Chapter 36
Miles had some serious regrets in his life, several of the biggest involving the naked woman at his feet, her chest still heaving from her orgasm, her lips pink and swollen from his cock.
He regretted the things done when they were together years ago. The things he’d said since she’d come back into his life weeks ago.
The one thing he hadn’t done when she’d left him.
The truth he hadn’t said, wouldn’t say, now.
But his biggest regret wasn’t that he’d chocked her with his cock or that he made her work so hard for her release without helping her in the slightest.
It was that whole I’m not going to come in your mouth bit he’d spouted.
There was nothing he wanted more than to fuck her mouth, hard and fast, like he’d done in that closet weeks ago.
Unless it was toss her on the bed and fuck her pussy the same way.
And while he was hard enough, aroused enough, and arrogant enough to believe he had the stamina to perform both those acts to their mutual satisfaction tonight, he’d been waiting too long to slide his dick back into her warm, wet pussy. To feel her tighten around him, taking him deep. Letting him become a part of her.
His need for her was a living, breathing thing. Too big to contain. Too hungry to ever fully satiate. Too powerful to ever control.
He wanted to let it consume him. Wanted that hunger, that power to drive him. To test him and her. To push them as far as their boundaries and fears would let them.
Then he wanted to push them a little more.
Until then, he wouldn’t do anything to take the edge off.
He’d rather ride that razor sharp edge for as long as he could.
Unlike his greedy, horny girl who’d just made herself come so hard, her eyes had rolled back, her body had convulsed like she’d had an electric shock, and her screams had been muffled by his cock.
He’d never seen anything hotter.
But the next time she came, it was going to be because he made her.
Because he let her.
“Stand up,” he told her, and she obeyed so quickly, she lost her balance and toppled to the side, catching herself with a hand pressed to the floor.
Then she looked up at him before straightening to her knees again.
And lifted her hands out to him.
He twitched, as if that current that had gone through her during her orgasm now zapped from her fingertips to his body. He didn’t fight his instincts often, but he did now, ignoring his need to help her.
“You’re smart. You’re strong. And you’re the most resilient person I know. You are more than capable of getting back on your feet all on your own. You don’t need me. You never did,” he continued. “And that about killed me because I so desperately wanted you to. I thought you were broken.” His admission was husky and laced with shame. “And I wanted to be the one to fix you. To put you back together again. I thought if I did, maybe…” He stopped. Blew out a breath and shook his head at his own stupidity. “Maybe it’d fix my broken pieces, too.”
Keeping her hands out, she studied him with a mix of understanding and patience. “You’re right. I am smart and strong. Smart enough to know when to ask for help. Strong enough,” she continued in a tone so pointed, he knew he was about to get poked with it, “to know accepting that help doesn’t make me weak.”
Yep. There it was. A reminder of their earlier conversation.
But before he could defend himself—or make more lame excuses about why he hadn’t sought help for his anxiety attacks or even told his family about them—she continued.
“And while I can absolutely get back on my feet all on my own, it’s nice knowing I don’t have to. It’s nice knowing I don’t have to do it alone.” She paused and took a careful breath. “It’s nice,” she whispered shakily, but her gaze on his was steady, “knowing I’m not alone.”
He was so fucking proud of the woman she’d become. Not only was she smart and strong and resilient, but she was brave.
A hell of a lot braver than him.
She humbled him and awed him and inspired him to try and be braver, too.
Brave enough to give her yet another truth. “You’re not alone. Not now. Not in this.”
But not brave enough to tell her more.
That she never had to be alone again.
Not nearly brave enough to ask her to promise him the same thing.
Taking a hold of her hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze. “Stand up.”
His words this time were still demanding, but his tone was softer.
Her obedience was just as immediate, but more graceful thanks to him steadying her as she got to her feet.
But the thrill of her quick compliance, of the way she didn’t hesitate to do as he told her was just as powerful.
