“Your turn to come to me, Miles.”
His hands fall to hang by his sides, his chest snapping up and down.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back, palms out, as I offer up the last thing I can. My trust.
For the longest time my life was stained by the pain and lies of my father. Wayne. Mama has taught me to reserve my trust, to hold it close to my heart. To stay safe. It’s the last thing I’m releasing, the reservations and fear I have, conscious and unconscious.
He steps toward me, and I breathe through each lungful like they are counting time and space. Something thuds on the floor in front of me before warmth, hands, and huffy breaths engulf my face.
“I will always come to you, London. Every damn time, beautiful.”
I drop my chin and open my eyes to find his big blue eyes, his jaw flexing, and his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Always, okay?”
My throat thickens, but I manage, “Okay.”
“Fuck, baby, you have me in every way.”
“Good,” I breathe.
“Good.”
“Now you’re in charge.” The words are threadbare.
But I don’t need to explain myself or repeat them. He gets it.
“You sure? This is the one thing I have little control over, London.”
“I’m dying for it,” I utter, closing my eyes and exposing my throat to him.
His hand closes over my thundering pulse and heat flares in my core.
“Christ,” he rasps. “Bedroom, baby.”
I open my eyes and pin his gaze when I reply, “Yes sir.”
I’m whisked off the floor and into a carry hold we use on scene. But I can’t wait. I can’t be that far away from him. I grip his face and drag his mouth down to mine. Eyes closed, I groan as we run straight into a wall before Miles curses and reroutes, eyes on the bedroom as I nip and suck his lips.
We’re a frenzy of hands, limbs, and heaving breaths as we tumble onto the mattress.
I reach for him again, and he grunts, “Not this time.”
I’m flipped onto my stomach before he drags my hips up, my ass canted in the air and close to the edge of the bed. My aching nipples drag over the duvet, and I whimper.
“Please, Miles. Please.”
His fingers find my clit. I bury my face into the duvet and release a moan that should rattle the windows.
“Fucking dripping for me, London. Look at these pretty thighs, all slick with your need.”
I turn my head back until I meet his gaze. “Ruin me.”
He leans down, bundling my messy locks in one hand. “Yes ma’am.”
My thighs are nudged wider and the tip of his cock presses against my entrance. And just that is enough to make my mouth water, a strangled sound slipping through my lips.
“There’s no going back for us, London. This is it for me. You’re it.”
