“Make me remember, Button. Show me how good it felt.” His thumb glides softly over my cheek, and I lean into his touch. “I need that. I need something good in my life now.”
12
Sutton
This must be a dream.It’s not real. There’s no other way to describe it.
Miles. His touch. His voice. The desire reflected in his eyes. Directed at me.
It’s utterly reminiscent of what happened between us after Mel’s funeral, when I found Miles in her bedroom, sitting in her closet, an open whiskey bottle at his side.
And because I know just how well that turned out for me, I should run. I should make my escape and not allow myself to make that mistake again. I should return to the apartment and shut him out. Leave him to deal with his demons and memories on his own and avoid being just the warm body he uses to ease his pain.
I should do all of that.
But I don’t.
Miles has too much pull over me. He always has whether or not he knew it or used it to his advantage.
The sad truth is, I’m just a girl who is secretly in love with him. And no matter how much I want to fight that realization and avoid succumbing to the attraction, I would give anything for one more touch of his lips to mine.
To feel his mouth meld with mine. To moan against the slick sweep of his tongue and feel the heady rush of his warm breath mingling with mine.
I part my lips in invitation, and his hesitation is gone.
He leans forward, the hot press of his body against mine so deliriously decadent it feels unreal. I melt like ice cream in Central Park on a hot summer day.
And then his lips brush against mine, gently testing, tasting, and savoring. But only for a moment, when he rears back, eyes blazing as he stares hungrily at my lips.
“Button,” he says again as if reminding himself of who I am and presses his lips to mine once more.
His kiss does crazy things to my body, my brain, and my heart. Taking me on a journey into the past with dizzying effects. Flashes of my youth appear unbidden through my mind: Miles chasing Mel and me around the backyard playing monster, pushing us on the park swing and making us fly high into the clouds and then catching us in his arms as we jumped off.
And then I recall the memory of his senior night party, when he winked at me from across the room, giving me a smile usually reserved for the girls his age. A devilish grin that made every girl giggle with undeniable pleasure to be the object of his affection and only focus.
The memories mix and mingle with the present as I push to my tiptoes and loop my arms behind his neck, opening my mouth wider, moaning when he locks his lips with mine. Miles lets out a cocky chuckle when he pulls back unexpectedly, my arms dropping to my sides, chest rising and falling in fast pants as I try to drag in the air to breathe him in. His hooded lids drink in my face as if committing it to memory.
“You’re beautiful, Sutton.” He traces a finger over the cushion of my lips where his were just planted, traveling the pattern of my jaw until finally, his open palm encircles my throat.
It’s not tight, but it sends a shot of adrenaline through my bloodstream.
Something primal flickers in his eyes, clearly expressing the menu of his sexual appetites. His hand clutches tighter, and he buries his face in my neck, turning my chin to angle my neck away from him as he bites at the sensitive flesh underneath my ear. He sucks and nibbles—sending ripples of pleasure to my tightening nipples—and the sting of pain is both alarming and so incredibly electrifying.
The hard bulge in his pants nudges between my thighs, and his other hand drops between us, fingers skimming the slip of skin exposed between my pajama top and sleep shorts.
Letting out a half moan, half gargled exhale, I punch my hips forward, desperate for his touch.
As if just realizing that we’re still in his open doorway, he lifts his head and nudges us inside, tugging me in with the pinch of my waistband. We round the corner, and he slams the door shut with his foot, his hand burrowing underneath the elastic of my shorts, knuckles rubbing over my sensitive flesh.
Miles arches an eyebrow in appreciation. “Beautiful and so fucking sexy. I’ve wanted to do this to you since the night you made me dinner.”
I’m shocked by his admission, but my thoughts are stolen when his lips smash against mine. Simultaneously he runs his tongue through the seam of my lips, shoving his tongue inside my parted lips as his fingers brush through the wetness of my folds.
Holy smokes, this is so much better than any of the teenage fantasies I ever had of Miles. Exceeding every hope and wish I’d made that he would finally kiss me.
Miles is both rough and tender as his fingers graze between the seam of my entrance and flick over my throbbing clit. All this is too much. I’m on sensory overload, between his kisses and his touches, and the compliments he keeps throwing out about how beautiful, sexy, and sweet I am.
“Miles,” I cry out, uncertain of what I’m trying to say or ask.
