She patted my arm and called the elevator, just as Michaels arrived sans bags. “Going up or down?” she asked brightly, and I was glad to hear him thank her and ask how she was doing as I walked away. It seemed like a good sign, since Miles had said the old team had humoured her more than respected her.
When Miles let me back in, he was still on the phone. “Yeah, that’s why I want to do it,” he said, holding the door open for me. “I just need options.”
Once the door swung closed, he turned the phone away from his mouth and leaned in, planting a soft kiss on my lips, while on the other end of the line a woman’s tinny voice said, “and once I’ve reviewed all the paperwork, we can organise a call to discuss different directions.”
“Thank you,” Miles said, and having exchanged farewells, he ended the call and dropped the phone unceremoniously onto the couch. “Finally,” he murmured and slid his hands into my hair, kissing me hungrily. “That was not the welcome I had planned for you, but once again I failed to take your unpredictability into account.”
“What? You sent me your room number, so I came.”
“Straight away! Most people would play it cool, take their time, keep me waiting a little, you know? Not you.”
I shrugged. “Why wait? I know what I want, and I don’t mind you knowing it’s you.”
“Damn,” he said, eyes widening. “The things you come out with.”
While he kissed a line along my brow, I gestured to the phone. “Everything go all right with your parents?”
“As well as could be expected.”
When he kissed down my cheek and along my jaw, giving no sign he intended to expand on this, I said, “That’s it?”
He sighed, straightening up to look at me. “What else is there to say? My dad shouted, because that’s what he does. Then my mother used her placating croon, because that’s whatshedoes, calling me baby and telling me she’ll fix everything until I feel like some overwrought toddler. And when that didn’t work, they fell back on tears and guilt trips about all they’ve done for me.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry, it got worse. Because when they realised none of their usual tricks were working, they found a way to spin my choice to hire Cam as their own brilliant idea. It was the best I was going to get when I needed them to sign off on the funds, but now they’re determined to use the opening to choose my new coach. It’s going to be a fucking mess if they hire someone without telling me, because either I put up with it, or I fire them right away – not the sort of talk I want spreading around the tour.”
The answer to how much his parents controlled sounded increasingly like literally everything. I blew out a heavy breath. “That’s shit.”
Miles laughed softly. “Yeah. Always has been, always will be. But I’m working on it, so don’t worry. And Cam’s a steal. He was down in Bradenton for a few years, taking time away from the tour after Jack Worthing retired, but he’s ready to—”
“I’m sorry, hold on, how could your parents possibly object to a physio who used to work forJack Worthing?”
With a frustrated sigh, Miles spread his arms. “Because he’s a Democrat? Because he’s Choctaw? Because he doesn’t hate queers? Take your pick. Or maybe because they can’t control him since his name carries its own weight in this business. Especially when any other player would employ him in a heartbeat, so he doesn’t need their money.” He let his arms fall, and after a moment of chewing on his own anger, he stepped close again, hands sliding down my back. “They are awful, but you are a delight and I resent losing a day with you to them. You did promise to make it up to me though.” His hands reached my arse and he squeezed with a suggestive little groan.
He was doing his thing, escaping difficult emotions by pushing toward sex. Had it been more pressing, I might have stopped him, but forcing him to talk more right now wouldn’t solve this particular problem – his parents a hurt I needed to peck at slowly. And in between, I could be his escape.
“So I did,” I said, kissing the underside of his jaw. “And it just so happens that I have an idea. You stay here.” Pulling from his hold, I headed for the bathroom.
Over the last couple of months, I had slowly learned what he liked, sometimes even tucking away little hints for later use. He’d once made horny comments about my clinging tennis whites during Wimbledon, and so I’d taken a risk and shown up all in white. I turned the shower on.
“What are you doing?” Miles called.
“Nothing,” I called back, and stopping only to kick off my shoes and socks, stepped fully-clothed into the shower. It felt very silly, but it didn’t take long for the fabric to soak through, sticking to my skin. I shut the water off, squeezed out the hem of both shorts and shirt so they wouldn’t drip, and stepped out. A glance in the mirror was enough to satisfy me that I’d achieved the desiredeffect – shirt transparent and clinging, shorts so wet they were riding up, and my dark hair stuck to my forehead like I’d been out in a storm.
I walked out, nerves thrumming, but any fear he would laugh at me faded as his eyes widened and he bit his lower lip. “Holyfuck,” he groaned. “You are something else. I want to frame you.”
While he stared, I lifted a hand to the back of my neck—not deliberately posing but notnotdeliberately posing—and he almost wailed, “How are you like this? I can’t decide whether I most want someone to realise thatthisis absolutely the way to photograph you for a horny magazine spread, or for no one else to ever see this. It’s your tan skin against the white and the way it shows off your waist and your shoulders, and the way your hair—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I want to fuck you and look at you from here at the same time.”
“Sadly, you have to make a choice,” I said, trying to hide how gratifying this was.
“Take your dick out.”
Happy to obey, I left a lock of wet hair falling over one eye, and hitched my hardening cock out of my shorts to stroke it.
“Oh my god,” Miles said, leaning back against the sideboard. “How are you mine?”
“I wonder that about you every day.”
