Page 48 of Fighting Fate

"Mills?" he says, his voice snapping me back from my thoughts.

I'm transfixed by him. I continue to ogle at his body as if my eyes could make him materialize through the phone, right into my bed, and certainly on top of me.

"Baby Sutton? You've got something right here," he says, pointing to his mouth.

Drool? My mind barely registers his gesture, lost in fantasies of kissing those lips, feeling their warmth on my skin.

He glances back into the camera as he runs his fingers through his hair. He lets out a breath. "Not that I'm one to complain about an amazing rack," he shakes his head, "fucking amazing view, but you might want to put those things away," he says as his eyes drop to my chest.

I suddenly realize the camera angle and notice he has a straight shot to my freaking...boobs.

Well, just one. It's literally halfway hanging out of my freaking robe. I must have been so nervous and panicky with him calling me that my boob was like, "Hey, Milli, if we are going to answer, let's give him a show, yeah?"

Definitely not. Sending flirty texts and pictures is a whole different game. Why? Because:

You're shielded by the anonymity of your phone.

You don't see the immediate reactions—his deep breaths, the arch of an eyebrow, or that tantalizing lip bite. There's no lip-licking to distract you.

Texting is silent. No words, no sounds, only text. There's no pressure to decode the meaning behind each message.

It's just you and your phone. No awkward silences, no immediate judgments.

Seeing my robe again in the camera's frame, I quickly attempt to rearrange it. What was I thinking, daring to go this far? A wave of heat floods my cheeks. I'm aware I shouldn't be feeling self-conscious, yet I'm suddenly swamped with a sense of being too exposed.

I scold myself internally. I can't believe I had the audacity.

It's good for you, Milli, I try to reassure myself.

Miles is chuckling, a look of genuine admiration in his eyes. "God, Mills, you're so fucking beautiful."

His statement halts me mid-step. Did he really just say that? Aloud? And to me? I pull my robe tighter, a half-hearted gesture toward modesty. As our gazes lock once more, he lifts his hands, gesturing playfully for me to stop. "No, no, no, don't do that. I like what I see," he says.

The way his gaze lingers on me is intoxicating, and for a moment, I revel in it. "Mmhm, I bet you do, Sunshine," I retort. Shifting my position, I lie down on my bed, making sure the camera angle reveals nothing more.

"Sorry, that's exclusive content," I tease.

"And how does one gain access to such exclusivity?" he asks, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Sorry," I respond with a nonchalant shrug, "the membership fee is pretty steep."

He grins, confidence oozing from his reply. "Don't worry, I'm quite the expert at gaining access. Shouldn't be a problem for me."

My eyes drop to my bed, my cheeks probably blazing red, breaking the intense lock our gazes had. The suggestive undertone in his words sends a tremor through me, kindling a heat deep inside. I scold myself in my head—I may have initiated this flirtatious dance, but his bold remarks are knocking me off my feet.

"What's up with the selfie, Mills?" he inquires, pulling me back to reality. I ought to be cringing in mortification, yet, strangely, I find myself unaffected by embarrassment.

"Because I wanted to. Got an issue with that?" I retort, trying to sound casual.

He leans back, laughter resonating in a deep, masculine timbre. "Absolutely not. More, please."

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