Page 48 of Till The Cows Come Home
Her dinner refusals were met with coffee dates in which she’d force me to actually speak about my issues rather than immerse myself in gravy until I could no longer form a cognizant thought. When she and Ali finally got engaged, she called me screaming in excitement before requesting I make chicken dinner later that week to celebrate. From there on out, we cooked the meal to add to already existing happiness, and Miles cooking it for me had my heart threatening to burst at the seams.
“This looks amazing, Miles, seriously. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweet girl.”
He dished out my plate, setting it in front of me before taking a seat. His eyes remained on me, waiting eagerly for me to take the first bite, so I opted for mashed potatoes, scooping a small bite on my fork.
“Miles,” I groaned, closing my eyes to savor the perfect flavors dancing on across my tongue.
When I finally opened my eyes a few moments later, Miles had both forearms resting on the table, firmly gripping his utensils as he watched me. His throat bobbed slightly as he surveyed my delight, eventually breaking our gaze to get a bite of his own.
“Wow. I thought you were being nice, but this is actually pretty damn good.”
“Unfortunately, Miles Carver, I’m not much of an actress. What you see is what you get. No faking here.” I winked.
Dinner conversation from there on out was nonexistent. The air instead was filled with the scrapes of forks and low hums of approval.
“I can see why this is your favorite,” Miles said, breaking the silence between his final bites.
After wiping my mouth, I placed my napkin on top of the table before rising from my seat, rounding the table until I stood in front of him. He immediately scooched his chair back, allowing enough space for me to slide into his lap.
“You did a really good job,” I murmured into his neck, resting my head there as my legs dangled off the side of his lap.
“Did you leave room for dessert?” he teased.
“What’s on the menu?”
Miles swung one of my legs over his lap, leaving me straddling him.
“I made vanilla ice cream,” he murmured, nipping at my neck. “Along with the accouterments to assemble bananas foster.”
I leaned away from him in awe at another favorite he’d figured out. There were few things I loved more than bananas foster, but I’d purposefully ate light to leave room for the thing I wanted most. He used my position as an opportunity to get a close look at me, leaning flush against the chair behind him so he could get a better view.
He trailed his hands along my shoulders, tugging gently at my dress straps until they fell down my shoulders, revealing my breasts. The chair creaked underneath him as he leaned forward, twirling his tongue along my skin before sucking my nipple into his mouth. My back involuntarily arched in response to the pleasure, and I threaded my fingers into his hair, reveling in the feeling of his touch until he stood, picking me up with him.
“Dessert can wait,” he grumbled, walking towards the door.
“I need you now,” I pleaded.
His eyes darkened, and I could feel his grip tightening around me. With one hand, he grabbed the discarded blanket off my chair, carefully balancing my body against his own as he tossed it over the stall, creating a barrier between me and the wood as he pressed my back against it, pinning me with his hips. Despite our urgency, Miles kissed me with grace, devouring my mouth slowly, coaxing a pleasure I didn’t know existed. The emotional connection we had simmered under his touch, adding a heat that warmed through me.
The free hand he had resting on my hip slid to my breast and I arched into him as he twisted my nipple between his fingers, my moans muffled by the constant pressure of his lips against mine. As my back continued to bow, I was met with the pressure of his desire grinding against me in deep, slow strokes.
Miles teased me until I was desperate for more, and when I could no longer handle the tantalizing, I slid my hand into the top of his pants, taking him in my palm. He sucked in a breath, and as I began stroking him his hand abandoned my breasts to grip the wood above my head.
“Please,” I begged.
He set me down on my feet, wedging his knee between my legs, and I eagerly opened them for him, tipping my head back as he slid his hand under my dress, stroking the fabric of my panties. My fingers dug into his shoulders, silently begging him to continue, and after a few torturous circles, he slid them aside, gliding a finger through my center.
“Fuck Sage,” he hummed, as he worked a finger inside me. “You’re so wet for me.”
My hips bucked as I chased the pleasure he was coaxing out of me, groaning as he added another finger.I attempted to reach for him, desperate to give him the same relief he was inciting, but his arm blocked my access as he fucked me with his fingers.
“I want you,” I pleaded. “All of you.”
“Greedy girl,” he teased, sliding my panties to the floor. “Hang on to my neck.”
And in one swoop I was back in his arms.
