Miles runs his black hair under the water, allowing it to slick back before pressing his mouth against mine. His need is infectious. He laps his tongue across mine, and he bites my lip.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters before licking my jawline. “I couldn’t wait.”
I chuckle. Fine by me.
The shower stall isn’t built for two people, but Miles doesn’t want to separate more than a few inches at a time, so it makes little difference. He kisses my neck and trails his lips down to my chest. I lean back into the corner and spread my legs enough for him to get in between. His hands run the length of my slick body as he gets down on his knees.
I weave my fingers through his wet hair, and he practically purrs, desperate for contact.
“Play with yourself,” I say between husky breaths.
I’m hard. I’ve been hard ever since Miles stepped into the stall with me. But the swelling gets painful when he stares up at me with an intense yet playful look. He slides his tongue along my length, and I have to brace my feet against the walls in order to prevent myself from collapsing. The running water only adds to the sensation, and I shudder, caught off guard by the pleasure.
I twist my hand into a fist, pulling on his hair and forcing him close. “Enough games,” I growl. “Take me in your mouth.”
Miles is usually compliant, but when he wraps his mouth around me this time, it’s slow and featherlight. He glances up at me, giving me the same look as before.
If we weren’t in this narrow-ass stall, I would throw him down and fuck him, but as it stands, I’m too caught up in the gratification to walk. Instead I hold him close and buck with my hips, eager to feel the tight grip of his throat. He’s strong enough to resist and holds back from giving me what I want.
I tilt my head back and let my jaw go lax, allowing water to brush along my lips and tongue. I close my eyes and continue thrusting, my mind consumed by the need for relief. Miles picks up his pace, moaning once or twice from his own handiwork.
The heat from the shower couples with the heat of Miles’s mouth to create a hot potency that I haven’t experienced in a while. I hear my own moans echoing throughout the bathroom, but I’m so lost to the moment I don’t remember making them.
Miles sucks hard and groans, his orgasm evident in his stiff posture and trembling grip on my hip. The tension in my body builds to the point it’s unbearable before releasing in one powerful moment. I seize up and unload my seed into Miles’s mouth—which he swallows—before sliding down the wall of the shower into a sitting position, Miles kneeling between my thighs.
I take a few seconds to breathe. Miles laughs and leans his head into my shoulder.
“You taste good,” he says.
“Fantastic,” I reply between pants.
He scoots forward and braces himself over me, the water blocked by his body as he locks lips with mine. Despite having just come, I feel his semihard cock pressed against my leg.
Miles breaks our kiss and stares at me, his gaze a little too hungry for someone who should be satisfied. He looms over me, leering like he enjoys what he sees.
“Pierce,” he whispers, his tone low, “I wanna fuck you.”
I grit my teeth. “No.”
“Afraid you’ll enjoy it?”
“I’m not into it. Now get up.”
Miles stands and holds out a hand. I take it and he pulls me up, but my legs threaten to buckle. He leans me against the wall and hands the shampoo over, content to go about his routine of washing as though that’s what we had been doing the entire time.
“Do you think you’ll ever want to try it again?” he asks, soap running down his sculpted body like he’s in a goddamn commercial. “Being the bottom, I mean.”
I’m open with my staring, and Miles seems to enjoy it. He’s got a tattoo on his leg—a phoenix done in solid black, with the tail starting at the knee and the wings ending on his hip. It’s a nice design. Nicer on him.
I stop myself in order to wash. “What’s got you into this all of a sudden?”
“Well… I want to know what it feels like.”
I glance over and meet his gaze. I keep forgetting I’m the only one he’s ever been with. A small piece of me feels guilty, like I’m limiting his possibilities, but another piece of me knows I don’t want to give him up. But I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk about it.
My phone rings, the beeps muffled by my pants pocket. I step out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor, and amble over to my slacks. In one quick motion, I scoop up my clothing and dig out my phone.
Shelby.
I let the thing go to voicemail. I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk to him either.
Miles turns off the shower, and I glance over my shoulder at him. “We’ll discuss this some other time.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE MIDAFTERNOON sun is marred only by the occasional cloud overhead. The fleeting shadows are nice. I loathe working in the harshness of unabated light.
And I also loathe this fucking garden.
I throw down my hand spade and glare at the myriad of dead plants scattered throughout my elevated garden box. Seven and half months ago, when we moved into this shithole, I decided I would try my hand at domestic life. Gardening seemed easy then. I even bought a goddamn book on the subject.
But nothing works.
