by Daws, Amy
“No one,” I rush out, noticing that Miles is getting tenser and tenser by the second. The last thing he needs to hear is that I still kind of live with my dumbass ex-boyfriend. “He’s away for the summer, so it doesn’t matter.”
“But it’s a dude,” he snaps, his hands balling into frustrated fists at his sides. “Damnit, Mercedes, I can’t do this!”
“Do what?” I ask, my chest lifting with hope.
“I’m a jealous guy! You know that,” he exclaims, throwing his hands out wide in surrender as he points downstairs. “This is not the kind of shit I handle well.” He forks his hands through his hair, looking like he’s about to bolt.
But I don’t want him to bolt.
I want him to stay.
“I’m sorry, I should just go.”
He moves toward the door, and I dash in front of him, blocking his exit.
“My roommate is…gay,” I blurt, and my eyes fly wide at the lie that tumbled so easily from my lips. “And he’s out of town for the summer.”
Miles stares down at me, blinking. “Seriously?”
I shrug, completely unable to confirm it again because I still can’t believe I lied in the first place. “Tell me why are you turning into such a maniac right now? I thought you only wanted to be friends.”
He exhales heavily. “It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“Well, what can I do to help?” I ask, even though I don’t want to help. I want to bone.
Miles groans and pins me with a serious glower. “Babe, jealousy is an issue I have to keep in check constantly. I try not to be like this, but it’s virtually fucking impossible. I had almost ten years with a girl who took pleasure in fucking torturing me every chance she got.”
“Well, I’m not that girl,” I retort and step in closer to him, reaching my hands out to touch his forearms.
“I know you’re not,” he nearly cries. “But before we do anything, you need to know this about me. I’m overprotective. Overbearing. Over arrogant. Pretty much everything I do is to the extreme.”
“Okay,” I reply slowly and swallow a knot in my throat as he cups my face in his rough hands, looming over me like some sort of caveman staking his claim.
His voice is deep and melty as he adds, “And I fucking lose it if I think a guy is moving in on my property.”
Okay, I shouldn’t be turned on by that. I’m a modern woman. I’m independent. I think I could be a feminist if I ever knew exactly what the fuck that all entailed. But personally, I don’t think feminism belongs in the bedroom. I think feminism is having license over your own desires, and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I think I just felt a gush of liquid between my legs, and I am so not mad at that!
I shake my head, trying to refocus my brain on the main point here. “But I’m not your property, Miles!”
“In my mind, you are,” he replies, his jaw tight, his lips pinched. “And I really need you not to do things to make me jealous.”
“Why?” I nearly sob.
“Because if you make me jealous, then I won’t be able to stay friends with you.”
“Why?” Good God, man, just fucking take me!
“Because it’ll make me want to fuck you, so you don’t ever want to look at another guy again.”
Heavy breaths.
Thunderous heartbeats.
Noisy party downstairs…the real downstairs. That wasn’t a euphemism for my pants, though, now that I mention it, I think I heard his dick grow. Like literally, I think I hear his jeans stretching between us.
I reach out and touch him with my hands and oh my God, yes. He’s hard, and I’m hard, and I want him to just…“Prove it.”
He shakes his head, severity to his brow that has a knot forming in my throat. “I hope you know what you’re asking for.”
With a feral sort of growl, he slams his lips to mine and plunges his tongue straight into my mouth. Deep. So deep. As if he’s looking for tonsils deep. It isn’t exactly sexy—it’s uncontrollable. Heady. Toxic. I can’t get away from him, and I don’t want to. My arms wind tightly around his neck, holding him as if it’s possible to merge our bodies together.
No more dead fish kiss. God, this is living!
Miles bends over, running his hands down my ass to the back of my thighs. He grabs me tightly and hoists me up, and my legs instantly wrap around his waist. I can’t quite hook my ankles around his massive frame, so I just squeeze. Squeeze him into me as hard as I can because good Lord, this is what I’ve been missing. Strong, masculine, territorial heat!
