hours of fitful sleep, but I’d hauled my ass to the gym anyway. Because fuck if I’m gonna toss my entire routine out the window. After last night, I need normalcy now more than ever.
“What’s this?” Gus asks, peering into the bag. “Aw, a cinnamon roll? Hell yes! Thanks, man.”
I rub at my tired eyes, but I can still feel him watching me.
I was halfway through my workout when I realized I needed to talk this out. Exhausted and off my game, I was tempted to bail on the gym, but I pushed myself to finish up. Then, too antsy to wait until Gus was off shift, I’d hit up Bean Bag Coffee and driven to the station.
“Okay, what’s with you?” He nudges my arm, dropping into the seat next to me. “You’ve got a face like a slapped ass.”
I only groan in response, then straighten and blink hard, begging my brain to wake up.
“Last night not go great, or what?” He rips off a bite of cinnamon roll, then pops it in his mouth.
“Nah, it was… fine.”
Fine doesn’t even come close to describing it.
Last night had swung wildly between catastrophic and incredible, but I’m not really sure how to explain or what I should share.
Memories hit me in quick succession: Caroline glittering and perfect at the fundraiser, fizzing champagne bubbles, Pete’s ruddy hand gripping my arm, Caroline wearing my hoodie.
Those lips. Her body pressed against mine.
Those fucking lips. Desperately jacking off into my shirt in the truck like I was—Shit!
I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer. Fuck my life.
I clear my throat, willing the images away. “You, uh, gonna need that tux back anytime soon?”
Gus frowns. “What? Why? What’d you do to my fucking tux?”
“No, man.” I wave him off. “Nothing like that. I just might need to borrow it for longer.” Then my memory jogs. “Hey, wait, why do you own a tuxedo, anyway?”
“Calendars,” he says simply around his bite.
I laugh. “What, like, you’re a model now?”
“It’s for charity, man! Fuck off.” He shakes his head, then takes a sip of his coffee. “Anyway, what do you need it for? You seeing this girl again?” When I don’t argue, he adds, “Thought it was a one-off thing.”
I give him a long look. “Well, it was supposed to be.”
“What? C’mon, what’d I miss here?”
“Alright, the nutshell version is she needs a fake boyfriend for the next few weeks, so I’m gonna keep helping her out.”
He smooths down his mustache and straightens slowly, like he’s not sure what to make of this.
Well, buddy, that makes two of us.
“Yeah, think I’m gonna need the non-nutshell version,” he says as a couple of young firefighters file into the kitchen and head for the fridge. Martinez, I think her name is, and a new one I haven’t met.
“Okay, but not here.” I glance around, nervous about being overheard.
“Why are you being cagey?” He tilts his head toward the kitchen and leans in. “You think the rookie over there is gonna rat you out to the tabloids?”
“I dunno!”
“Well, you can’t bring me gossip snackies and then refuse to give me the gossip.” When I hesitate again, he sighs, pulling out the entire cinnamon roll. “Fine. Just gonna eat this while I reevaluate our friendship.”
“Okay,” I say with a grimace. “But I’m avoiding eye contact with you while you eat it.”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s just say I know where you got that nickname in college and really wish I didn’t.” I can’t bring myself to say CunnilinGus out loud.
He barks a laugh, then looks thoughtful for a moment before he says, “Never had any complaints.”
“Okay,” I say, pushing up to leave. “Just remembered I gotta water my cactus.”
“Aw, c’mon!” he grabs my arm and yanks me back into my seat. Craning his neck toward the others, he calls out, “Martinez, Abernathy, can you give us a minute?”
A minute turns into about twenty when I’m finally done with the word vomit.
Gus shakes his head and stuffs the last piece of cinnamon roll in his mouth, then sucks the icing off his thumb. “I don’t like this for you,” he mumbles around his bite.
“No shit.” I take my last sip of coffee and chuck the to-go cup into a nearby garbage can. “I step outside my comfort zone for one night and I get fucking blackmailed?”
“You don’t need this stress.”
“Hey, thanks for pointing that out. Not like it wasn’t taking up ninety percent of my brain space already.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m just saying, all that political fuckery right before an election—”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. And you’re not wrong.” I rub my jaw. “But I’m telling ya, man, Caroline’s not like that. She’s not like her dad at all. I can feel it. She’s…”—I try to find the words—“good.”
Gus leans back in his seat, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his LVFD hoodie. “So, lemme get this straight. She’s beautiful and good and you trust her and, aside from her asshole dad and having to flee the scene—good job, by the way—you had a great time together?”
“Pretty much. And I may have also… kissed her.” I grimace as Gus’ brows shoot up. “Like… a lot.”
“For the cameras?”
A high-pitched sound sneaks out of my throat, like I’m a guilt-filled balloon with a slow leak.
His expression falls. “So, not just for the cameras.”
“Shit.” I scrub both palms down my face, knowing I’d taken it a bit too far with the whole practice thing. “I’d say it was an out-of-body experience, but my body was”—I bug out my eyes—“definitely there.”
He points a thumb over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna tell me about your dick, I’m out.”
“Fuck off.” I’m absolutely not telling my best friend about the masturbatory fever dream part of the night. The part where kissing Caroline had sent me into some kind of agonized sexual fugue state.
“But it was good?” Gus asks, cutting into my thoughts.
Damn, did I say any of that out loud?
When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “The kiss, dumbass.”
I puff air through my lips. “Let’s just say I might go to my grave thinking about it.”
He nods slowly, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Explain to me again how you’re not really dating this girl?”