“Thanks for tonight,” I manage, my voice weak, almost swallowed by the rain.
“You’re welcome,” he says simply.
And then his palm is cupping my cheek, firm but careful, his thumb brushing my skin as he leans down. My entire body goes liquid, my knees barely holding me up.
“Miles,” I whisper, though I barely recognize my own voice. “What are you doing?”
His forehead presses against mine, his breath warm and ragged. “I don’t know.”
And then his mouth crashes onto mine.
The kiss is rough, urgent, like he’s been holding back all night and finally snapped. His lips drag across mine, commanding,claiming, and just when the bite of it makes my head spin, his tongue sweeps against my bottom lip, softening the edges, soothing the sting. My hands fly to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, and he groans low into my mouth.
One hand fists in my hair at the scalp, tugging my head back so he can deepen the kiss, while the other slides down to the curve of my neck, holding me there like he’ll never let go. His scent surrounds me—dark, heady, so completely him. My bones feel like they’ve melted, like the only thing holding me together is him.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth, the word vibrating through me as he nips at my lip again. The sting makes me gasp, and I bite back, sharper than I intended, teeth scraping across his mouth.
The copper tang of blood hits my tongue and I jerk back, horrified. “Sorry!” I blurt, my cheeks flaming. My heart is hammering, mortification crawling through every nerve.
But he just chuckles, low and rough, his thumb brushing the corner of my swollen mouth. “Don’t be.” His lips curve into a dangerous smirk, his eyes burning into mine. “Vicious little princess.”
Heat floods me from the inside out. My whole body feels like it’s caught fire.
He dips his head again, quick this time, pressing a shorter kiss to my lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Walk intothe building so I can make sure I got you home in one piece. I’ll see you around.”
I can barely think. My legs feel numb, boneless, as I step back toward the door to my apartment building. I don’t know how I even get them to move, how I manage to climb the steps with my heart still sprinting inside my chest and his taste still on my mouth.
I don’t look back. I can’t. If I do, I know I’ll run straight back into his arms, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.
10
Miles
Isittherewiththe engine humming low, the drizzle smearing against the windshield, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Chloe disappears into the building, her damp hair swinging loose, my jacket still clinging to her shoulders like I branded her with it. The image sears into me. The way she looked at me before I kissed her. The way she kissed me back. The way she bit me.
Something is definitely wrong with me.
I drag my tongue over my bottom lip, pressing against the cut she left there. It stings, metallic and raw, the faint taste of blood still lingering. And beneath it is the sweetness of her. Cherries. Her perfume, her shampoo, I don’t even fucking know, but my entire car is drenched in it now. The leather seats, the air vents, my own clothes. I breathe in, and it’s like she’s still here, sitting in the passenger seat, humming along to the radio, smiling at me like she didn’t just detonate something in my chest.
My cock throbs against my zipper, demanding, painful. I shift in the seat, grip the steering wheel like maybe I can will it away. But all I see is her face tilting up, rain on her eyelashes, lips parted like an invitation. Her little gasp when I tugged her hair. The way her hands trembled but she didn’t pull back. My whole body is still on fire from it, running on a loop I can’t switch off.
I know I shouldn’t. Christ, I shouldn’t. But before I can talk myself out of it, I shove the seat back, my movements clumsy, frantic. My jeans scrape against my thighs as I get the zipper down. My hand wraps around myself, rough, desperate, no hesitation. It’s not gentle, not indulgent—just raw need, ugly and fast. I squeeze, stroke, every pump pulling me closer and closer to the edge because I’m not jerking off to some fantasy. I’m jerking off to her.
Her mouth on mine. Her teeth in my lip. The way her tongue slid against mine like she already knew exactly how I tasted. I can still feel the wet silk of her hair under my fingers, the way her breath hitched when I pulled her close. The sound still echoes in my ears, fragile and real.
“Fuck,” I mutter into the dark of the car, my voice hoarse, broken. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, punishing myself for it, as my hips lift off the seat. The orgasm rips through me fast, violent, almost painful. I spill hot across my fist, my stomach, my shirt and abs, the mess spattering up toward the steering wheel. My body locks up, my throat tight, a low groan dragging itself out of me before I can choke it back down.
And then it’s done. I sag against the seat, my body trembling with the aftershocks, my chest heaving like I just went twelverounds in the rink. The windows fog up with the heat of it, the sour-sweet smell of sex mixing with the cherry haze she left behind.
But it doesn’t clear my head. If anything, it makes everything sharper. The ghost of her kiss clings harder. The craving digs in deeper. I stare at the smear of condensation on the windshield, but all I can picture is Chloe’s lips glistening from mine, the bruised pink I left behind.
I grab napkins from the glove box, wiping myself off with quick, practiced motions. It feels mechanical, routine, like this is just another thing I do in dark corners when I should be doing anything else. The paper drags over my skin, damp and rough, but it doesn’t scrub her out of me. I shove the crumpled napkins into a bag on the floor, tug my jeans back up, zip, button, force myself to breathe.
My chest is still tight, like I’m holding something I can’t afford to let anyone see. My lip throbs. My head hums. And all I can think is Chloe. Chloe. Chloe.
I tell myself I need to stop. That this is the exact shit I warned Jamie about—getting tangled with girls who are off-limits, who will never be anything but trouble. I’ve seen how fast that trap can close, how it chews guys up from the inside out. I promised myself I’d never be that stupid. But my body doesn’t listen. My body wants her again already. Wants to taste the cherries straight from her mouth, not from the ghost left behind.
I reach for my phone, desperate for something to anchor me, something to break the spell. I call the garage, my voice low, forcing casual. “Yeah, the car I called about earlier. Did you get it?”