I want his heat all over me. If he could unzip his skin and tuck me inside him, I’d want that. I want to be consumed by him in every possible way.
He combs his hands through my hair and yanks my head back so he can drag his tongue along my throat. I swallow against it, panting and writhing just from his wet tongue. He’s ravishing, punishing, and claiming me with his mouth, and fucking hell, it’s bliss.
He turns us toward the bed, and his hands drift down to my ass, his fingers greedily digging into the crease of my butt. “You said you liked anal play?”
I cry out loudly when his fingers slide along the lace of my shorts, and he presses hard through the fabric right on my puckered hole. “Jesus, I don’t know. I just like writing it!”
He laughs, and it vibrates his whole body. I squeeze my legs tighter around him, trying to get that sensation inside me because fucking hell, I need to be fucked right now.
“Plenty of time for that later,” he says, dropping me on the perfectly made bed and falling down on top of me, covering me with his warm, delicious weight.
“God, Miles,” I moan, as he peppers my collarbone with kisses and bites. I kick my wedges off as my body rolls under his, my pelvis pressing up into the big hard appendage stuck behind his annoying jeans. “Take your jeans off. I want to see you.”
“You first, babe,” he husks and stands up, pulling me with him so he can pull my tank top off over my head. My braid flops back down over my bare breasts, and he drags his fingers along the texture of it. “Would you undo this?”
I nod absently. I’m pretty sure he could get me to run through that party naked if it meant I’d be getting laid by him tonight. I yank out the twist and shakily comb my fingers through my hair.
“I fucking love your hair.” He slices his fingers through the thick tendrils and gives them a big sniff. God, he sniffed me!
“Now lie back,” he says, hooking his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and sliding them down my legs as I do. He chucks them to the floor and grabs my lacy white thong. I moan as he pulls it down tantalizingly slow, his rough fingers caressing my legs with their descent.
When he slips the thong off my feet, he holds it out for me to see, then presses it to his nose and inhales deeply.
“Jesus fuck,” I cry at just the sight of him sniffing my goddamned panties. “How are you real?”
“I’m completely fucking real, babe. And you’re not getting these back.” He tucks the slip of white fabric into his jeans and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, retrieving a condom from the inside flap before dropping it down on the bed.
He reaches behind him and pulls his shirt off over his head, and my eyes glaze over at the sight of him. He has lines in places that men were meant to have lines. A perfect outline of a six-pack, broad ribs hinting under his huge, meaty pecs. And then there’s that V. Jesus God, the V that arrows down to his dick is enough to make me forget every man who ever came before him.
Miles could be on the cover of every last one of my books. In fact, maybe I should re-cover my books. I’d probably sell more copies. I want this man’s perfectly sculpted body plastered all over my fucking world.
And if I thought his top half looked good, it is nothing compared to the bottom. He slides his jeans and boxers down, and the giant cock that bobs out has me more than a little terrified. Extremely aroused, but terrified.
It’s a beautiful dick. Strong and proud. Straight and thick. But about twice the size I�
��m used to.
I clear my throat and say, “The cliché line you should say right now is, ‘Don’t worry baby, it’ll fit.’”
He laughs at my man voice imitation, and his thick abs contract in a really sexy way. After he rolls the condom on, he steps between my legs and drapes his warmth over me. Our nakedness slides against each other like the most deliciously heated silk sheets.
Miles teases his covered tip against my slit. “But what if I like it to hurt a little?”
In one fast push, he slams into me so fast I can’t catch my breath for a moment. My hands grapple around the bed for purchase, for something to squeeze and hold as I fight this sudden, welcomed invasion between my legs. He offers up his own hands, sliding his fingers between mine in a gentle way that is at complete odds with the merciless tightness between my legs.
He squeezes my fingers and presses our hands to the mattress beside my head. “You okay?” He drops a soft, tender kiss on my lips.
I groan loudly, the tight ache building and begging for more. “I will be once you start moving.” I grind my hips up to meet his with frantic need. “I need you to fuck me, Miles. Please, just fuck me.”
