by Sierra Hill
Miles: Oh, you meant food. My bad. I had something else in mind for you to eat.
My shoulders shake from my laughter as I read his naughty text, as another one comes in right after.
Miles: Just kidding. Sort of. I’ll be by in thirty minutes with Chinese. That good?
Me: Both sound delicious.
I insert a smiley face and an eggplant emoji for good measure because Miles brings out both the naughty girl in me and the one that is just ecstatic to have him back in my life in this manner.
It’s crazy to think how time can change people. Seven years ago, as Miles pointed out, I didn’t possess the maturity or meet the age requirement to be with a twenty-three-year-old man. It would’ve been wrong, regardless of the circumstances.
But now that I’m an adult, things are different. The relationship can be different. And we can start something that might lead into something longer-term.
It dawns on me that Graham and Soraya will be returning home soon. I check the calendar on the wall, and sure enough, they’ll be returning on Wednesday of this week. I need to confirm with Ben that I can move in again until I can find a new place, either with roommates or an inexpensive apartment of my own.
A pang in my heart ripples and quakes, and I swallow down my sadness. It’ll be weird not seeing Miles every day, whether by chance or planned meet-up. I’ve become used to having him knock on my door in the mornings to head downstairs for a swim or workout. Or a walk in the park with him and Blackie in the late evenings, before climbing into one of our beds and fooling around before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
Miles is everything I’d ever thought he would be as a boyfriend, and the guy I’d always dreamed of being with.
Yet I feel there is a loose strand of yarn threatening to unravel the woven fabric of this thing building between us. Miles has admitted to not dating or having a single lasting relationship since he was in high school. What does that mean for me? For us?
Perhaps I’m romanticizing our affair between us due to my longstanding feelings for Miles. The fascination over him, the crush I’ve harbored for years with all the wanting and yearning to be with him.
To be someone to Miles other than a fling or a fuck buddy.
To be someone special in his eyes.
35
Miles
As I wait for the Chinese takeout, sitting in a God-awful, orange plastic chair, I type out a quick text to Graham.
Me: Hey, buddy. Just checking in again. Hope you’re enjoying your last few days of rest and relaxation.
I get an immediate reply.
Graham: Consensus is “We’re never coming home.” So, I’ll start the paperwork to sell you the business.
My loud snorting chuckle garners curious glances from the other three patrons hanging out in the small restaurant waiting for their orders. A sidelong look from an elderly woman makes me want to laugh louder, but I tamp down the need to annoy her and clamp my lips together and return the text.
Me: Gladly. Any day. And let’s face it, I’m the far better choice. You’re a lazy ass.
An image appears on my phone, and this time I can’t help my laughter. It’s Graham, lying on a lounge chair, hat pulled down to shade his eyes, a beer bottle in his clasped hand, and his bare chest sunburned like a cooked lobster.
Me: Jesus, dude. Ever hear of SPF?
Graham: (Flipping the bird emoji)
Graham: That was from last week. I’m back to a nice tan again. But I have to say, not terribly excited about returning. How’s my dog-sitter doing? You checked in on her lately?
I make a coughing sound, clearing the reluctance that sits in my throat to mention anything. But it’s Graham, and he won’t give a shit, especially when he finds out the circumstances involving Sutton’s and my relationship.
My fingers tap across my phone.
Me: Funny you should mention. . .
Graham: I knew it! You tapped that, didn’t you? Mofo. Just couldn’t resist the temptation, could you?
Me: It’s a weird story. I finally learned why she seemed so familiar to me. She was Melodie’s best friend.
Because I’ve known Graham since grad school, he is very aware of what happened to my family and Mel’s death. In fact, had it not been for Graham, I’m not sure I could’ve gotten back on track after returning to school. As it was, it took me months to return to some semblance of normal and get my study habits and grades back to where they were prior to Mel’s funeral.
Graham: You were that oblivious not to recognize her? You are a self-absorbed asshat, you know that, right?
Miles: You don’t know the half of it. But yeah, she’s not the same girl I once knew.
Three dots appear and then disappear as if he’s consulting with his Ask Ida expert slash wife to help him dictate his note.
Finally, his response pops up, and it’s a bit unnerving because it hits too close to home.
Graham: Be careful there. She’s young and you’re not. Just be clear of your expectations so you don’t hurt her.
Graham: This is Soraya, btw. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
I knew it! I figured any relationship advice or comments would automatically be pawned off on his wife.
Me: Appreciate the advice, Ida. Safe travels home. See you all soon.
It will be nice to have them back in town. While I see Graham every day in the office, and some nights during impromptu happy hours, I don’t often get a chance to hang with Soraya. Being the third wheel around those two lovebirds is enough to drive a guy nuts. But they are a great couple and one that I hope I can spend more time with if things continue with Sutton.
While I’m still not interested in a relationship, I’ve rather enjoyed dating and getting to know Sutton as an adult these past weeks. I can see things progressing further, as long as she understands I’m not boyfriend material or a man that’s going to offer her marriage.
