Finally, I catch a glimpse of Miles in the doorway in grey joggers and a white tee. Maybe he’s been stood there the entire time and I haven’t noticed. Maybe I’ve been too caught up in getting ready for bed so I can sleep off all these feelings that are sifting through my body.
“Finally,” I murmur “Can you zip this down for me?”
He walks towards me slowly, his eyes connected with mine in the mirror. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him like this — relaxed, tried and effortlessly sexy — but something else lingers when he comes up behind me. The proximity of him sends goosebumps up my arms rapidly.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks me, his voice rough as if it was hard for him today. He still hasn’t touched my zipper; he’s just looking at me passionately in the mirror. He slowly brings his hands around my hips, his fingers connecting at my stomach and then pulling back to rest on my hips.God, why does this feel better than that kiss?He’s not even doing anything other than his hands on my hot body. I close my eyes at the contact, ready for him to do anything to me. “Wren?”
My eyes snap open and I realise I was almost arching into him.
“Mm hmm,” I say after I’ve cleared my throat trying to shake off whatever that feeling was. My voice still sounds hoarse and shaky when I say, “I just want to get out of this dress.”
He nods and pushes my hair to one side of my shoulder and starts to zip down my dress, painfully slowly. Like, so slow that I could run down from the thirtieth floor to the bottom at the same time it takes him to move it down a few inches.
He keeps one hand on the top of the zipper, his fingers barley grazing my neck, but it makes me shiver regardless. His eyes are focused on zipping me down but when he gets further down, he realises there’s nothing underneath but bare skin, his breath hitches.
Maybe this is a dumb idea because I don't every worry aout how my back looks too him. I've always been self conscious about the deep bruises and scars that I've acquired from training as a kid at different sports and stupid rituals that the girls roped me into.
Even when he’s finally done, he still keeps his hands on me, not ready to let go. I don’t tell him not to. There is something wildly comforting about his hands on my body. Something that feels just right. I don’t move when he gently starts to bring one side over my shoulder, his eyes locked with mine in the mirror. The first strap falls, almost exposing my chest. I watch my face flame up, the heat rushing to my cheeks like a tidal wave. He brings his face to my neck, his breath ragged and desperate, his mouth barely touching my skin. My pulse quickens so rapidly that I’m sure he can feel it under his mouth. He moves his hand to the other strap.
“Miles, you should stop,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Why?” he murmurs into my skin as he bites onto my shoulder softly. My stomach summersaults. Every single nerve in my body focuses on that small spot on my shoulder and my brain almost flatlines. "You just smell so good," he whispers and I shiver again.
Ignore him and say, “You know why.”
He groans, dropping his head to my shoulder, but he listens. He tears away from me leaving me in the bathroom.
I would have let myself slip. I would have easily let him kiss me right there, but I didn’t. It doesn’t help that I can feel the wetness building between my thighs. I take a quick shower, using the shower head to force all the throbbing feelings away. I don’t bother to put my shorts on because it’s so hot in the bedroom and I’d end up taking them off anyway. I slip into a pair of panties and put on my tank top, a reckless part of me hoping that he’ll still be awake. But, when I go into the room, he’s snoring already on one side of the bed.
I sigh and slip into the other end, putting as much space between us as possible.
CHAPTER 17
MILES
Sleeping on the edge of the bed that night in the hotel was fucking torture. As soon as she told me to stop, I went back to the room, and I was knocked out: part exhaustion and part frustration. I knew that offering to massage her feet was a bad idea. And I knew what I was doing in the bathroom also wasn’t smart, but I needed to touch her. After hearing her moan into my mouth, I wanted to do it again. I knew she wouldn’t let me until it was necessary.
It got worse when she got out of bed in the middle of the night, accidentally waking me. She went out of the room to get some water, half asleep, in nothing but pink underwear and a white tank top. I didn’t even notice that I was sleeping next to her, half naked, the whole night. Yep.
Pure.
Unadulterated.
Fucking.
Torture.
I thought she would be willing to break the rules just once, but she didn’t, and we didn’t talk about it the next morning. We slept and woke up, got ready and headed home as if nothing happened. As if I wasn’t willing to eat her out on the bathroom counter.
Since this is our second year at NU, we were invited to the Sophomore-Only Drive-In that the school organises. We got to take part in voting for the movie and this year’s theme was thriller. ‘Us’ by Jordan Peele definitely wasn’t my first option but it gives Wren and I a perfect opportunity to showcase our relationship before the hockey game next week. The only problem: Wren’s been avoiding me like the plague since what happened at the hotel.
Nothing even happened. I’m a teenage boy and she’s a beautiful fucking woman who told me to zip her dress down. That’s it. Okay, so I might have kept my hands on her longer than I needed to but how could I resist? That dress was perfect and I’ve not felt the touch of a woman in way too long. I need to get myself in check because I can’t have Wren looking at me like she hates me all night.
I drive to her apartment to pick her and the girls up. One thing I wish I knew about Wren before we agreed to do this is how long it takes her to get ready. She texted me nearly three hours ago saying that she’s starting to get dressed after being at the rink all day. Still, I’ve been sitting in the parking lot for almost twenty minutes before she finally materialises through the doors of the apartment complex.
She’s dressed in blue denim shorts and a blue NU sweatshirt; a brave choice in this Utah climate. Regardless, she looks insanely hot. The shorts are giving me a great view of the long expanse of her legs. Her hair is down which is rare but it’s my favourite look on her. I barely even register that she’s in the car until her seatbelt clicks in and she turns to me.
“Are Kennedy and Scarlett not coming?” I ask, looking past her into the darkness of the parking lot.
