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“Layla,” he says in his deep voice.
“Yeah?”
“You might want to…”
He gestures at me, and I get the point. It will look weird if they walk in to find me sitting on the counter. I hop down just in time for Mom to walk into the kitchen. Surely she will notice something like Miles’ and my heavy breathing. Both of us are red-faced, our passion burning up, but Mom’s got other concerns.
“What an awful night,” she says with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Noah says, walking in behind her.
Mom spins on him. “You havenothingto apologize for. That man was absolutely out of line.”
“What happened?” Miles asks.
He’s behaving so naturally that I wonder if we really just kissed. It’s a feeling I’m familiar with since it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself ever since the wedding.
“Ah, nothing much,” Noah laughs shakily. “There were more guests at the dinner than I thought. One man got blackout drunk and made a pass at Elena.”
“Shit,” Miles says. “That couldn’t have ended well for him.”
Noah nods. “I put him in his place. I managed to keep my cool enough, so I didn’t smash his cocky little face, so that’s a plus.”
“How are things with your boss?” Miles asks.
“Fine, thank God. He understood. This man has a reputation for overstepping when he has a few beers. He’s going to feel awful about it tomorrow. Like I give a damn.”
“I’m sorry your evening was so cruddy,” I say, finally finding my voice.
Noah smiles at me. “It’s nothing, honestly. My job’s fine. This idiot won’t soon forget his mistake.”
“I hope you two have had a better time,” Mom says.
Miles glances at me. I find it difficult, almost impossible, to meet his eye. There’s too much hovering between us. We just betrayed Mom and Noah, and the worst part is I want to do it again. And again… and again…
“Our evening has been fine,” I murmur. “I made some stir-fry.”
“She’d offer you leftovers,” Miles says, “but it was too perfect. I devoured it all.”
Is he talking about the food or me?
Perfect. Devoured.
It could describe what just happened as easily as the meal, though I shouldn’t think this way. There’s nothing perfect about tearing my mom’s life to pieces.
CHAPTERSIX
Miles
I’m not sure what the time is, but it feels late. Early morning maybe. I’ve been lying in bed trying to sleep but unable to stop thinking about the kiss in the kitchen.
I turned forty-three this year, but my body feels far younger, deluged with hot, steamy feelings. My mind is just as susceptible to burning fantasies as when I was twenty-three.
It’s been happening since I came to bed. My manhood is stiff again. I’ll calm down for a few minutes, then the thoughts return.
I remember two things most vividly. The first is how she moaned when we kissed. It was like she was offering herself up to me, letting me know through her moans that she was ready for what I would unleash on her—all my stowed-up pleasure and anticipation.
The second is how wet she was through her pants. Her pussy was burning with desire, screaming at me to take it all the way.
