I didn’t necessarily have an answer because I hadn’t thought that far in advance. I was flustered and annoyed, but worse than that.
I was horny.
It had been months since I left Brixton, since the last time my ex Rome and I had fucked. Jerking off was generally enough for me, but Miles pushed all of the buttons that made my hand feelveryfar from enough.
“What you said earlier,” I managed to force the words out, even though my brain wasn’t sure they were the right ones.
“I said a lot of things.” He glanced over his shoulder and stepped to the side. “Did you want to talk about this inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you don’t like it, you can leave.” Miles stepped farther out of the doorway and I peered around him into the house.
I’d been right in assuming the floorplans were similar, but unlike my corporate rental, his place had been thoroughly updated within the last decade. More like the last three years, judging by the sleek lines and abundance of neutral colors. It wasn’t that the house lacked character, more that it lacked color, which was ironic considering how much of it existed in Miles’s frustratingly engaging personality.
“I need to rinse this mug out anyway before the Pinot stains the ceramic.” He turned away from me, the empty mug raised in the air. “Close the door behind you either way.”
And with that, I was dismissed.
Or invited.
Again depending on which way I wanted to look at it, but I didn’t know which way I wanted to look at it. The lack of clarity on something that should have been so straightforward had already started to chip away at the edges of my sanity and I worried if I went in after him, I’d do something regrettable. But my brain was also relatively confidentnotgoing in after him would be just as regrettable.
I stepped up into his house and closed the door behind me.
“Good choice,” he shouted from the kitchen.
I cursed again under my breath and headed through the house, following the light and the sound of running water. When I found him, Miles was leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised. The mug sat in the dish strainer on the counter, the water running freely into the sink.
“Good choice,” he said again, voice a little bit lower. A little huskier?
He turned off the water and resumed his position against the counter, one hip jutting out a little more than the other, showing a little more skin on that side than before.
“I’m not sure it was,” I admitted.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not sure I like you.”
He chuckled, feigning a wince. “I’m a strong personality.”
“Is that what your mom used to tell you?” I asked.
“And my grandma.”
I shook my head, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
“I do.”
Miles’s answer came so quickly, I almost stumbled backward from the certainty and force of it.
“Why then?” I rasped, clearing my throat and straightening my shoulders.
“Because you want me to kiss you.”
“I do not.”
“Well.” He pushed away from the counter and dropped his head from side to side, like a dramatic show of thought. “Maybe you don’t want me to kiss you, but you definitely want me to fuck you.”
