“It wasn’t because of you and me. It was what I asked you to do on callouts. Ignoring Schmiddy’s orders. That’s what Cap reprimanded me for. I’m on a desk until further notice.”
What?
“Tell him it was for our safety. He?—”
“I tried. He won’t budge on this. So...”
“So, if he doesn’t know about us, then?”
“Then you and me aren’t the problem. Not yet.”
I huff a disbelieving sound, and a crooked half smile grows over his face.
“Yet,” I breathe.
Air cycles through my lungs in choppy, shallow puffs.
He closes the space between us, and I press a palm to his chest. His forehead drops to mine. “I can’t breathe without you, London. This week has been hell, only seeing you from a distance. Knowing you’re in Schmiddy’s hands on every single callout is eating me fucking alive.”
Oh, Miles.
I cup his face with both hands and pause, making sure his attention is on me before I say, “I am not going to do a thing that will put me or any of our crew in danger, I promise you. I will be alright. Okay?”
He groans, his hands sliding under my ass as he hauls me to his hips. I hunt his mouth with my own, and when his tongue slides over mine, I whimper. Heat floods my core as his hands push and pull over my body as he moves for the bedroom.
The city lights out the bay window near the small writing desk in his room shine their neon and glitter over every wall, every surface they can find. It’s like a brilliant rainbow of need. Heat. Desire. Soft sounds that become more rapid, more desperate.
Lowering me so my feet find the floor, he pulls my jacket off, tossing it. The T-shirt is off next, then my jeans and underwear. He hauls his shirt from his back and steps out of his sweats.
He leans over and sweeps the items on the desk to the floor. Warm palms knead my ass before I’m lifted onto the desk. Fingers clawing at his shoulders as he devours my mouth, I send my hands into his hair.
His cock presses against my wet center and the throb he started in that very spot flares.
“Beautiful, I need to be inside you, yester-fuckin-day.”
“What the hell are you waiting for?” I cry.
He slams into me.
My back arches, head hitting the glass as I whimper. My hands leave his hair and grab the window frame as the desk wobbles with every punishing thrust.
“God, Miles.”
His wrecked, pained face is shattering my heart.
The way he needs me. How it’s strangling him, sending him spiraling as I clench around him.
“Don’t you ever take an order you can’t walk out of, you hear me?” His voice breaks.
I’m shaking my head, tears burning the back of my eyes.
“Promise me, London.” He picks up the pace, sending his thumb ghosting over my clit.
Oh fuck.
“I—I . . . promise. Miles, I promise.”
Arms reaching for me, he pulls me from the window, wrapping his body around me as he lays down rough, messy kisses over my face, my neck. Every thrust is sloppier than the last as a groan strangles his throat.
