Miles’ personality when he’s high shifts to match Finn’s, with all the dogshit he says. I’d normally give him shit for that, but he’s grinding slow against my ass and his hands are on my thighs. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, but still.
And fuck, I’m so horny right now it’s not even funny. My dick’s been half-hard for the past hour, and I’d be getting my guts rearranged right now if Miles hadn’t faked an OD like a fucking psychopath.
“You good?” he asks, completely ignoring the fact he’s been grinding against me for the last minute. His glasses are fogged at the edges, his pupils blown wide from whatever the hell he smoked.
I swallow hard. “Peachy.”
His thumb rubs circles over the inseam of my jeans, right where my thigh meets the root of my dick, and my breath hitches. He doesn’t even seem to notice, the bastard.
I could play dumb. Ishouldplay dumb. But my brain’s too fried from horniness to bother with subtlety. I don’t want to be Kit right now. I want to just be a place for him to dump his load.
“You need to use the doll?” I ask. “Because the dollreallyneeds to be used.”
Miles goes statue-still underneath me. His hands stop moving.
I don’t look at his face. I look at his collarbone instead, at the stretched-out neckline of his hoodie, at the way his chest is heaving a little faster than before.
“Kit—”
“It’s a yes or no question, dude.”
The silence stretches out. I can hear his breathing. My own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Then: “Yeah.”
I nod. Push myself up off him to lay down flat on my back on his messed-up sheets, staring at the ceiling. I go still.
The mattress dips as Miles moves, and then he stops pretending. It’s actually kind of funny how fast it happens. One second he’s doing the wasted-guy slouch and then he’s just not. His fingers hook into the low-cut neck of my tank, pulling the fabric even lower.
“This shit’s such a tease,” he mutters.
The cotton’s thin enough that when his thumbs find my nipples, they stiff and throb immediately. He pinches one, pulls, watches it peak through the fabric before his mouth closes over it. My whole chest is immediately on fire.
“Remember when these used to be shy?” he asks, pinching one between his nails with a mean twist. “Now they’re always swollen and begging for it. You ruined them, dude.”
Yeah. Okay. Yeah, they’ve been sensitive. That’s an accurate description of the situation. Weeks of the guys fucking with my chest, biting and twisting and slapping until my nipples stayed permanently swollen and sensitive as fuck. I don’t even need to touch them anymore; just the drag of a shirt is enough to make my dick throb.
Miles dives in and latches onto one of them again, shirt and all, his spit soaking through the fabric while his free hand rolls the other between his fingers. My cock leaks into my boxers, and Miles groans like I’m the one wreckinghim.
“Fuck, Kit,” he mumbles against me. “You taste so fucking good.”
He drags his tongue up my sternum, nosing aside the stretched neckline to lick at my collarbone. Long fingers hook into the gaping armholes of my tank, and the fabric is so loose he can bunch both sides toward the center. The cotton drags over my nips, and then my chest is finally bare.
“Fuck,” he mutters, sounding surprised, even though he’s the one who did it.
He fists my pec like it’s a tit, kneading the meat and pulling it up. Then he clamps my nip between his knuckles, squeezing it so viciously I have to bite my tongue to keep from breaking character.
“They’re so fucking hard,” he says, kissing it better. “You just let everyone trash them? Let them do whatever the fuck they want?”
That’s fucking rich coming from him. But still, I love this kind of talk—the filth makes my cock throb and leak through my jeans, starving to bust. It’s another thing I learned about myself.
His tongue flicks over the stiff peak before he bites down, almost too much, and my hips jerk up off the mattress on their own. Not supposed to do that. A doll shouldn’t move. But Miles doesn’t call me out, just swaps to the other side, licking over the already spit-slick bud before dragging his teeth across it.
“They’re so perfect,” he mutters, more to himself than me, thumbing one roughly before leaning down to suck it back into his mouth.
He moves his mouth up from my collarbone, grazing the sensitive skin of my neck with his teeth before he bites down. His breath tickles my ear when he murmurs, “You’re so hot,” and I can’t tell if he’s talking to the doll or to Kit. He licks the shell of my ear, then plunges his tongue inside, making my whole body shudder.
His mouth finds my jaw, kissing up to my chin and nipping it, and then—fuck. He hovers right there, face over mine. He stares at my mouth, lingering, while my heart slams against my ribs.
