Ugly Love(48)

Me: I’m surprised you didn’t tell him already. Don’t all guys kiss and tell?
Miles: Not me, Tate.
Me: I guess you’re the exception. Now leave me alone, I have to study.
Miles: Don’t come back until I come tell you the game is over.
I lay my phone down on the table, unable to wipe the grin from my face.
? ? ?

An hour later, the door to his apartment opens. I look up, and he walks in, shuts the door, and casually falls against it. “Game’s over,” he says.
I drop my pen. “Perfect timing. I just finished my homework.”
His eyes fall to my books, spread out across the table. “Corbin’s probably expecting you.”
I don’t know if that’s his way of telling me I should leave or if he’s just making conversation. I stand up anyway and begin to gather my books, attempting to hide the disappointment on my face.
He walks straight to me and takes the books out of my hands, setting them back down. He gives them a shove, sliding them a foot away, and then he grabs my waist and pushes me onto the table.
“That doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” he says firmly, looking me hard in the eyes.
I don’t smile this time, because he just made me nervous again. Every time he looks at me with this much intensity, I get nervous.
He slides me to the very edge of the table and stands between my legs. His hands are still on my waist, but his lips are now on my jaw. “I was thinking,” he says softly, his breath caressing my neck, covering me in chills. “About tonight and how you’ve been in class all day.” He slides his hands beneath me, lifting me off the table. “And how you work all weekend, every weekend.” My legs are wrapped around him now. He’s carrying me to his bedroom.
Now he’s laying me on his bed.
Now he’s on top of me, brushing my hair back, looking me in the eyes. “And I realized that you never have a day off.” His mouth is back to my jaw again, kissing it softly between each sentence. “You haven’t had a day off since Thanksgiving, have you?”
I shake my head, not understanding why he’s talking so much but loving it just the same. His hand slides up under my shirt, and his palm meets my stomach, continuing upward until he’s cupping my breast. “You must be really tired, Tate.”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
I’m lying.
I’m exhausted.
His lips leave my neck, and he looks me in the eyes. “You’re lying,” he says, brushing his thumb over the thin layer of bra covering my nipple. “I can tell you’re tired.” He lowers his mouth until it’s pressed against mine so softly I barely even feel it. “I just want to kiss you for a few minutes, okay? Then you’re going to leave and go get some rest. I don’t want you to think I expect something just because we’re both home.”
His mouth touches mine again, but his lips can’t compare to what his words do to me. I never knew thoughtfulness could be such a turn-on.
But oh, my God. It’s so hot.
His hand slides beneath my bra, and his mouth invades me. Every time his tongue caresses mine, it makes my head spin. I wonder if that will ever get old.
I know he said he just wanted to kiss me for a few minutes, but his definition of kiss and my definition of kiss are written in two different languages. His mouth is everywhere.
So are his hands.
He pushes my shirt up above my bra, pulling one side of it down until my breast is exposed. He teases me with his tongue, looking up at me while he does it. His mouth is warm, and his tongue is even warmer, causing soft whimpers to escape from me.
He runs his hand down my stomach and lifts slightly off of me, holding his weight up on his elbow. His hand trails over my jeans until he reaches the insides of my thighs. He runs his fingers against the material between my legs, and I let my head fall back and my eyes close.
Good Lord, I love his version of kissing.
He begins to rub his hand over me, pressing firmly against my jeans until my entire body is silently begging for him. His mouth is no longer on my breast. It’s on my neck now, and he’s kissing, nibbling, sucking, all in one spot, as if he’s trying to brand me.
I’m trying to be quiet, but it’s impossible when he’s creating this amazing friction between us. But that’s fine, because he’s not being quiet, either. Every time I moan, he groans or sighs or whispers my name. Which is why I’m being so loud, because I love his sounds.
Love them.
His hand quickly moves to the button on my jeans, and he unbuttons them, but he doesn’t switch positions or move away from my neck. He pulls my zipper down and slides his hands on top of my panties. He resumes the same movements, only this time they’re a million times more intense, and I can instantly tell he isn’t going to have to do it for much longer.
My back arches off the bed, and it takes all I have not to pull away from his hand. It’s as if he knows exactly the right places to touch that will make me react.
“Christ, Tate. You’re so wet.” Two of his fingers pull my panties aside. “I want to feel you.”
And that’s it.
I’m a goner.
His finger slips inside me, but his thumb remains outside, coaxing moans and oh, my Gods and don’t stops out of me like I’m a broken record. He kisses me, swallowing all my sounds while my body begins to tremble beneath his hand.
The sensation lasts so long and is so intense I’m afraid to let go of him when it’s over. I don’t want his hand to leave me. I want to fall asleep like this.
I’m completely still, but we’re both breathing so heavily we’re unable to move. His mouth is still on mine, and our eyes are closed, but he’s not kissing me. After a few moments, he finally pulls his hand out of my pants, then zips and buttons them back up. When I open my eyes, he’s slowly sliding his fingers out of his mouth with a grin.