And had his flagging cock surging to life once again.
Especially when she edged forward until his dick was cradled against the softness of her belly, and lifted her hand to his face, the scent of her pussy clinging to her fingers as she cupped his cheek.
“No one gets through life fully intact,” she told him. “We all have pieces that are broken. And while no one else can heal those broken pieces for us, we can bring them out into the light. We can share them with others.”
His mouth dried. His cock deflated.
He knew what she wanted from him.
His complete and absolute surrender. For him to let the last remnants of his control go and do all the things he wanted to do to her.
For him to admit his feelings for her.
“I can’t,” he blurted, his voice husky with regret. “It’s too much. In here.” He tapped his fist twice against his burning chest. “I want to, but I can’t.”
“You can.” Her voice was quiet, her tone firm, but not unkind. “You can because I can take it. Whatever the truth. Whatever parts of yourself you want to share with me, no matter how ugly you think they are.” She searched his eyes, as if begging him to believe her. To trust her. “I promise, I can take it. And so can you.”
He took a step back, but she just took one forward. He took another. Then another. But she kept pace. Kept her hand on his cheek.
Not letting him walk away.
Not letting him hide.
“Tell me something true, Miles,” she continued, relentless in her quest to rip him apart. To tear him open so she could see all the parts of him that he needed to keep hidden. That made him feel weak and stupid and defenseless.
All the parts he hated.
That he feared.
“Let me see you,” she begged softly. “For once, let me see all of you.”
He was shaking. Pressure grew in his chest. His breaths came quick and shallow. But this wasn’t the beginning of another anxiety attack.
This was the beginning of his unraveling.
“You want the truth?” he cried hoarsely. “You want me to share my broken pieces with you?”
The truth was like a wild beast suddenly unleashed. It roared through him, seeking freedom, bursting out, looking for something, someone, to sink its sharp teeth into.
“You left me!”
There was no fear in her eyes as her gaze held his. No trembling of her hand still on her cheek. Like he’d said, she was brave. Brave and kind and so fucking committed on seeing this through.
“You left me,” he repeated, lowering his voice. “And even though I’m trying to understand why, even though I know I’m partly to blame for it, it still tears me up inside. I’m pissed that you came to Mount Laurel and made me realize that I wasn’t really over you.” He covered her hand on his cheek. Squeezed gently before tugging it from his face, letting go and taking two steps back. “And I’m pissed that you stayed and now I know I never will be.”
“I want this,” he continued. “I want you. Everything I told you two weeks ago in my car was true. I want to move forward, but it’s like every time I do, every time I take a step forward, something, a memory or a doubt, yanks me back and I’m pissed all over again.”
And he hated it. Hated that he didn’t have more control over his feelings. Hated that he’d been the one to pursue this and he was also the one holding them back.
Hated that he couldn’t forgive her.
“So be pissed.”
He blinked. Frowned. “What?”
“Feel your feelings instead of shoving them down until they make you sick. Be angry. Take it out on me if you need to. I can handle it.”
Appalled, he shook his head. “No. I’d never do anything to make you feel unsafe.”
Except fuck the hell out of her mouth in a dark closet in a bar and shove his dick down her throat until she couldn’t breathe.
Fuck.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I have consented to and fully participated in everything we’ve done. The way you treat me, the way you touch me and the things you say to me, the way you take control of me…” Laying her hand on his chest, she looked up at him, as if beseeching him to really hear her. To believe her. “It makes me feel whole. It makes me feel seen.”
Rising onto her toes, she brushed his mouth with hers, the movement, the softness of her belly against his dick had it twitching. “I’m not afraid of you, Miles,” she breathed against his lips. “I could never be afraid of you. Take more from me. Take what you need.”
Forget twitching, his cock went fully hard as all the blood in his body seemed to rush to fill it. He braced himself against the wave of lust that threatened to knock him off the tightrope he’d been walking into the abyss below.
