She’d had coffee with Milo many, many times in her weeks in the city, but she’d never seen him fresh out of bed.
He was a morning person, dressed and ready for the day as she scrolled through no fewer than ten texts from Logan, each more desperate to apologize than the last.
Milo sat on the couch, reading emails on his laptop. A pair of thick black glasses rested on his nose.
“Morning, Clark,” she said, passing through the living room. He chuckled.
“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” he said.
She rounded the counter, touching the petals on the sunflowers she’d brought him the day before. There was already a mug for her next to the coffee maker.
“What’s on the schedule today?” she asked, sitting across from him in the worn leather chair Matty usually claimed.
He glanced at his screen. “Meetings most of the day. Sara mentioned something about pickleball, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see Logan after last night…”
“Not particularly,” Hanna mused. “I have back-to-back calls until lunchtime. I can run and grab us something if you’re slammed?”
Milo smiled. “Can we please go back to that sandwich shop that did you dirty last week for redemption? I promise they don’t usually fuck up.”
Hanna rolled her eyes. “If there are pickles on mine again, I’m eating yours.”
“Deal,” he said, typing fervently.
“I’ll have to talk to Logan at some point today,” she said, pulling at a loose tendril from her bun. “And then… I guess I’m just waiting for you to let me suck your dick.”
Milo coughed, pushing his laptop away from him.
“I can be direct, too,” Hanna said.
Milo checked the time on his phone. “I’ve got twenty minutes.”
Before he finished the sentence, she dropped to her knees, his legs spreading as she ran her hands over his thighs.
“Nope,” he said, pulling her chin up to face him. “I need a little romance first.” Hanna laughed, surprised that the doesn’t do relationships guy was also the needs to be sweet-talked guy. She climbed over his lap, settling comfortably into him as his hands wandered her back. “Will I ever get my shirt back?” he asked.
“Looks better on me,” she breathed, rolling her hips forward and running her fingers over his neck. She knew from the night before that he liked a little pressure there, and the widening of his eyes as she squeezed his throat only reconfirmed his preference.
“Looks best on the floor,” he mumbled, pulling at the buttons. “I need to see those tits again, Arizona. I thought about them all night.”
Hanna shrugged his shirt over her head, glad that her no-bra plotting paid off. He dropped to her chest immediately, his tongue circling every inch of flesh as he hardened under her. His hand slipped under her shorts, teasing the skin of her hips as she moaned into his mouth.
She rolled her hips against his again, a hiss escaping his lips.
“Romanced enough?” she whispered.
“No,” he rumbled, his mouth catching hers. Her experience might have been limited, but she was certain no man on Earth kissed better than Milo. It was like he had some sort of venom dripping from his tongue, not crafted to kill, but to daze. Her head swirled as he parted her lips, coffee and peppermint blending into an intoxicating potion. He pushed up into her, the romance clearly taking effect.
Hanna slipped down his body as he lifted his hips and shimmied his pants and boxers off, tossing them onto the couch.
If he’d been a boyfriend, or even a potential boyfriend, Hanna might have spent more time teasing him and working him up, but that was one of the perks of their arrangement. It was about getting him off, not getting him hooked on her. Hanna stroked him twice, getting her bearings, before eagerly taking him into her mouth.
She’d thought about it as she drifted to sleep the night before—what he might taste like. What he might sound like on the edge of ruin. And par for the course, Milo did not disappoint.
“Shit, Hanna,” Milo gasped, his hand wrapping around her hair and pulling as her tongue circled him. She shoved him deeper, addicted to the way his forearm flexed as he pushed her gently, setting the rhythm that worked best for him.
She watched the ink on his arm pulse and relax in time with her movements, his muffled moans growing in volume. The sound sent a fire through her—Logan had always been so quiet. She never knew if he was enjoying it or not. But Milo made no mystery about it, throwing his head back onto the couch and rasping filthy commentary to her increasing speed. She tucked her free hand between her legs, riding against herself at the insistence of her body. She couldn’t resist the need for friction as he mumbled something about how well she took him.
“God, are you touching yourself?” Milo asked, his head snapping toward her. She moaned around him, her eyes locked on his.