“With pleasure,” he replies, releasing my hands and sitting back on his knees. Throwing my legs up on his shoulders, he skims his rough hands down them at the same time. “God, these fucking legs are sexy.”
And with that belly-flipping compliment, he begins thrusting into me so hard and fast, I can’t even utter a moan. It’s just a lot of strangled sobs that seem to bypass my voice box and come out straight from my lungs. He grinds and digs and punishes my pussy, and the orgasm that rips through me is completely ignored—like it’s one of many he plans to give me tonight, so he’s not even going to give it any attention.
A second orgasm climbs on top of the first, and I swear I can’t take another when he reaches down and rubs his rough fingers on my swollen clit. My voice box finds itself at last, and I scream out in pleasure.
“Shhh,” he growls and moves his naughty hand to my mouth, sticking his fingers in it so I can taste my arousal all over them. “You need to be quiet, babe. There’s a party going on downstairs, and if they hear you like this, I’ll get all worked up again.”
He pulls his fingers out, and I groan, “Jesus, you’re nuts.” But in my mind, I’m saying that I never want any of this to stop.
“You make me nuts,” he replies and continues pounding into me until I orgasm a third time.
“Think you’ve had enough?” he asks, bringing a finger underneath my ass and teasing my anus. “Or do you want more?”
“Later,” I beg, moan, and whine a little. “More later, I just want to see you come, Miles.”
I look down at his dick sliding in and out of me. It’s so angry looking. It needs a release.
“Talk dirty to me again then,” he quips, nodding his head at me in encouragement. “Talk to me like you did that night at the bar. God, I’ve jacked off to that memory at least a dozen times since then.”
“Umm,” I mumble, my brain needing to access a different vortex than where it’s currently residing. “Okay, fuck. I loved when you stuffed your fingers in my mouth a second ago.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes ablaze and fixed on me. “Are you a dirty girl, Mercedes?”
“God, yes!” I moan because honestly, maybe this is what I’ve been missing all along. I should have been fucking Dryston as my alter ego, not boring Kate! Mercedes is a freak in both the real world and the fictional one. “I loved tasting myself on you. The sourness of me and the saltiness of you. God, we taste good together.”
“Fuck yeah, we do,” he replies, looking up at the ceiling and riding whatever wave he’s catching, the cords of his thick neck bulging at the angle.
“I like your rough hands on my body,” I state, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on my breast. He looks back down and watches his hand when I add, “See how hot we look together. Rough and soft. Dark and light.”
He squeezes my breast and tweaks my nipple so hard I have to bite back another cry. “God, Miles, fucking come for me. Let that big dick come inside me.”
“Oh God,” he exclaims, freezing mid-thrust and exploding inside me like a fucking cannon. The veins of his long shaft contract and thicken inside my channel with each needy burst of seed he shoots into the condom. “Jesus Christ, Mercedes.”
I laugh because what else can I do? I just fucked a guy who doesn’t know my real name in the bed that I shared with my ex for almost two whole years. How much more fucked up can this situation get?
I tap his abs in appreciation. “That, Miles, was book-worthy sex.”
He laughs at that while we clean up in the attached bathroom and quickly dress to head back downstairs to the party. I don’t particularly want to go back down, but since it’s sort of in my honor and we’re not even in my bedroom, I don’t see how I can really get away with staying up here all night.
Lynsey points out my hair instantly, and I close my eyes, wincing at the fact that I forgot to braid it back to how I had it earlier. Thankfully, no one else seems to notice.
I sip a drink and talk to my friends for the rest of the night, being really chill when I introduce them to my new friend, Miles from Tire Depot. Everyone laughs at how we’re basically coworkers since I wrote the entire book there. If this was a book, I’d definitely brand it as an interoffice romance, for sure. It all started with a cup of complimentary coffee.
