He cares about me?
So not the point, Lucy.
Right. I can dwell on that little gem later, analyzing it six ways to Sunday when I’m not in the middle of an argument with the world’s biggest pendejo.
I throw up my hands, indignation returning full force. “And you think it was somehow easier for me?”
“No, but—”
“No buts.” I slash a hand through the air. “Full stop.”
He frowns, and I can almost see the internal struggle play out on his face as he considers his next words. “I’m sorry. I saw you in trouble, and I didn’t stop to think. I just acted.”
There’s a long pause, and I stare up at him expectantly.
“It won’t happen again,” he finally says.
I nod. “You’re forgiven.”
A slow smile spreads over his face, revealing that hint of a dimple on the left side. “Does this mean we can go back to the kissing part now?”
Yes. Yes, it does.
He loops his arms around my waist, pulling me in close. He smells like earth and sweat, and suddenly, I’m not worried about taking a shower because his mouth is on mine, hot and hungry and 100 percent demanding.
I rake my fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, desperate to touch every inch of him. To feel his hard muscles under me.
To remind myself that we’re both okay.
The kiss ebbs and flows, a rhythm of give and take as our tongues intertwine, fighting for dominance. We stumble, and when my backside hits the kitchen counter, I pull his T-shirt off over his head.
Miles grins and unbuttons my shorts, shoving them down as I lower my mouth to his pecs, trailing open-mouthed kisses over his heated flesh.
He tastes like fresh air and salt, and, to my surprise, I can’t get enough of it. The heady combination reminds me of nature and rebirth.
Of new beginnings.
My heart flutters. Is that what this is?
Despite our no-strings arrangement, Miles admitted he cares for me. Hell, he proved it with his actions, risking himself to save Gizmo. Not because he’s a fan—far from it—but because he knew it would hurt me if something happened to him. He faced a freaking rattlesnake and overcame his fear of rodents, if only temporarily, to ensure Gizmo’s safe return to his habitat.
For me.
Miles grips my waist and lifts me onto the counter, wedging himself between my thighs as he removes my shirt and bra with expert precision. He slowly skims his fingers up my sides, and when he cups my breasts, kneading them possessively, a shiver races down my spine.
Sweet Jesus.
The man is thrice blessed. Equally good with his hands, mouth, and cock.
It’s entirely unfair, but I can hardly complain when he’s putting his skills to such good use.
He brushes his thumbs across my nipples, and I arch into his touch, silently begging him to take me in his mouth.
He doesn’t disappoint. He sucks my right nipple into his mouth, massaging it gently with his tongue before he bites down, drawing a quiet cry from my lips as starbursts explode behind my eyelids.
Head thrown back, I wriggle on the counter, seeking relief from the growing ache between my legs. Because as good as this feels, nothing can compare to the fullness I experience when Miles is inside me, our bodies crashing together in the pursuit of pleasure.
“I’ll never get tired of this,” he rasps, stubble scratching my chest as he moves to the other side. “Never.”
