Page 75 of Miles Apart
His hand reaches under the covers to squeeze me for reassurance, but he ends up stroking my breast.Pervert. “Ma, you can’t put people on blast like that. Ease up.”
I pop my head out from the duvet to glare at him. “How does she know?” I ask again, moving far away from the camera. To his credit, Miles keeps only himself in the frame.
“I’m sorry, baby. You talk about her on almost every call, and I haven’t seen her since Terrence and Justice got married,” she confesses.
“Ma, chill please,“ Miles groans.
“You talk about me?” I stare up at Miles waiting for him to reveal the punchline of his joke, but it never comes. Is he turning red?
“Sure does!” his mother chimes. “Swore me to secrecy and everything!” She backtracks at Miles’s eye twitching. “Of course, I don’t know the details, baby. That’s between you two. My boy was excited to see you at the retreat and said he’d see you again in California. And that he was staying with you, but that’s it. He’s never spoken to me about a woman, and I’ve heard great things from Robin,” she says about Terrence’s mother. “You two get back to your business. Miles, don’t be a stranger, hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbles.
“I’ll call you later. Bye, Emma!”
“Goodbye!” I say.
After he hangs up, Miles stares off into the distance in a trance. He shakes his head, leans over, and kisses my forehead. “Morning, kitten.” He can’t look me in the eye, and I don’t blame him. If my mother told my business like that, you’d never see my face again. He finally peeks at me and rolls his eyes at my grin. “Don’t start.”
“You like me,Miles Devonte’ Walker?” I mimic the bass in his mother’s voice and shriek when he dives for me.
“You got jokes now?” Miles’s sinister smile deepens as he pulls down the duvet to tickle me. “Don’t talk shit and run!”
My head flails from side to side to avoid bites to my neck. There’s no use fighting Miles or the feelings we have for each other. “You told your mother about me?”
Miles winces, a flush deepening his mocha complexion. “Not like that. We don’t have a weird relationship. I just”—he blows out a breath and steals a glance—“I don’t know, Em. Fuck. I’m not good at this. You’re in my life, and I didn’t want to hide that shit. I mention you in passing, but the moments are adding up.”
I pull him down and seal his lips to mine. He jerks at first but softens, curling me into his chest. Every doubt and fear drains to give way to the passion radiating from my core.An uncontrollable sensation bursts from within, freeing me. Fulfilling me.
His lips touch me like a whisper. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Don’t let go.”
I groan at the sting of my nipple between his fingers and gasp at a flick to the other.
Miles’s dick hardens in my hands, which are wrapped around his length. “Damn, woman.Shiiiiit.” He rises to straddle me and presses my breasts together to slide himself through. I curl my chin and let my tongue swipe his tip. He shudders, but not before he makes thehoo-hoosound like the animated Pillsbury mascot. He hates it, but I love it.
I sit up, grab his firm ass, and swallow his dick to the back of my throat. It took some deep-breathing exercises, but I got it down—literally. My tongue twirls his crown before it makes long, ice-cream licks up his shaft.
“Shit, baby.” Miles jerks. “Fuck.” His hips move at a lazy pace until another giggle freezes his movement.
Miles becomes a statue when he’s getting good head, and it doesn’t stop me from bobbing and slobbing for him. I cup his balls, and he damn near sings.
That’s another thing about giving him head: he doesn’t last long—at least, not with me.
I slurp down his release and hollow my cheeks for a hard suck to pull out one last giggle.
“Want eggs?” Miles points to the skillet with the spatula, then swivels back to the stove at my head shake. The muscles in his back flex as he moves between two burners. He’s shirtless in basketball shorts and slides after working out at the gym an hourafter we finally got out of bed. The pheromones wafting from his body will attract every animal in heat within a ten-mile radius to scratch and sniff the Michael Jai White body on display.
Having a man cook breakfast isn’t normal for me, but it’s a sight I can get used to. He loads up his plate with eggs, tomatoes, sliced avocado, and turkey bacon and balances it and two coffee mugs as he joins me at my shiplap top dining table. Miles absorbs half of the upholstered banquette Justice and I found at a flea market in Pasadena and places his plate next to my parfait of mangoes and mixed berries.
He bows his head to say grace. Then he says, “What you got going on today?” His forearms dwarf the circular table as he forks his first bite.
“Meetings about a photo shoot in Big Sur next week for our collection,” I say. “Going over mood boards with hair and makeup, pulling looks together to make sure they’ll work on shoot day. Reassessing the budget and finalizing the shot list.”
Miles nods into a sip of coffee. “Okay, boss lady. Work your magic. When do you go up?”
“Wednesday. We’ll do an extra style-out the day before the actual shoot on Friday.”
