The admission surprises me, slicing through the haze of desire muddling my brain.
Miles has never said anything like that before. Sure, he’s said I’m sexy. That he loves my breasts. That the sex is as good for him as it is for me.
But he’s never said anything remotely hinting at the future.
Is it possible he’s changing? That he’s ready to let go of the past and look to the future?
Hope floods my chest.
It was Miles who suggested this stop at Joshua Tree, extending our trip and delaying our arrival in Santa Monica.
Delaying an end to our arrangement.
So much for screwing the man right out of your system.
Ugh. I hate it when my subconscious is right. It’s wishful thinking. Sure, we have incredible chemistry, but that does not a healthy relationship make.
Which is why I need to forget about new beginnings and focus on the here and now.
On the beautiful man before me and the mind-blowing orgasms he’s about to deliver.
Miles reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, retrieving a condom. I grab it from his hand and tear it open, rolling it over his length.
“That just might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, scooting me to the edge of the counter and lining his cock up with my entrance.
“Glad to hear it.” I smile, matching his flirtatious tone. “You can show your appreciation by making me come so hard I forget my own name.”
Right now, it’s exactly what I need. Less thinking, more feeling.
“My pleasure.”
He slams into me, seating himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Red-hot need blazes up my spine, and my core clenches, gripping him tight as he repeats the motion. The sex is hard and fast, a messy joining of mouths and bodies, and when shock waves ripple through my body like a nuclear blast, Miles isn’t far behind.
After, I hold on to him for a long time, unable to feel my toes, mind blissfully empty.
Mission accomplished.
Now if I could just figure out a way to hold on to this feeling for the next two days.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Miles
One day to Santa Monica
“Surprise!” Lucy beams up at me with a mischievous grin and gestures to the neonBuck Wildsign atop the squat brick building before us. “We’re taking line-dancing lessons.”
Christ, I hate surprises.
“You can’t be serious.”
There is no way I’m going to make a fool of myself shuffling around to country music, yelling do-si-do or some shit. I don’t do it in Texas, and I’m sure as hell not doing it in California.
“Oh, I’m serious.” She hooks her arm through mine and tries to drag me forward, but I dig in my heels. “Come on, Miles. I’ve never been to a country nightclub.”
“For good reason.” I snort. “Do you even like country music?”
The only thing she’s listened to on this trip is K-pop. And seriously? Why is a country nightclub even a thing? It’s counterintuitive if you ask me.
