Page 66 of Ride By Your Side

“Miles,” I cry, feeling myself getting so close to reaching that pinnacle high. “I’m almost there.”

“Just let go, baby. Be a good wife and come for me, Mrs. Bennett,” he commands before inserting another finger inside of me, curving it just right toward my belly as his teeth lightly latch down onto my sensitive, throbbing nub.

I cry out as my body experiences the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, my head falling back against the wall. He doesn’t stop, though, as he continues to coax out every last drop of passion, fucking me both with his fingers and tongue.

I come down from my high as he continues to lick, taking in everything I’ve just given.

Once finished, he carefully removes my foot from his leg, smoothing down my skirt in the process and even taking amoment to fix my top before wrapping his arms around my middle.

I should be more than satisfied, and I am, but I still can’t help myself as I hungrily claim his lips once more, another new sound leaving my lips, especially as his teeth latch onto my bottom lip.

“You taste how fucking sweet you are?” he asks, my gaze meeting his as he finally pulls away enough for me to look at him.

“I did, but it’s you I want to taste now,” I proudly admit, a dangerous smirk pulling at his features.

“And you will, but first I’m taking you back home. As much as I want everyone to know that you’re mine, it’s probably best nobody sees the indecent things I have planned for you, because I’m not looking to get interrupted.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, intrigued, rubbing my thighs together as I can already feel a new ache burning for him.

“Yep, now let’s get out of here,” he tells me, pressing his lips to mine once more as his hand falls into mine.

The polite thing to do would be to go back inside and tell Ford and Blair that we’re leaving, but I imagine they’d understand. Then again, they’d probably assume I needed to leave because of my run-in with Pete, though they couldn’t be more wrong.

In fact, Pete is the past and already forgotten. The only man on my mind right now is Miles. While that should worry me, as long as I get to keep experiencing this with him, that’s all that matters.

38

Miles

I’mnotthetypeof guy who completely loses himself because of a woman, but Veronica Prescott has completely flipped my entire world upside down in only two months. Strangely, I don’t hate it. My life seems to be a hell of a lot brighter and more colorful, and only half of that is because my home has slowly been taken over by Veronica and her things.

It’s not a surprise to anyone to learn that my favorite color is black. Just open my closet, and you’ll see that seventy-five percent of it is dark, along with my decor. Slowly, though, more and more of Veronica’s things have appeared around the apartment. If this had been anyone else’s shit, I’d say something and put a stop to it—but with her, I can’t—or really, I won’t. What she wants, she gets. Hell, I’d give her the entire fucking world if that were an option.

The truth of the matter is, I’d do just about anything to see her smile, even if it means letting her bright and colorful clothes, blankets, plants, and decor take over the living room. Hell, eventhe outfits that I once rolled my eyes at for being absolutely ridiculous are now something I love seeing, especially when they’re randomly tossed or scattered across my bedroom floor.

Even coming home is something I look forward to more each and every day. Bubba had always seemed to be all I needed, but there’s something different about walking through the front door only to find Veronica sitting on the couch, her face lighting up just as much at the sight of me.

Plus, my dog is equally smitten. I can see it even now as I stand in the kitchen, finishing up the last of the dinner dishes, while the two of them snuggle on the couch and some ridiculous crime documentary plays in the background.

I glance at the sink, knowing I should tidy up a bit more, but the selfish pull to be near her is impossible to ignore. Shutting off the water, I dry my hands, my heart picking up the pace as I stride toward the couch.

Between Veronica, with her legs draped across the entire thing, and Bubba, with his head in her lap as she writes in some large notepad, there isn’t much room, but I make do as I lift her feet, with her pink and yellow painted toes, and take a seat, letting them fall into my lap.

“You want me to move?” she asks, looking up from whatever she’s been working on.

“Nope. I’m fine just like this,” I assure her as I take one of her feet in my hands and begin a light massage.

She raises an eyebrow, not fully convinced, but she doesn’t press it, lifting one shoulder instead. “If you say so,” she says, seemingly distracted.

Her eyes move back down toward her pad, which I soon realize is a sketchpad. Normally, after dinner, she works on grading art projects and doing schoolwork while I clean up, but that pad clearly means something else. I tilt my head to the side as I watch her sketch, and my mouth tilts into a smile as her tonguelightly darts out to the side in concentration, before her eyes lift and they meet mine.

Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, almost as if I’ve somehow caught her doing somethingsheconsiders suspicious.

My brows knit together. “What?” I ask, a soft chuckle leaving my lips as my hands switch to working on her other foot.

“Nothing,” she says, closing the pad and tucking it aside.

“This doesn’t feel like nothing. What are you drawing over there?” I ask, assuming that’s what she must have been up to. Plus, it’s not like I hadn’t seen her sketching and drawing like that plenty of times during our road trip.

---