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It hits me. It's playing that song No Way In Hell. He programmed it into my phone as his personal ringtone.
I answer, playing dumb. "Who is this?"
"Just a young man who is very good with his mouth."
My lips curl into a smile. My concerns fade away. He's making me feel good. That's what matters.
"Is that right?" I tease back.
He laughs. "Mhmm. You swear you're done studying."
"On my love of Jurassic Park."
"And you're awake?"
There's something different about hearing him on the phone. He's closer and farther away all at once. It's like his breath and his voice are right in my ear. Or maybe it's his tone. He almost sounds nervous.
"Wide awake," I say.
"Put your phone on speaker."
I do.
"What are you wearing?"
"Shorts and a tank top."
"Mhmm." His voice gets heavy. "Take off the shorts."
I wait for some sign that he's joking, but there isn't one.
"Do you want to hear me come or do you want to go to bed alone?"
Chapter Twenty-Three
I'm hot everywhere. Not just my cheeks but my chest, stomach, and back too. I open the window. The cool air does nothing to lessen the heat building in my body.
Miles wants to listen to me come? The guy makes sexy sounds for a living, and he wants to hear mine over the phone.
I'm back at the night of our not exactly a breakup again, only this time, I'm at the club, listening to Miles and Tom mock Pete for his constant phone sex. The night flies by, and I'm here, half naked and about to cry because Miles can't bring himself to explain.
My body skips over the heartbreak part. The heat racing through me pools between my legs. The damn thing can't be helped. It has an addiction to Miles. There's no other explanation.
My head is failing to pull back, failing to protect me. I guess the studying really tired it out.
Miles's exhale flows through the speakers. He's waiting, and he's not doing it patiently. Technically speaking, the ball is in my court. I can say yes or say no.
Technically speaking, this arrangement is entirely on my terms.
My eyes flutter closed. The breeze sends a shiver up my legs and thighs. No underwear tonight. No bra. Just this tiny tank top and shorts, like when I was on the couch with Miles.
No, I can't go there. If I'm going to do this, I need to be in this moment. And damn I want to enjoy this moment.
"You swear you're not fucking with me?" I ask.
"I'll prove it."
He's quiet for a minute. Then my phone buzzes with a picture message. It's Miles, in his bed, alone. His hand is tugging at the waistband of his boxers.
