Miles’s hand has stilled on my thigh, his thumb applying pressure as he slides closer to me and leans in to align his mouth to mine. There’s a breath of space between us, my chest rising and falling, the scent of spicy red wine and something all Miles lingering there.
“Tell me not to kiss you, Button,” Miles rasps, his fingers brushing gently over my cheek before tucking some errant stray hairs behind my ear. “Because once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”
Holy smokes, is this the type of thing he said to all those girls before me? The ones I would’ve given anything to have changed places with back then?
And now here I am, my dream is finally coming true, and Miles is telling me not to let him kiss me? Is he crazy?
There’s not a chance in hell that will happen.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I tug him to me, a grunt of satisfaction escaping my throat, filled with the thrill that this time—this kiss—will be different. Because this time Miles knows who I am, knows his mind, and his actions aren’t being fueled by alcohol or inconsolable grief.
“Kiss me like you mean it, Miles.”
His mouth crushes mine, fusing our hearts and souls together in a swirling tempest of passion. I make a strangled noise as liquid heat floods between my legs, a riot of lust zigging and zagging like thrown confetti. Parting my lips with his tongue, he plunges inside, swiping past the seam and into my mouth, running long, languid strokes over my tongue.
We kiss hungrily, eagerly, sucking in each other’s moans and groans that rip free from our throats. A hard, dancing pulse flutters inside me, and I close my eyes to the emotion and rapture. I think to myself,this feels so freaking good.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I cling desperately to him as my body reacts with eagerness to his kiss, his taste, and his touch. He tastes of wine, and mint, of past and present. He feels like a dream come true.
I’m almost drunk with pleasure from his kiss, when Miles slips a hand underneath my butt, cupping his palm and lifting me off the couch. He shifts back, and my knees sink into the cushion as I straddle him, my breasts practically flaunting themselves in his face.
Miles returns to deepen his kiss as his tongue explores my mouth, darting and toying with me, his hand burrowing underneath the front of my tank top, navigating and surveying the valley of my stomach. Each touch brings white-hot electrical surges to my core. He teases me with the soft strokes of his thumb around my belly, and my body quickly loses patience wanting him to touch me elsewhere.
I grind against the hard ridge in his pants, and he breaks off the kiss with a sexy chuckle.
“Something the matter, Button?”
His smug grin, contoured jawline, and fiery blue eyes appear perfectly calm and unaffected as if he’s relaxing on a Central Park bench on a leisurely Sunday afternoon. In fact, without the telltale sign of his erection pressing into my center or his heavier-than-normal breathing, I wouldn’t even know I turned him on.
But I’m like a live wire, ready to explode in desperation if he doesn’t touch me where I need him to ASAP.
My voice is breathless, and I pant out my demand, “Touch me, Miles. I need you to touch me.”
He tips his head back, fingers still gently caressing the sensitive skin above my pelvic bone, looking at me inquisitively.
“Tell me something first, Button. Do you remember that day when I caught you and Mel introducing yourselves to the fine art of blow jobs?”
Like an ice-cold bucket of water thrown over me, I rear back on his lap, my hands falling to his shoulders. That was one of the most humiliating moments of my life—being caught by the boy I crushed on giving a blow job to a banana.
Rolling my eyes to stave off mortification, I return this questioning look.
“Yeah, I do,” I demure. “You totally made fun of us and I was mortified you caught us. Why?”
He clears his throat, licking the corner of his mouth, his nostrils flaring slightly. His hips shift, nestling his cock firmly between my legs, as my thighs splay wider to allow more room.
“I probably shouldn’t admit this because it’ll make me sound like an absolute perv,” he admits, the top of his ears turning red.
An embarrassed Miles? Well, this is new and very cute.
I lift an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.
“I know I scolded you both harshly, but it was out of self-preservation to avoid being caught with the hard on I had for you. When I saw you, your red cherry lips wrapped around that banana, sucking it in and out of your mouth. . . well, let’s just say I had fantasies about that every night for the rest of that summer. And because I hated myself for it, I tried my best to ignore you, even though it was very difficult since you were always around.”
I think back to that summer, a pang to my heart, recalling the way Miles did exactly that. It tortured me to feel so invisible and overlooked by him. And when we did interact, Miles was overly brotherly.
I pinch my lips together and cross my arms in front of my chest. “Well, at least there’s a reason for it, and it makes sense now. But it hurt my sensitive adolescent feelings and really did a number on my self-confidence. It scared me for a long time, and I was afraid to give a blow job to a boy.”
A slow, apologetic smile turns up at the corners of his mouth, and he leans in, his lips grazing my ear as he kisses down my neck.