He could have hung on. Could have battled that wave.
But he was fucking tired of constantly fighting. Was so tired of pretending he wasn’t still hurt and angry and so terrified of making another mistake with her.
All he wanted was some goddamn peace.
And so far, the only place he’d found that peace was when he was with Tabitha.
Maybe, that was where she found peace, too.
He kissed her forehead, then stepped back so that her hand fell from his.
She wanted him to stop pretending? She wanted him to feel his feelings?
He was going to feel the hell out of them.
And he was going to wreck her while he did so.
***
“Get on the bed.”
At Miles’s words, Tabitha started to turn, but he spoke again.
“No,” he barked. “Don’t turn away from me. Walk backward. Eyes on me the entire time.”
Taking her time, pushing him for more, she faced him. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” he told her in a low, silky murmur. “Because I want you to.”
He hesitated, his mouth thinning. She waited and was reminded of what he’d said moments ago.
Every time I take a step forward, something, a memory or a doubt, yanks me back.
She understood that better than most. Every time she thought she was healing from her childhood, every time she believed she was making strides in being able to trust others, her doubts and fears would resurface and threaten to wipe away all the progress she’d made.
But she wouldn’t let that happen. Not with Miles.
“Are those the only reasons?”
He gave his head a quick, jerky shake. “I don’t like when you walk away from me.”
His words, this truth, were quiet. A whispered confession, one that brought up the past, brought up his pain.
And his anger.
Just like she’d wanted.
“It reminds me of how you walked away from me before,” he continued. “How I let you. And I can’t… I can’t have that happen again.”
Her breath caught at the bleak note in his tone. The grief in his eyes.
Oh, Miles.
How could this man with his growls and commands and dirty talk also say things that went straight to the heart of her?
Seemed they were both going to feel their feelings tonight.
“I’m here,” she murmured. “I’m right here. Tonight, I’m yours.”
To prove it, she held his gaze and walked backward slowly until she bumped into her bed. “How do you want me?”
He drew in a sharp breath. “On your back with your feet on the floor. Like you were before.”
She sat on the edge of the mattress, then laid back. Waited while he walked toward her, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Stopping inches from her legs, he stood over her and scanned her slowly from head to toe. Everywhere his glittering gaze skimmed across, each place it lingered on, her body reacted like it was a physical touch.
Her head arched back, exposing her throat. Her nipples peaked. Her lower belly quivered. Her hips lifted. And when his gaze settled, hot and heavy and insistent, between her legs, she opened her thighs, spreading for him.
He’d been right. She liked it when he pulled her strings.
And he didn’t need to touch her or say a word to do it.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, stroking himself absently, as if unaware he was even doing so. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I wanted you from that first moment. More than anything I’d ever wanted before in my life. I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to love you. I wanted to fix you.” Meeting her eyes, his mouth twisted to the side. “But mostly, I wanted you to be my salvation.”
She fisted her hands into the quilt beneath her so she didn’t reach for him. Bit her lower lip so she didn’t say something she shouldn’t.
She couldn’t tell him that was what she was trying to do now. Save some small part of him.
If only so he’d then be able to save the rest himself.
“Instead,” he continued, “you ruined me. I loved you and you ruined me by never, not once telling me how you felt about me. I loved you and you ruined me by leaving me without a word. I loved you and you ruined me by coming back here without so much as a goddamn apology for doing it. You ruined me and I still can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away.”
He stepped between her legs, forcing them apart more. Widened his stance so that his thighs pressed against hers. The back of his hand brushing against the top of her pussy with each of his lazy strokes.
“I wasn’t going to do this,” he said, almost to himself, “but now I have to. Up on your elbows.”
Her breath caught as she realized what he was going to do.
What she was going to let him do.
She lifted herself onto her elbows and he let go of his dick and held his hand out to her, his palm cupped. “Spit.”
