by Sierra Hill
Threading my fingers through his hair, I cling desperately to him as my body reacts with eagerness to his kiss, his taste, and his touch. He tastes of wine, and mint, of past and present. He feels like a dream come true.
I’m almost drunk with pleasure from his kiss, when Miles slips a hand underneath my butt, cupping his palm and lifting me off the couch. He shifts back, and my knees sink into the cushion as I straddle him, my breasts practically flaunting themselves in his face.
Miles returns to deepen his kiss as his tongue explores my mouth, darting and toying with me, his hand burrowing underneath the front of my tank top, navigating and surveying the valley of my stomach. Each touch brings white-hot electrical surges to my core. He teases me with the soft strokes of his thumb around my belly, and my body quickly loses patience wanting him to touch me elsewhere.
I grind against the hard ridge in his pants, and he breaks off the kiss with a sexy chuckle.
“Something the matter, Button?”
His smug grin, contoured jawline, and fiery blue eyes appear perfectly calm and unaffected as if he’s relaxing on a Central Park bench on a leisurely Sunday afternoon. In fact, without the telltale sign of his erection pressing into my center or his heavier-than-normal breathing, I wouldn’t even know I turned him on.
But I’m like a live wire, ready to explode in desperation if he doesn’t touch me where I need him to ASAP.
My voice is breathless, and I pant out my demand, “Touch me, Miles. I need you to touch me.”
He tips his head back, fingers still gently caressing the sensitive skin above my pelvic bone, looking at me inquisitively.
“Tell me something first, Button. Do you remember that day when I caught you and Mel introducing yourselves to the fine art of blow jobs?”
Like an ice-cold bucket of water thrown over me, I rear back on his lap, my hands falling to his shoulders. That was one of the most humiliating moments of my life—being caught by the boy I crushed on giving a blow job to a banana.
Rolling my eyes to stave off mortification, I return this questioning look.
“Yeah, I do,” I demure. “You totally made fun of us and I was mortified you caught us. Why?”
He clears his throat, licking the corner of his mouth, his nostrils flaring slightly. His hips shift, nestling his cock firmly between my legs, as my thighs splay wider to allow more room.
“I probably shouldn’t admit this because it’ll make me sound like an absolute perv,” he admits, the top of his ears turning red.
An embarrassed Miles? Well, this is new and very cute.
I lift an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.
“I know I scolded you both harshly, but it was out of self-preservation to avoid being caught with the hard on I had for you. When I saw you, your red cherry lips wrapped around that banana, sucking it in and out of your mouth. . . well, let’s just say I had fantasies about that every night for the rest of that summer. And because I hated myself for it, I tried my best to ignore you, even though it was very difficult since you were always around.”
I think back to that summer, a pang to my heart, recalling the way Miles did exactly that. It tortured me to feel so invisible and overlooked by him. And when we did interact, Miles was overly brotherly.
I pinch my lips together and cross my arms in front of my chest. “Well, at least there’s a reason for it, and it makes sense now. But it hurt my sensitive adolescent feelings and really did a number on my self-confidence. It scared me for a long time, and I was afraid to give a blow job to a boy.”
A slow, apologetic smile turns up at the corners of his mouth, and he leans in, his lips grazing my ear as he kisses down my neck.
“I’m sorry about that. But I can’t say I’m not glad it kept you from getting busy with those stupid teenage boys.”
I choke out a laugh, and the confession falls easily from my lips. I peek up at him through my lashes. “It didn’t matter, anyway. I didn’t have any boyfriends in high school, mainly because no other boy could ever measure up to the only one I ever wanted. But I couldn’t have him.”
His lips stop at the base of my neck, breath fanning out in a whisper, teasing my sensitive skin.
“Oh yeah? Who was that?”
Placing my hands on his shoulders, I push him back so I can look into his eyes.
Shaking my head incredulously, I ask, “You seriously don’t know how bad I crushed on you?”
His blue eyes expand wide in surprise. “You did?”
I give him a mocking eye roll. “Oh my God, you were totally oblivious to me. You starred in every one of my teenage fantasies. I waited a long time, hoping you’d finally look twice at me, and you’d be my first.”
“I was a stupid, oblivious boy, and I want to apologize to your younger self,” he says, bending forward and kissing the tip of my nose. “But maybe there’s a way I can make it up to adult Sutton?”
Miles plants his mouth over mine, gently kissing me in ways I’d always dreamed he would. It’s surreal he’s touching and holding me now, after all the years of wanting and yearning.
But the past or the way he treated me then can’t define how I feel about him now.
He’s here and wants me now, and teenage Sutton is pretty damn happy by this spectacular and unexpected turn of events.
22
Miles
I don’t know what I expected when I came knocking on Sutton’s door tonight, but it wasn’t her ending up in my lap, confessing our teenage fantasies and kissing the fuck out of one another.
It shocks me to know there has always been this connection between us, even back when we were young and didn’t understand how hard life can be. When Mel was still alive. If she were here today, what would she think about Sutton and me? Would she want us to be together?
