Page 37 of Miles Apart
Miles peels his mouth from mine and presses me into his side. He digs in his pocket and tosses two bills at the wide-eyed redhead. “Beat it, Archie. Go ride the elevators, and don’t come back for thirty minutes.”
The guy takes one look at the money in his hand, shuts the partition, and runs out the door he closes behind him. He can’t be more than twenty and is clearly on a track team the way he sprints out.
“Thirty minutes?” I chuckle. “Think you’ll last that long?”
“Shut up.” Miles kisses up a hidden trail from my neck to my ear and licks my lobe to activate a shiver. “I told you that you haven’t earned this dick. They probably cleared the tables by now, and I want my dessert.”
I’m airborne before my gasp has a chance to escape. Miles moves us through racks of coats to the back of the room with my legs wrapped around him. Unlike the kiss earlier, this one is punishing, a demand for my tongue, which he sucks. The coat check room is small, like an oversized closet with a wooden side table and barstools next to the pass-through. At least theseLion, the Witch, and the Wardrobecoats give us some privacy.
Miles rips a fur coat from a hanger and tosses it to the floor. “I—” I squeal on the way to the ground. I’m now straddling him with my dress above my ass and my cleavage dangling in front of him. He buries his face in it with a satisfied groan.
“Miles!” I hiss. “This is somebody’s coat.”
He motorboats my titties and bites a nipple through the fabric. “They shouldn’t be wearing that shit anyway. It’s unethical. I’ll leave money for dry cleaning. Now come ride my face.”
My hands fly to the sides of his head when he pulls me to hover over lips he’s licking in anticipation. The swell of his biceps locks me in place as he feasts with abandon.
I’ve had men eat my pussy, but not like this. Miles’s mouth has the perfect suction, spearing me with his tongue and flicking my clit. His touch is ruthless, lashing me in circular motions up and down before changing speed.
My center pulsates as the first orgasm bursts through and careens into the room on its axis.
Holy shit.
I jump at the slap to my ass. “Did I not say ride my face?” Miles asks from between my thighs. “You better earn this one, passenger princess.”
“I got your princess right here.” A brow furrows before I slide my feet from behind me, grip the back of Miles’s neck, and proceed to fuck his face. His hands move to my ass to deepen each thrust of his tongue.
He better ask for air in the afterlife.
Years of yoga and these platform shoes make holding up my body weight effortless. I could be here all night. The question is, can he?
The duet of our moans fills the room as I widen my thighs and drive as deep as Miles allows. My body curls at the rise of another orgasm, this one stronger than the first and taking its time to ease out. Miles sits up to catch me to his chest, his hardened length all but bursting at the seams for some attention.
Our stares thread through our labored breaths. I caress the side of Miles’s face and grab his goatee. “Open.” At mycommand, his mouth opens, and my tongue grazes his as I taste myself.
He holds me to his body for a kiss that lasts longer than it should. Eventually the sheen of our exertion cools, but not the desire we set ablaze.
There are lines I shouldn’t cross with Miles, and I fear we passed the point of no return.
Chapter 15
Miles
“She left your ass, didn’t she?” Zo chuckles into his tumbler and takes another sip. Had I known he’d be this annoying, I would’ve been on the first flight back to Jersey City.
I blow smoke into the night air and gaze up at the stars. “Remind me how much time I’d do for fucking up an elected official.”
A grin stretches Zo’s face as he leans into the patio lounger and closes his eyes. He kicks his feet up, folds his hands over his stomach, and tips his chin. “You’d never make it out the hospital.”
Our laughter floats over the crackling fire pit. It’s cold as shit outside, but between my blunt and our scotch glasses we never let get below two fingers, the Denver night isn’t anything we can’t handle. Zo does look wild bundled up in a coat and gloves with socks and slides. We both have on sweats, but I’ll be damned if I let my feet out like that.
Monday came in a flash. One minute I was gripping Emma’s ass for dear life while she rode my face like an Olympicequestrian. The next, we were back on the jet with Carter, who extended his stay at The Ravine. I haven’t spoken to Em since her father’s fundraiser and had to hear through the grapevine she went back to Cali this morning.
No “let’s catch up” or “thank you for that tongue action.” Nothing.
If I wasn’t used to curving women, I’d take offense. Emma could’ve at least sent a text for being her plus-one to that bland-ass party. But that would require us to have exchanged numbers. I packed my shit and flew back here to cut up with Zo before I head to the East Coast.
“You’re quiet.”