Her eyes widened. Arousal spiraled through her like a tornado, the base a pinpoint prick between her pussy.
Holding his gaze, she worked moisture into her mouth, then spit into his palm.
He stroked his dick again, her saliva making it glisten. His hand moved faster. And faster until it was a blur, his expression twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.
This was supposed to be about him feeling his anger toward her. A way to work through his resentment and bitterness. She’d trusted him to take that anger out on her in a way that would help him find closure or acceptance.
A way that wouldn’t hurt her.
But she’d been selfish in pushing him this way. Because she didn’t just want him to find closure that would help him move on from their past. Didn’t just want him to gain acceptance of what had been.
She wanted them, too.
But mostly, she wanted forgiveness.
His. Her own.
Even if she didn’t have the courage yet to ask either one of them for it.
But instead of taking that anger out on her, he was taking it out on himself. His shoulders were rigid, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. The muscles of his abs were constricted, his thighs rock hard. The strokes of his cock swift and brutal. As if he’d rather punish himself than her.
As if his release would somehow purge his feelings from his system.
But still, something held him back. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. The tortured look in his eyes.
“I’m okay,” she told him, wanting him to know she was on board with this. “I’m not just going along to try and please you. I like pleasing you. And I really like when you lose control with me.”
She liked having him tower over her, all big and broad and sexy as he worked himself. She liked watching him bring himself to that edge.
She wanted, more than anything, to watch him go over it.
“Let go,” she continued softly. “Let it all go. I can take it. I want it.”
It was the consent she’d kept from him that night at the bar when she’d refused him this one thing. When he’d wanted to mark her so that everyone would know what they’d been doing.
She’d denied him that night because he’d been jealous and had had something to prove.
She’d denied him because she hadn’t wanted him to claim her. Because she hadn’t been ready to admit the truth.
That of course she belonged to him.
She lifted her arms over head, laying herself out like a feast. Like a gift, just for him. “Mark me. Make sure everyone knows I’m yours.”
“Not everyone,” he panted out. “Just… you…” He groaned. Jacked himself off faster, his hips bucking. “Need to show you you’re mine. All mine. Need to prove it to you so you don’t leave me again.”
Her eyes welled with tears which only proved how amazing the human body and brain were, that she could feel such intense emotion—sadness and regret and hope and joy—even as her body hummed with arousal, trembled with want.
But while she’d be as brave as him and feel her feelings, she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t do anything to make this moment about her.
This was all for Miles.
“Show me,” she whispered, arching her back more, her breasts heavy and aching. Her pussy throbbing. “Make me yours.”
Breathing like a racehorse, he shifted to the side and lifted one knee onto the mattress, setting it next to her hip, then placed his left hand next to her head.
She wanted to cry again. Because, while he was angled over her, he’d made sure that she wasn’t trapped beneath him, leaving her plenty of room on her other side to roll away if she needed to.
And this was even better than when he’d been standing. Because she now felt him, his heat and his knee pressed against her hip and his other leg brushing against her pussy. The slight sting in her scalp when his fingers curled, grabbing the loose ends of her hair. Because she smelled him, the mixed scents of his arousal and cologne and sweat.
Because even though he was masturbating and she wasn’t touching him, she felt connected to him all the same.
So connected, she saw his orgasm build in the way his body undulated as he fucked his hand. In the way his abs tensed, those ridges sharpening. Sensed he was only moments away by his blown pupils and ragged breathing.
And because she felt so connected to him, because she was such a good girl for him, she did what she thought he’d want her to do.
She held his gaze and opened her mouth. Wide.
He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.
And then, finally, he let go.
“Mine,” he roared as he came, the first of his release hitting her chin. “Mine, mine, mine.”
It landed on her throat. Her chest. Her breasts.
He covered her in it.
Coated her.
Marked her.
Claimed her.
But he hadn’t needed to make such a mess of her to make her his.
She already was.
She was his.
And she always would be.