My Killer Vacation(82)

“Um. Where?”

His lips twitch. “How about the bathroom?”

“Okay.” I slide out from between Myles and the fridge, moving on trembling legs down the hallway to the bathroom, flipping on the light. I gesture for him to step inside and he does—but he pulls me with him. Positions me at the sink, facing the medicine cabinet mirror.

“This is me in your bathroom,” he says into my hair, his fingertips trailing up and down my bare arms. “Can you see us brushing our teeth together here in the mornings?”

I tilt my head consideringly. As if I don’t want to scream yes.

As if I’m not a millisecond from launching myself into his arms and never letting go.

When I don’t answer right away, he leans back a little and strips off his shirt. “How about now? This is more accurate since I sleep naked.”

Brain meltdown. “You do?”

“You will, too, Taylor.” He dips down behind me and comes up flush, his lap to my butt, that hard part of him parting my cheeks through the material of my dress. We both moan, two sets of hands clutching at the edge of the sink. “If we’re going to share a bed—and by if, I mean when—you’ll be too worn out to wear anything but whisker burns and the top sheet.” He elevates me onto my toes, his warm breath puffing onto my neck. “How are you doing visualizing me here now, sweetheart? Starting to seem real yet?”

“Starting to. Yes.”

I’m watching his face in the mirror and witness the blaze of relief. The way his breath shudders out as if he’s been holding it since the parking lot. “Thank God. That’s something.” He turns me around to face him. “I know this is moving fast, Taylor. I’m going to get an apartment close by, so I don’t scare the hell out of you. I’m coming on too strong? You throw me out for the night. But I’ll be here as much as you want me here. And then one day, we’ll merge your fringed throw pillows with my functional man shit and we’ll be in one place. Our place. When you’re ready.”

There is no way I’m letting him rent an apartment, but I don’t get a chance to tell him that. Because his mouth is on mine and he’s walking me out of the bathroom, down the remainder of the hallway and into my bedroom, matching me step for step. Before we can crash down onto the bed with Myles on top, he breaks the kiss and lifts his head, looking around the room. Taking a deep inhale. Of the room, then my neck. “Apples.”

I lean in and rub my nose on his throat. “Sweat.”

His deep chuckle makes me shiver. “Better work on that.”

“No.” I let him peel my dress off over my head. “I like it.”

He unhooks the front clasp of my bra, pushing it open on a groan and kneading my breasts in his hands, head falling forward as if he’s been desperate to touch them. “You should like it. You’re the reason I’m sweating all the time.”

“Who, me?”

“Yeah you,” he says, gruffly. Pausing in the act of thumbing my nipples. “This is me in your bedroom, Taylor. Can you see me here?”

“Yes,” I whisper, shaken down to the ground by what I feel for this man. How is it possible that he wasn’t in my life a week ago? Now that I’m letting myself believe this is real, a wealth of emotion rushes in and chokes my next breath. “I can see you here.”

His eyes close briefly, chest dipping and rising dramatically. “Good.”

In a flash, my back is pressed to the mattress and his hard, heavy body is coming down on mine, our mouths moving feverishly together while he works my panties down to mid-thigh, pushes them down past my knees, where I hook my toe into the waistband and drag them off completely. Our hands clash in an effort to unzip his jeans, my core throbbing for him. Needing him. Weeping over having been without him so long. “Wet, baby?” he asks in between mind scrambling kisses, his hardness finally, finally springing out into my waiting palm.

Transferring to his, mid-stroke.

“Yes,” I gasp—and he enters me in a mighty shove, shouting my name into my neck while my cry of his name resonates in the hazy bedroom, the headboard cracking hard off the wall. “Myles.”

I’m aching for him to thrust. To dominate me. To give me a break from this tension that only he has ever inspired. But he tilts my chin up and looks me in the eye, instead, love naked on his features. Right there for me to witness. No holding back. “This is me in your body, Taylor.” His hips rear back and rock forward, deep, deeper than before. “You feel me here?” he asks, raggedly, pressing my knees up toward the pillows.

“Yes,” I gasp.

And because he’s been vulnerable, because he’s given up so much ground to make me believe, I pull his forehead down to mine and take the biggest leap of all—the emotional one—meeting him halfway. “This is you in my heart,” I say, voice uneven. Kissing him softly. Once, twice. “Do you feel yourself there?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, eyes suspiciously damp. “Keep me there. All right?”

“There’s no getting you out. I don’t want to.”

Visibly overcome, he drives my body up and down the bed, in that hard, pumping rhythm that we make together, limbs tangling, offering our moans to the ceiling. “You’re inside me for good, too, Taylor,” he says into my neck, just before pleasure tightens its grip on me. “From the first second I saw you to the last second I’m given. Stay with me. Watch me prove it.”