The husband and father role model I had in my life taught me one big lesson: don’t get married or have children. And don’t, under any circumstances, take on the role of stepfather.
None of that is anywhere on my Top 100 things to do in the next ten years.
Or maybe ever.
36
Sutton
“Oh my God, this is so delicious.” The moan I give after the first bite of my orange chicken would make even the highest-rated porn star blush.
And it garners a sexy eyebrow quirk from my dinner date.
Miles and I sit cross-legged on the floor in the breakroom, a term I use loosely since it doubles as the stock room, with a small mini fridge, a microwave on a stand, and a coffee maker on a makeshift platform. We sit, slurping up noodles, fried rice, and the most melt-in-your-mouth orange chicken I’ve ever tasted.
It could also be out of this world for the sheer fact that I haven’t eaten since breakfast and that I’m sharing it with Miles.
He wipes a napkin over his lips and the corners of his mouth lift in a sly grin. “You keep moaning like that, and I’m going throw you over that pile of boxes over there and have my way with you.”
“Mmm, that sounds good too. But let me finish this first.”
Miles shakes his head and laughs, reaching over and plucking a piece of chicken from my plate with his chopsticks. I quickly engage my own, wielding them like a sword, to prevent him from stealing any more. He laughs and raises his hands in surrender.
“Aggressive, much?”
I lift my shoulders and shove some greasy noodles in my mouth, slurping the slippery goodness through my lips and tilting my head in victory over not spilling a bit. My chopsticks skills are not up to par, at least not like they are for Miles.
“How are you so good with these?” I ask, waving around the wooden chopsticks between us.
Miles scoops up some rice, adding some vegetables, and takes a giant bite, as I watch his strong jaw work as he chews.
He follows his bite with a sip of water from the bottle, my eyes glued to the way his Adam’s appl
e bobs and moves as he swallows it down. How can eating be such a turn-on? It feels like a flip has been switched in me, and I’ve become ravenous for sex.
When I’m not with Miles, I’m thinking about what we’ve done together in bed, or what he will be doing to me. And when he’s present, it’s all I can do to restrain myself from tearing off my clothes and begging him to do wicked things to me.
His knowing grin, and the way his tongue rolls over his bottom lip, tells me he has a pretty good inkling what I’m thinking about.
“Right after grad school, and before I went to work for Graham, I took a month and traveled to Asia. The culture always intrigued me, and I had a good friend at Yale, Ming Su, that grew up in China, and her family still lived there. They were gracious enough to let me stay with them for a few weeks, and it was fascinating and beautiful. I learned a lot from their culture, and I think it helped. . .”
I glance up from my takeout container to find Miles staring off over my shoulder, lost in thought.
“It helped to get away from your grief for a while?”
His eyes flick back to mine, lips compressed tightly as he nods. “Yeah, that. And it kept the memories at bay and helped me find my will to live again. I took up some Tai Chi practices and learned some of the Buddhist monks' philosophies. It was pretty powerful stuff.”
“That sounds cool. Do you still practice?”
His head drops, shaking it as he spears another vegetable piece. “Nah, I don’t. I really should, though.”
“When I lived with my friend, Christiana, we, along with our friend, Taylor, would attend yoga classes twice a week. More if we had time. I think we pile on so much in our heads from everyday life that we become polluted with negative energy and emotional baggage, and it manifests as toxins in our body. We need those outlets to detox our bodies to free ourselves from it all, you know?”
“I agree,” he nods, setting his food aside and moving to his hands and knees to crawl to where I sit. “You know what other physical activity works great for reducing stress?”
I giggle when he leans in and bites my neck, licking a swath of skin underneath my ear.
Without even a look, he removes the container and utensils from my hands, setting them aside, and covers me with his body, as he lies me down on the floor.
Staring up into his gorgeous eyes, I quirk a smile. “No, but I bet you’re about to educate me on that option.”
With one hand propping him up over me, he slips his other hand between us, lifting the material of my skirt, brushing his knuckles over my sensitive thighs.
A shiver runs down my spine, goosebumps breaking out over my skin, as his mouth latches to my neck, sucking a path down my chest and his fingers simultaneously work their magic over my panties.
“Remove your shirt and bra,” he commands in a growl. “I need to feel you.”
I do as he asks, quickly unbuttoning, unclasping, and divesting myself of the layers of clothing between us, while his fingers tease over my clit through the silk of my panties.
With my breasts now bare, Miles drops his head to cover my nipple with his mouth, pulling it between his teeth and then laving over it with his wet tongue. I writhe underneath him from the pleasure he bestows. My nipples so hard and sensitive, the sensations shooting straight to my core, my inner walls clenching in unison crying out to be filled by him. By his cock.
“Miles,” I murmur. “I want you inside me.”
He edges underneath my panties, his finger skimming over the swollen nub, my hips darting off the floor, and without preamble, eases two fingers inside.
I groan loudly from the intrusion, his fingers stretching me, filling me, curling and hitting that perfect spot that has me trembling with need. Need for more.
“You’re a greedy little girl, aren’t you, Button?”
“Mmm. Yes. Please.”
