I don’t want Miles to have to deal with anxiety or panic attacks. I don’t want anything to be hard on him. He’s had too much of that in his life. But I also can’t describe what it does to me that he trusts me, that I can help, that being with me calms him, even if it’s only because I know how to help him focus.
He’s stiff when I wrap an arm around him, but then he relaxes against me, head on my shoulder, letting me in. I give him some time, knowing I’ll have to be the one to start theconversation, so when I think he’s doing better, I say, “If you didn’t want me to do the auction, you could have told me.”
“I didn’t know I didn’t want you to do it until it was time. And then it got even worse because Brady clearly wanted you, and he’s so fucking perfect, everything someone like you should have…”
“I don’t want him. Maybe perfect isn’t my thing.”
He pulls away and looks at me, making me realize how that sounded.
“You know what I mean. I’m not saying you’re not perfect—”
“I’m not.”
“No one is.” I shrug. “He’s not my type, though. I like assholes with a secret heart of gold who would risk the wrath of the law and the frats to be there for a friend…and also has a great dick, knows how to work it, and makes me want to be his good boy.”
That pulls a small smile out of him, like I hoped it would.
“Even if I come with red flags? Because I really wanted to beat his ass for even looking at you,” he admits.
Is that healthy? Probably not. Does it make my dick twitch? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“But you didn’t. You bid a thousand dollars on me instead.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. Yeah, I can’t believe he did that either.
“I guess I own you now,” he says.
“You already did. Want to know a secret?”
“I think I’m due that, at the very least,” he jokes, and I chuckle.
“You’re the one I wanted to go on a date with anyway.” Maybe I didn’t realize it until I was standing on that stage, but it’s true. After last night, hell, the past few weeks, spending time with him, the way he helped when I was feeling like shit becauseof my dad…the way he fucks me… I’ve been falling for him for a while. “So you didn’t have to waste a thousand dollars on me.”
“It goes to a good cause, so it’s not really wasting.”
He’s right, and I love that he’s the one to mention it. “Good point.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and then his hand is on my neck. I shiver at the touch. God, I love the feel of him, how dominant and fucking sexy he is. “You’re mine,” he says, and though it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him yes, I’m his, I don’t. Not yet.
“You have to do one thing for me first,” I tell him.
“Who said you get to make the rules?”
Fuck. Why is that so hot? Why does everything he says or does feel like so much more? “Just this once,” I tell him. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
“Unfortunately, I seem to like everything about you.”
I laugh. “Unfortunately?”
“Eh. It’s not ideal.”
No, it’s really not. “But I like it.”
“I like it too,” he says. “What do you want?”
“Well, I know you just paid a thousand dollars to date me and everything, but if we’re going to be boyfriends now—”
“Who said anything about boyfriends?”
