“You can touch me back if you want,” he said. Clothing rustled as he leaned into me more. I brought my hands to his hips, groaning as the heat of his skin nearly burned my fingertips. I opened my mouth to speak, to beg him. For what, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t get the chance.
As soon as I breathed in, Miles closed the inches between us, slanting his wet lips against mine. He kissed me the way he touched me. Soft and gentle, but also insistent. The arrogance wasn’t gone from him, but it was muted, replaced with something I was far more familiar with.
Miles deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding in and exploring the space I’d offered him. His kiss tasted like dominance. It tasted like desire and promise. I offered him myself freely, and he was going to take until I told him no.
“God,” he groaned against my lips, breaking the kiss long enough to get a breath. “You taste like sin.”
“You didn’t strike me as the religious type,” I murmured, chasing after his mouth for more.
“I’ll never say no if it involves you getting on your knees.”
“Blasphemy.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” He smiled against my mouth and kissed my comeback right out of my mind.
CHAPTERSIX
Miles
I had never beenone for kissing, but Hendrix was doing his best to change that. For me, kissing had always felt like a waste of time or an empty promise. I was a man of action, in more ways than one, and kissing was…slow. It was…agony. Just one more roadblock in the way of the main event.
I wasn’t one of those guys with a no kissing rule or anything like that. I would do it, even if I didn’t like it. Kind of like bottoming. But with Hendrix….
The tease had started because I knew my dislike of kissing was not the norm. Kissing was nice, and fine, and normal, and everyone liked it, so calling him out on wanting to kiss me had been an easy assumption. The bulge in his pants made it clear he wanted to domorethan kiss. But by the time I got around to following through on either of those scenarios, something had changed inside of me.
Maybe not fundamentally. Hopefully not. But at least temporarily. Because just as I leaned in and pressed our mouths together for the first time, I realized I actually wanted to kiss Hendrix. I wanted to lick and nibble and suck. I wanted to taste his moans on my tongue, and, fuck…the man did not disappoint.
“You need to go.” I hooked my finger over the loose collar of his shirt, knuckles curling over the button and giving him a gentle tug.
“Hmn?” He was drunk on it.
Drunk on me.
“You need to go,” I said again.
I knew the dismissal would infuriate him, but I was already in over my head and I needed a cold shower and a chance to get myself straight. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend and Hendrix kissed me like he wanted a boyfriend. That wasn’t going to end well for either of us because I was not boyfriend material.
When we were younger, Grayson had accused me of being emotionally stunted. Back then, I probably was, and I wasn’t sure I’d outgrown it yet either. I was proud and selfish, but I had the confidence to back almost any play I made, whether it was in the boardroom or the bedroom. Maybe I hadn’t grown up as much as I should have, but I wasn’t in the market to settle down. And even if I was, the odds of finding a partner who wanted to hold their own on the streets and get on their knees in the sheets…or something like that…were slim.
For years, I’d entertained the idea of walking away from kink entirely because, while it made for phenomenal orgasms, it was always so complicated. I didn’t want someone to be at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day, and even if they were, I definitely didn’t want to make every single decision for them. Picking every restaurant, every outfit, that was a lot of work I wasn’t interested in.
I wanted to call the shots behind closed doors, and that was a tough pill for apparently everyone to swallow.
“Are you serious?” Hendrix swatted my hand away from his chest and I took a step back.
How long had we been making out in my kitchen? Was I thirteen again or something? He looked utterly fucked and I hadn’t even touched him. How unfair, because I wanted to touch him so fucking much.
“Very.”
“You just told me you’d let me get on my knees for you.” Hendrix’s hands fluttered around his waistline, no doubt trying to shield his, dare I say, impressive erection from view. I was a bastard, obviously.
“And I would. Just not tonight.” I cleared my throat. “Not here.”
“Why not?”
“Tonight would be a mistake,” I said.
“Oh.” He scoffed. “Right.”
