Page 97 of Fighting Fate

He kisses my bare neck and collarbone, mapping out my jaw before biting my ear. Every muscle in my body tightens with that, my hips moving instinctively as he hits my clit over and over. Then we fall together right over the edge. Him clothed, me, half clothed—my breasts on full display, moving in sync with my panting, all red and rosy from him sucking on them.

As the waves of my climax wash over me, Miles tightens his grip, anchoring me in the storm of sensation. He lifts his gaze from where it's been buried in my neck, watching me unravel under his touch.

"Goddamn, Mills," he breathes out, a note of wonder in his voice. His eyes are fixed on me, drinking in every shudder and moan as if he's memorizing this moment. And I think, if this is how

I melt under his touch, clothed, what more could happen with nothing between us?

Exhausted, I lean into him, my body slackening with fatigue and satisfaction. His arms are the only thing keeping me standing. I rest against him, my fingers lazily twirling strands of his hair, still feeling the aftershocks coursing through me.

Amid our usual playful exchange, he quips, "Can we do that again, maybe a few times over?"

A genuine, deep laugh bursts from me. I'm still shaking my head when my gaze drifts to the noticeable bulge in his shorts, silently calling out to me. The urge to touch him, to taste him once more, is overwhelming. Once is far from sufficient with Miles; it's a craving that seems insatiable.

But before I can act on my desires, he shoots me a look loaded with amusement. "So, about that tutoring session?" he asks, his tone a blend of jest and eagerness.

I lift my head, trying to steady my breath. My gaze drifts to the obvious tension in his shorts.

"But—"

"Mills," he cuts in, his voice a blend of desire and restraint. "As much as I want you, right now, we can't risk Luke walking in. You're worth more than sneaky hookups." He runs a hand over his face, frustration etched in his features. "I want you freely, all over this house, not just hiding in a room." He sighs, a wistful look crossing his face.

I try to lighten the mood, biting my lip suggestively. "Check my bag."

He chuckles. "That's your first thought after I talk about wanting you everywhere?"

I let out a giggle and give a casual shrug, catching how his gaze clings to every motion I make. "Why would you want my shirt back when I can tell you're enjoying the scenery?"

He shakes his head, though I catch the subtle lift at the corner of his mouth. "I do enjoy the view," he admits softly, extending my bag toward me. "Your bag, m'lady."

I push him teasingly, catching as his eyes drop to my chest. Deciding to push a bit further, I say, "Now, how about my shirt?"

He raises an eyebrow, holding my shirt just out of reach. I decide to play to his weakness, knowing well how men, even those in my novels, can be so predictable. I trace a finger over my breast, and his eyes are instantly glued to the movement. It's almost too easy. As I tease myself, he's captivated, one hand holding my shirt, the other lightly resting on my waist. Seizing the moment, I quickly grab the shirt from him.

As his gaze locks with mine, a sly grin takes over his face. "Gotta say, using your assets like that? Not disappointed at all," he says, a chuckle in his voice.

I slip my shirt back on, and he gives me a puppy-dog look. It's adorably familiar, a tactic I've seen since we were kids. Luke used to get away with everything using that face, but when I tried? "Milli, no means no," was all I got.

I take my bag from his hands. "That look won't sway me, Miles. Besides, every time we're together, I walk away pretty satisfied."

I can sense his grin even as I rummage through my bag. When I finally look up, there it is—that classic, trouble-making smirk of his.

He corners me. "Just 'pretty satisfied'? Not the best ever?"

I shoot back a casual shrug. Who knows what's next for us, but a girl can dream, right?

He studies the book I've pulled out, squinting at the title. Stepping back, he gives me some breathing room, though I'm craving the opposite.

"What's this?" he asks, eyeing the book.

"It's 'MCAT Prep for Dummies'," I reply, all nonchalant.

He lets out a laugh. "Yeah, I see that. But why?"

I shrug again. Miles has dreams, big ones, and he's only shared them with me. So, in my role as tutor, best friend, and whatever else we are, I'm here to help.

He waits, expectant, as I hop off the counter and head for the soup. "Look, you want to be a doctor, right? I'm here to help. In every way," I say, waving my hand vaguely. "You deserve someone rooting for you, pushing you toward that dream."

I can see it in his eyes—the realization of the support I'm offering him.

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