The moment hangs between us—warm, trembling, impossibly fragile.
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until Miles leans back in, his lips brushing mine in the softest, sweetest whisper of a kiss. A sigh escapes me, and his answering exhale shivers across my mouth.
He kisses me again—still tender, still testing—but longer this time. Deeper. His fingers slide into my hair, cupping the back of my head with a reverence that makes my chest ache. I melt forward, my hands finding his shoulders, then his neck, pulling him closer because suddenly closeness feels like the only thing my body knows how to ask for.
His tongue grazes my bottom lip. Just the faintest question.
I answer by opening for him.
The kiss deepens, blooming slowly, like warmth unfurling in the center of my chest and spreading outward. Our tongues touch, tentative at first, then again—braver, surer. The gentleness gives way to something richer, something hungry. Miles pulls me into his lap, guiding me effortlessly, like he’s wanted this for so long he’s memorized the path in dreams.
A soft sound escapes him—so quiet, so raw I feel it in my bones. The sound pulls one from me, too, a soft, helpless moan against his mouth.
He reacts instantly.
His arms circle my waist, drawing me closer, eliminating every last inch of space. His kiss changes—still careful, but threaded with desire so real I feel dizzy. The slow burn starts to build, turning into a steady thrum, then a pulse, then something hotter that races through my veins.
His lips part mine again, his tongue finding mine in a rhythm that feels like learning and remembering all at once. He tastes warm and sweet and like something I never want to live without. His hand at my waist slides up, tracing my rib cage beneath the sweatshirt, not groping or greedy—just exploring, mapping, worshipping.
“Miles…” I breathe into his mouth.
He groans—a deep, low sound that reverberates through my entire body—and tilts my face, kissing me harder. The storm rages outside; candle flames flicker wildly; blankets shift around us. But all I can feel is him. His lips. His breath. His hands. His heartbeat was pounding fast against my palms.
The kiss grows urgent, then slows, then surges again—waves of want pulling us under.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging softly, and he lets out a sound that nearly undoes me. His hand slides to the small ofmy back, then higher, spreading across my spine. Every point of contact crackles with heat.
He pulls back an inch—just enough to look at me. His forehead presses to mine. His breath trembles.
“Sunshine…”
I don’t give him a chance to say more. I kiss him again—harder, deeper—pouring every ounce of fear and wanting and need into the press of my mouth against his. He meets me with equal force, lips parting against mine, tongue stroking mine in a slow, intoxicating dance that sends sparks shooting through me.
We lose ourselves like that—kissing and breathing and kissing again.
Slow, then desperate.
Gentle, then hungry.
Soft, then so intense it steals every thought from my head.
Time stops meaning anything. Minutes, maybe hours, fold into candlelight and heat and the sound of our breaths tangling.
My thighs tighten on either side of his. His hands grip my hips. Our mouths mold perfectly, over and over, until we’re nothing but sensation—heat, breath, want, lips, tongues, moans.
He pulls back only long enough to look at me—really look—his eyes dark, pupils blown, breath uneven.
“Miranda…” he whispers, voice wrecked with desire. “I don’t want to stop.”
I frame his face in my hands, steady and sure.
“Then don’t. Take me to bed.”
His inhale is sharp and reverent… and then he’s lifting me, carrying me through the candlelit dark.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