The thought has me reconsidering where this is going tonight. While I would love nothing more than to sink inside Sutton’s body and fuck her tonight, I also want to respect the fragile boundaries we’ve forged within our newly minted status and reunion. She also needs to understand that I’m no longer the guy she believes she once knew.
No, I’m definitely not that guy. He died a long time ago, right along with my sister.
I pull back and lift Sutton off my lap, setting her on the couch next to me. She seems confused as I swing an arm around her shoulder and pull her tenderly into my side. It feels unbelievably natural to hold her in my arms as if we’ve always been doing it.
I place a kiss on the top of her head, as she snuggles in tighter, raising her legs, so her heels are curled up under her butt.
“Sutton, we need to be clear on something. Or rather, I need to be clear.”
The statement has her tilting her head to look up at me inquisitively, her large green-gray orbs staring at me with warmth and unwavering trust.
“What is it?”
“We have a shared history, through Melodie, and that in and of itself binds us together. But just because we have a past, doesn’t mean we can have a future. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
I watch as her eyes narrow, growing darker in recognition and understanding.
She moves from my hold, staring down at her hands clasped on her lap.
“Not entirely, no. But it sounds like you’re getting ready to reject me by implying that you’re not the man I need or deserve.”
Taking her hand in mine, I thread my fingers through hers and squeeze.
“I want you, Sutton. But that’s exactly what I’m trying to say.”
I adjust myself so I can look her in the eyes, placing my finger under her chin to lift her gaze to meet mine.
“I like you, and I’m very attracted to you. But I don’t date. I don’t get involved with women long term, and I am not boyfriend material. I fuck, have a good time, and leave it at that. Button, I already know you are not cut out for no-strings-attached fucking.”
In reaction to my words, her fiery spirit kicks in, and she jumps off the couch, creating distance
between us. Damn it, I like that hot little temper of hers. I bet she’d be a hellcat in bed.
Sutton turns her contemptuous glare on me. “How dare you, Miles Thatcher. You didn’t even realize who I was less than twenty-four hours ago, and now you think you know me and my expectations on relationships and boyfriends, and no-strings-attached sex?”
She huffs, stomping past me toward the door, unlocking and opening it, pointing toward the hallway with a jab of her finger.
“Thanks for mansplaining how different we are and how much of a good girl you think I am. I appreciate the reminder of just what an arrogant, conceited ass you are and have always been.”
“Button—” I implore.
She raises her hand in protest and interrupts me, “Don’t, Miles. Please don’t try to placate or bullshit me. I’m tired, and it’s been a long day. Let’s just call it a night.”
God, I’ve fucked things up again. All I meant to do was ensure she knew what she was getting from me before jumping in. I didn’t mean to imply I knew her expectations or her desires for a relationship. But goddamn it, I know that’s how it was perceived.
Slowly rising to my feet, I walk toward the door, bending down to pat Blackie on the head when he brushes up against my leg for some attention.
Her posture is stiff, and she’ll probably smack me for it, but I lean down and kiss the top of Sutton’s head, and then the tip of her nose, and say, “I’m sorry I ruined this. That wasn’t my intent.”
She exhales sharply. “Intent or not, you made your opinion of me very clear. Goodnight.”
Sutton ushers me out with a press of her palm against my back, and if it wasn’t such a tense moment, I would’ve laughed at the boldness of her gesture.
She’s such a contradiction. Sweet and generous, as witnessed earlier today in her interactions with the kids at Holly’s Hope Place. Smart and witty, as I’ve discovered in our conversations and from what I’ve learned of her educational background. But, man, does this girl have pluck.
And now, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling rehashing it all, I wish I had Sutton’s strength and resolve. She doesn’t seem to allow setbacks to break her spirit. She just forges ahead.
Whereas I’m a fucking cowardly robot.
I’ve been stuck in the same rut for the past seven years, unable to move forward and scared to form any real relationships for fear of losing someone else that I love. But I know I could have someone like Sutton in my life if I’d be willing to move from this self-imposed spot and take a step into a new direction.
I’m not sure what’s worse at this point.
As I close my eyes, waiting desperately for sleep to come, I picture the image of Sutton floating on her back in the pool. Confidently knowing she wouldn’t sink, that she could easily kick and swim to propel herself if she began to drown.
I seem to do the exact opposite. I’m exhausted by all the flailing and treading of water I’ve done over the years, which only drags me deeper and deeper under the waterline.
The first thing I remember learning in lifeguard training was not to panic, take slow, easy breaths, and conserve energy.
Yet, all I’ve been doing for the past few years is wasting my time and my energy. Maybe it’s time I find a way to do more than just try to keep myself afloat.
Perhaps it’s not crazy to believe that my sister may have thrown me a life preserver from heaven when she sent Sutton Fuller back into my life.
23
Sutton
The timing of Ask Ida’s response is uncanny.
After waking from a fitful night’s sleep and making breakfast for Blackie, I sit down at my laptop to check my email and social media accounts. That’s when I see the emailed response.
My heart beats erratically as I click on the message icon to open up the email. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding in and begin to read, in hopes she’ll have some good advice for me on how to handle my strange situation with Miles.
