And I never thought—never—what if the other guy isn’t satisfied?
Jesus Christ, is that what I’m worried about? Whether or not Miles will….
I enter the bathroom and turn on the shower as I try to clear my thoughts. With awkward motions I remove my contact and rip off the bandages on my arm, careful about the multitool underneath. I huff and step into the cold water. I’ve got to prep if I’m going to play bitch—at least, if I’m going to do it right.
I lean against the shower stall wall and curse at myself. What’s my problem? I hate the tight feeling in my chest. I never felt this way with Jeremy. Hell, I didn’t feel anything at all with Jeremy. I don’t know if I’d prefer that or not.
Without any haste in my actions, I clean myself. The water goes from cold, to hot, to warm, to cold again before I exit the stall. I dry myself off and hesitate when dressing—what’s the point?—but opt for slacks and a wifebeater.
Refreshed and ready, I amble out to the kitchen and light up one of my last two cigarettes I have stashed away. The burn of the smoke eases my doubt. I exhale, take a seat at the table, and switch on the television, though I don’t give it my full attention. I just want the noise and dim lighting.
A pair of hands slides over my shoulders and down my chest. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, getting my muscles stiff and ready for a fight, but I relax the second I realize it’s Miles. He wraps his arms around me as he brings his mouth to bear on my neck.
“When did you get in?” I ask, tilting my head to the side to allow Miles more access to my flesh.
“While you were in the shower,” he replies in a slow and husky tone. His tongue laps against my skin as he gently bites down.
I switch off the television and take a long drag on my cigarette. “You have fun?”
“Yeah. But all I could think about was getting home to you.”
“Heh.”
He chuckles while he drags his mouth up my ear. The warmth of his body and breath get my heart rate up. “Pierce,” he whispers, gruff and forceful. “You can struggle or you can enjoy it, but either way, I’m fucking you tonight.”
Heat sluices through me the moment Miles finishes his statement.
I stand, flick my cigarette into the sink, and then turn around to face him. The gloom is thick without the brightness of the television, but I don’t give a shit. There’s enough light to see what I want.
I grab Miles and slam him onto his back on the kitchen table, nearly shattering the thing. He gasps in surprise when I get between his legs and pin his arms above his head. With powerful need, I lean down and bite the base of his neck, enjoying the taste of him as I rip open his pants, breaking the button in the process.
He’s hard—fully ready to go and straining his boxers—and tilts his head back with a soft moan. I laugh as I open his button-up shirt. “That’s it?” I ask. “That’s all you got?”
Miles snaps his attention to me, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I know you enjoy taking it, but I thought you’d try a little harder to play top, especially after all your pleading.”
He stares at me for a short moment while I pull up his undershirt. I like feeling his hot skin, and I can’t stop myself from running my free hand down his body.
Miles gets rigid under my touch. “I thought this was your way of saying you changed your mind. That you’d rather not be—”
“You came in here talkin’ like you were gonna force me,” I interject with a smirk. “But by your lack of fight, I’d say this is what you secretly wanted all along.” I get in close and run my teeth along his jawline. “If you want me to be rough, all you had to do was ask.”
“Is that what this is?” he says between low and husky breaths. “One of us is going to force the other?”
“I’d say one of us already did.”
I go to pull down his pants, but Miles brings his foot up, plants it on my hip, and then shoves. I stagger back a few feet as he slides off the table and straightens his clothes. The quiet shadows of our house drown in humid tension, and my skin’s already dappled with sweat.
It’s a good thing his siblings aren’t here. I doubt this’ll end quiet.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MILES LUNGES, much to my surprise—I didn’t think he’d be this quick to force—and we stumble into the living room. I twist and slam him into the nearest wall, rocking the end table by the front door. He grabs the collar of my shirt and shoves me onto the couch, but I move aside when he comes close and knock him to the cushions.
The legs of the couch scratch the wood floor as the piece of furniture slides around with the force of our struggle. I attempt to get up as Miles wraps an arm around my neck and pulls back. We knock over the couch and hit the floor, which loosens Miles’s grip, and I spin around enough to wrench myself free.
I get to my feet and shove Miles while he tries to stand, sending him back into the kitchen on all fours. I get up behind him and torque his arm around, forcing it up along his spine. He half cries out,