While none of my pleas make any sense, they’re on a constant loop as he continues to overwhelm me with pleasure, his filthy words and spoken fantasies driving me closer and closer to my release.
“I want you on top and riding me, your tits jiggling in my face.”
“I want to fuck you bare. Come inside your sweet pussy.”
And oh, my word, every image curated by his filthy mouth takes me to places I’ve never been before with anyone else.
His thumb rubs over my clit, his mouth sucking my tight pebbled nipple in his mouth, as I hoarsely cry out my release.
“Miles. . . oh God. . . Miles.” My head thrashes back and forth, my body tightens. I come with such intensity it feels like I’ve been shot into outer space from the force in which I orgasm.
No sooner do I return to Earth from that high, when Miles slips off his jeans, throws my skirt up over my belly, yanks aside my panties, and slams his cock inside me hard.
His girth stretches me wide, my pussy clenching as I claw my fingers down his back, slipping underneath the material of his T-shirt, scoring down the strained muscles of his backside, digging and scraping to get him closer.
I need all of him. Anything less just won’t do.
During one of our rounds back home this weekend, when Miles had run out of condoms in the middle of the night, we’d talked about birth control and all the exceedingly unsexy, yet important discussion topics of protected sex. Since I am on oral birth control, and we both are clear, we’ve been bare the last few times. Neither of us has ever been this way with anyone else, and it thrilled me to know I was his first like this.
“Oh fuck, baby. You feel so good. So wet. So hot. So perfect.”
I bloom, like a sunflower under the sun’s rays, from his compliment. Miles thinks I’m perfect. I’m perfect for him.
I eagerly trail my hands down his backside, wrapping my legs around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass. Beads of sweat break out over his forehead, his powerful thighs working to piston his hips, his muscular arms giving him leverage as he moves over me.
His hand reaches under the crook of my knee to draw it up toward my shoulder. A moan slips free from the new depth it provides, each thrust hitting something deeper inside me. Breaking me and ripping me to shreds in the most delicious way possible.
He rocks over me, his heart hammering loudly, and with a guttural groan, he throws his head back and surrenders to his release with a shuddering breath and a shout.
The aftershock has my inner walls clenching, as I feel his cock pulsing his hot release inside me. The sick thrill of knowing that I’m dripping with him has a fresh orgasm building low in my belly.
I latch on to his ass cheeks, locking him against me, jutting my hips upward to continue the friction.
“I’m going to come again.”
I barely get the words out, as Miles continues to work me over, sucking my tongue into his mouth and grinding his hips in a circular motion when another orgasm tears through me.
This time, I’m coming so long and hard that my ears ring from the intensity of the explosions detonating deep within my walls.
And at the same time, my heart splits open, knowing that what I feel for Miles is no longer a teenage crush or sweet admiration.
No, it’s turned into full-blown love.
“I love you, Miles.”
37
Miles
It’s been over three days since I’ve seen Sutton.
Part of that distance is that I’ve been buried up to my eyeballs in preparation for Graham’s return to the office today. He texted me late Monday night indicating he’d be in the office around ten this morning, so I’ve spent the last few days scrubbing the reports and data he’s requested, making them shine and sparkle so when he returns he knows he left his business in good hands.
After our take-out date and her late night of inventory at the shop, Sutton has spent her days and nights prepping for the Morgan’s return home, as well as keeping a vigilant bedside support for her friend’s son, who went through major surgery.
Although we’ve been texting and talking several times a day,
I’ve used my work and long hours as an excuse to pull back.
My entire world flipped on its axis the other night the minute Sutton muttered those words. If there are land-speed records for high-tailing it out of a woman’s arms after they’ve just said I love you, I think I broke them.
Fuck me, I’m such a coward.
The moment she said them, it was obvious she was freaked out by the panicked look that flew across her face, and the way she backpedaled trying to erase the words that could never be taken back.
She chalked it up to post-coital bliss, which I gave her a pass on because it was some pretty fucking amazing sex. I was still seeing white stars behind my eyelids by the time I got home and into bed.
While I’m still not interested in a full-flown relationship, there are no doubts in my mind that I care deeply for Sutton. She’s been a bright spot in my life this past month once I realized how attracted I was to her. And I’ll admit, it’s more than a physical attraction. It’s more than I’ve ever felt for another woman.
But is it love? I don’t know because that’s not something I can commit to feeling. My heart stopped feeling that particular emotion the day I buried my sister. It broke and shattered like glass on the sidewalk, and the pieces left to be kicked and stomped on by passersby.
Am I using this unintentional time away from Sutton as a breather? As a way to run from my petrified state of mind and hide like a child does when it’s seen something scary?
Fuck yeah, I am.
It’s a pitiful, cowardly thing to do, but I told Sutton right from the start I wasn’t the man she needs, or she deserves. Never mind the fact that the husband and father role model I had in my life taught me one big lesson: don’t get married or have children. And don’t, under any circumstances, take the role of stepfather.
None of that is anywhere on my Top 100 things to do in the next ten years.
Or maybe ever.
A voice from my office doorway shakes me from my thoughts.