Throughout the night, I feel judgmental looks coming from Dean. He’s most likely doing that overprotective brother thing again, but I don’t want Miles to get the wrong idea, so I decide to keep my distance. Dean is a flirt, and while harmless, it’s a difficult thing for outsiders to understand. I’ve even been accused by my college friends of having a romance with Dean. The idea is laughable.
By the end of the night, I am exhausted, and when Sam goes to leave, I frown, worried that Miles is going with him.
“We drove separately,” Miles offers, and I glance out to see his motorcycle parked right in front of my house. “But I can go if you’d like?”
“No!” I exclaim and reach out to grab his hand. “You should stay…if you want, I mean.” I am so uncool it’s not even funny.
He nods, and that troubled look returns to his face. The one he’s gotten every time he’s rejected me or tried to reject me. It troubles me, but he seems to be ignoring it for the night, so I will too.
After a while, everyone clears out, including Lynsey and Dean. I shut off the lights, kill the music, and lead Miles to my bedroom off the kitchen.
“I’m really glad you didn’t drag me in here before,” he states with a smile.
“And why is that?” I ask, yanking my tank top off over my head and standing in front of him sans bra.
“Because then everyone definitely would have heard your screams.” He quickly reaches for me, and I yelp as he picks me up in his arms so that my tits are pressed into his face. “I didn’t get enough time to fully meet these girls earlier. Hello, ladies.”
He nuzzles his whiskered jaw between my breasts, and I laugh and shove at him until he puts me down. With a blissful, sexy, indescribable smile, he tucks my hair behind my ears and kisses me so sweetly, I think I just experienced a type of orgasm I didn’t even know existed.
Can you orgasm from happiness? I kinda think so.
I wake to the sound of bacon frying and sit up like a shot, completely forgetting where I am for a second. I blink rapidly, and Mercedes’s bedroom comes into full view. I look over to see her side of the bed is empty, and I exhale as everything comes flooding back into my mind.
I had sex with Mercedes last night.
I had really fucking great sex with Mercedes last night…during the middle of a party.
I hunch over and rub at my eyes, trying to recall how bad I was last night. I came in hot, that’s for sure. But seeing her draped over Dean’s shoulder made it clear to me that he wants more from her—even if Mercedes doesn’t see it
yet.
I shouldn’t have come. I knew I shouldn’t have come. Sam was the one who forced me, making me feel guilty for not celebrating this achievement with her after all we’d been through together at Tire Depot. But somehow, I knew if I drove out here, I wouldn’t be leaving. Now, here I am—butt-ass naked in her white, fluffy, really fucking comfortable bed.
This is going to be bad.
I stand and slide into my jeans, my mind clouding with my past and my present, creating this swirling fog of doubt. It’s been a year since Jocelyn and I broke up, and I’m over her completely. Honestly, the bitch can live happily ever after with her old, rich geezer, but I’m still not over the stress of being in a relationship. Of caring for someone so much that you would literally do anything to protect them. That’s why I’m only doing casual right now. I can’t give myself to anyone again. Not yet.
And something about Mercedes screams way too good for casual.
I step into the kitchen, and Mercedes is at the stove in a pair of tight yoga shorts and my black T-shirt I had just been looking for. Just watching her with the morning sun slicing in through the window over the sink, I know damn well, this girl ain’t casual.
I clear my throat. “Shirt thief,” I tease and shuffle over to stand behind her. I put my hands on her cute little hips, and her entire body tenses. “What’s wrong?”
She giggles nervously. “Are you in a pancakes mood? Or a chew your arm off mood? Because I haven’t started the pancakes yet so now is the time to tell me if there’s carnage in my bedroom.”
I press a kiss to her temple with a laugh. “I could eat.” I could eat you is what I’m really thinking. I move over to the barstool at the island to get a better view of her. How is it possible for her to look this cute in the morning? Her cheeks are flushed, and her red hair is tied up in a big ball on top of her head. And she doesn’t look half bad in my giant shirt.
“How’d you sleep?” she asks as she begins whisking some pancake batter in a large glass bowl.
“Like a rock,” I admit.
She bites her lip.
I smirk curiously. “Something I said?”
