Page 32 of Keeping It Professional

“Then, uh…” I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry. Miles slid his hand up to cup my cheek. I turned my head without thinking, my lips to his palm, and when I turned back, his dark eyes were blazing. He ran his hand up my cheek, then through my hair, working my clip loose. It clacked on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Your hair clip was loose.” His voice was so low it was almost a growl, rough in his throat, his breath on my ear. A shiver ran through me, all the way to my toes. I knew I should shift back, push his hand off. It was what we’d agreed on. I’d said it myself. But that look in his eyes, the sound of his breath, the heat of him next to me filled me with want. And his hand was still tangled up in my hair, pulling me closer. Or was I leaning in? His lips moved, but no words came out, and then we were kissing. Miles was pushing my jacket off. I shoved my hands under his. He hissed from the cold of them, then kissed me again.

“Warm you up,” he gasped between kisses.

I ran my hands up his back, mapping his muscles. Each one twitched in turn from the shock of the cold, then relaxed as I stroked him and massaged his tense back. His kisses trailed down my neck and a line of heat followed. I arched my back as he pushed up my shirt. The contrast of hot and cold made me tremble, his lips on my bare skin, the chill in the air.

“Bruises,” said Miles. His breath tickled.

“What?”

“From your seat belt.” He traced them up, with one fingertip, over my shoulder. I unzipped his jacket. Tugged his sweater aside.

“You’ve got them too.”

“Yeah?” He rid himself of his sweater in one easy motion and looked down at himself. “Eh. Could be worse.”

“Alotworse,” I said, and ran my hand down his chest. His pecs were surreal, movie-star perfect. The sort of perfection you’d think was airbrushed. I had to touch them to make sure they were real, then touch them again for the sound he made, half-moan, half-curse, deep in his chest. The blanket slipped off him and down to the floor. When I reached to retrieve it he caught me in a kiss. I melted into it and into him, and he laid me down across the bench. It was too short to stretch out and my legs hung off the side, and Miles had to kneel over me with one boot on the ground. I dragged him down anyway, his skin hot on mine.

“Sophie,” he whispered, my first name for once. I’d always been Reeves to him, at least on the job. Which we still were, but rescuefelt far away. Everything did but his body on mine. My senses were full of him, and I couldn’t think. All I could do was want him and reach for him. Run my hands through his hair. Nip at his lips.

“Sophie.” He rocked back, all breathless from kissing. “Should we be doing this?”

The answer was obvious. No, we shouldn’t. We should be up by the radio waiting on updates. Watching the road for oncoming hazards. But my body was tingling with the thrill of survival. Of being alive and not dead in the road. The world seemed more present, brighter. More real. Miles in my arms seemed to radiate life. I needed to be with him and take him all in.

“I need you,” I gasped.

Miles ground up against me. My head bumped the wall. I didn’t care, but Miles sat me up. He swung me into his lap and kissed his way down my chest, teasing his way along the line of my bra. I moaned at the heat of his tongue through the lace, then the chill of the air when he pulled back. I was freezing and burning, panting for more, pressing into his arms to share in his heat.

“Sophie…”

I reached down and unzipped his pants, and took hold of his cock. It throbbed in my hand. I could feel his pulse pounding, his rushing desire, and I wanted him so much I couldn’t breathe.

“Cold hands,” Miles said.

“Then warm me up.”

He thrust up with a groan, into my hand. I stroked him and he shuddered and grabbed up his coat. He draped it over myshoulders, stretched out on his back, and the sleeves brushed the bench as I followed him down.

“Do you have protection?”

“Yeah, in my bag.” He leaned down to get one and I wriggled out of my pants. Miles tore the pack open and slipped on a rubber. I straddled him awkwardly on the narrow bench, and he held me steady as I slid down his shaft. A wave of pleasure washed through me as he bucked up to meet me. I closed my eyes and saw stars, and grabbed his shoulders for balance. His thumbs dug into the meat of my hips. I heard someone panting and realized it was me, my breath coming so hard it sounded like sobs.

I rode him hard with the bench cold and slick on my knees, his hands hot and eager on my hips and my back. Every sound he made rumbled up from his chest, and I felt the vibration straight down to my toes. I felt every groan, every gasp, every hitch, and all I could think of was, I needed more. More of his sounds, and his hands, and his lips. More of his body pressed up against mine.

“Oh, God, is that—” Miles froze mid-thrust.

“What?”

“The radio.”

We both held our breath, straining to hear. Up front, a branch scratched against the windshield.

“Was that what you heard?”

Miles frowned. “I don’t know.”

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