Dear Forgotten Fool,
You’d recently asked what to do with the problem of the man you’ve known since childhood, a self-absorbed idiot who doesn’t remember kissing you. Not once, but twice. Whether it’s because of grief or just plain arrogance, one thing is clear. You are not the problem in this situation. He is.
While it’s true, he may still grieve over the loss he experienced (and grief is a very individualistic process), you should not feel compelled to help him. And as for how he’s treating you with such little regard, to that I say run, honey, run. If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around and wait for this man to hurt you again. You’re too important and your heart too deserving for the likes of that.
My best advice is to cut your losses now. If it was meant to be, he’ll come to that conclusion on his own. Until then, don’t be the forgotten fool, but be remembered for respecting yourself and forgetting about him, the real fool in this situation.
Sincerely,
Ida
The letter cuts deep from the blunt truth in her advice. I know I should heed her advice and just let Miles go. Letting him be so I can avoid the feeling of my heart ripping in two, like a massive crack across the Earth’s surface.
When I asked Miles to leave last night—okay, kicked him out is more like it—after what was by far the hottest make out session I’ve ever had, I wondered if I ought to check myself into a mental facility. Because that was all kinds of crazy what I did.
Sadly, the irony is that I was so ready to fall into bed with him.
I’ve wanted Miles for as long as I can remember, and I’d take him any way I could get him. And I’m not even remotely interested in a boyfriend or starting up a relationship. With one of the hardest parts of my educational endeavor coming up this fall, all I really want is something fun and someone to share the summer with.
And I want Miles.
But he ruined it by making assumptions about me and what he thinks I should want or need. If there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that if they believe there’s a problem to be solved, they dive in to fix it. Apparently, Miles thought I had a problem with just sex.
I finish my coffee and type out a text to Lucy.
Me: Guess what came in my email this morning?
She replies almost instantly.
Lucy: IDK. A discount for a lifetime supply of the little blue pill? Because that’s what J gets every day.
I snort loudly, startling Blackie, who lies at my feet, a little ball of white fur curled up under the kitchen table.
As far as summer jobs go, except for the hassle of tracking down Blackie the night of the fire alarm and having to deal with Miles, this has been a pretty great experience. I’m sadly counting down the days when Graham and Soraya return from their trip. It doesn’t hurt their apartment is amazing and offers the best amenities of any apartment I’ve ever been in.
Which reminds me I need to look for another place for the fall, so I don’t have to crash with Ben any longer than necessary.
Me: Mmm, not that. But something very titillating for sure. A response from Ask Ida.
Lucy: Ooh. . . tell me everything!
Me: I’ll read it to you today during my shift.
I can see her stewing over this, even though we’re miles apart.
Lucy: You’re a brat for making me wait. But actually, I wanted to remind you that we’re taking A in for his appointment today. Please pray for good news.
That’s right. Lucy mentioned last week they were taking her son in for an appointment with a physician at the children’s hospital. They’re going to run tests to see if they can identify the cause of his stomach problems.
Me: Of course. Do you need me to come in early? I’m not doing anything until my shift. Just apartment hunting.
Lucy: No, no. Camilla will open. No rush.
Me: Okay. Well, lots of prayers, and I’ll fill you in on the Ask Ida email later after you tell me how the appointment went. Love ya.
Lucy: Gracias. Talk to you soon, mi amiga.
I s
et the phone down on the table and sigh. Lucy has been such a phenomenal boss to me, and subsequently, a good friend. Everything about the way she handles and balances her business, her staff, and her family amazes me. But I know she’s worried about her son, Antonio, and I want to be there for her if I can.
I stand and pick up my breakfast dishes, heading toward the kitchen when my phone buzzes again with a text. Assuming it’s Lucy once again, I set the dishes down and pick up the phone.
But it’s an unknown number.
Unknown: Care for a swim?
I can only assume it’s Miles, even though I haven’t given him my number. He must have gotten it from Graham, or maybe even Ben.
Staring at the phone, I deliberate whether I should or shouldn’t reply. And if I reply, what I should say and do.
But he doesn’t give me a chance to answer because there’s a knock on the door.
“Sutton? Are you awake?”
Blackie trots to the door, sniffing at the base, wagging his white tail with excitement and then gives a bark of delight.
I give him a mutinous glare. “Traitor.”
Miles chuckles on the other side. “I can hear you, ya know.”
Much to my chagrin, my eagerness to see Miles beats out my determination to remain grounded in my anger, and I disarm the security systems and open the latches on the door, swinging it open.
Only to come face-to-face with a gigantic floral arrangement. It’s so big that it hides Miles’s face, which is too bad because I’d really like to see it.
“What’s this about?” I ask, peering around the bouquet to see the bluest of blue eyes and a humorous smile, and my heart stupidly speeds up.
“Granny once told me that men do dumbass things that make girls either spitting mad or brokenhearted sad.”
The mention of his grandmother has me wondering how she is doing. The last time I saw her was at Melodie’s funeral, and then she stopped by my graduation party that spring, in honor of Mel.
