Page 115 of The Girlfriend Zone

35

DOWN, BOY

Miles

My brain short-circuits. A hum vibrates through my body as we kiss, hot and deep. Our lips seal together. The taste of her sweet mouth is almost too much. Her vanilla and brown sugar scent drives me wild. And soon my thoughts disintegrate as my right hand slides into her hair, careful to avoid her ear. My fingers tangle in those strands I’ve missed, tugging gently at the ends. She moans into my mouth—a frantic sound that obliterates the last shreds of my control. Not that I had much to begin with.

I kiss her even harder, the way I know she likes it. The way I know shewants. She moves with me, her tongue seeking, her lips just as hungry and greedy as mine. It’s a kiss that’s wild, reckless, and so much more than the sum of its parts because we’re in perfect sync. We want the same things—in bed and, I’m starting to think, out of it too.

I break the kiss to trail my mouth along her jawline. Ishould take my glasses off, but I can’t be bothered to stop right now. My pulse hammers mercilessly as I find the hollow at the base of her throat and press my lips there. That spot reminds me of the locket we found the day we spent together.

“That locket looked so good on you,” I murmur against her skin, remembering it, wishing I could see it on her again.

“You’d look goodinme,” she replies, her voice a blend of tease and heat.

A laugh bursts out of me, and I pull back just enough to look at her. She’s so fucking perfect for me. She keeps me on my toes—snarky, smart, kind, brave, passionate—and it feels like ages since I kissed her, even though it’s only been… “How the hell did I last a year without kissing you when it already feels like forever since I kissed you nine long days ago?”

Her hand slides against my chest, right over my heart. I don’t know if it’s intentional—where she lays her palm—but it doesn’t matter. It makes that organ in my chest slam hard just the same, especially when she says, “Time doesn’t work the same way when you can’t stop thinking about someone.”

And now my heart is beating outside my chest. It’s beating so damn loud she’s got to be able to hear it. I want her so much. I need her so completely it’s terrifying and wonderful at the same time. A part of me wants to tell her, to blurt outyou’re the one, but no way am I scaring her off before we figure out whatthisis.

Before I know if we’re both this caught up in each other.

I force myself to focus on the physical, and that’s not hard at all. I glance down at her shirt, my restrainthanging by a thread. I want her stripped bare. I want to take her apart, fuck her, make love to her, have her in every way. But I need to know—even in spite of heryou’d look good in meremark—that we’re on the same page.

“Tell me I can take all your clothes off,” I say, my voice rough, my hands playing with the button on her jeans. “Tell me I can eat you. Tell me I can fuck you till you’re begging for more orgasms.”

She blinks, then shudders. “I would think you already know my opinion on that.”

“Tell me this one. Tell me now.”

My hand is restless at her waist, barely holding back.

She slides her fingers into my hair, her touch grounding and electrifying all at once. “I want all of you. I can’t keep fighting this, Miles,” she says.

And dear god, those are the greatest words any woman has ever said to any man. “Don’t fight it. Let’s fuck instead.”

She ropes her arms around my neck, and I scoop her up and carry her up the stairs to my bedroom.

But it smells like her, and it somehow, incomprehensibly, already feels likeours.

What a heady thought.

What a fantastic thought.

I set her down on the bed. Every instinct in me screams to tug off her black shirt, to peel away those jeans, but I force myself to slow down. I run the backs of my knuckles down her cheek. “Tell me what you need and don’t need from me,” I say.

But she’s already lifting a hand toward her right ear. “I’m taking them out,” she says wryly. “I don’t want to lose one—or both—when you fuck me into next year.”

My heart hammers so hard it hurts. I’m falling deepfor her. The fact that she can make that joke right now—that she can let me see this unguarded side of her and still laugh—does it for me.

She rises from the bed, moving toward the bathroom with that confident sway I can’t look away from. At the doorway, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. “Maybe I was presumptuous,” she says, holding up a small case. “I packed my bag, but I left this behind.”

“You should be presumptuous with me,” I reply.

Her lips curve into a small smile before she steps into the bathroom and clicks open the case.

When she returns, her hearing aids tucked safely into their charger, she places a hand over my chest. “I can hear you,” she says, looking up at me, her gaze clear and steady. “You don’t have to yell or over-enunciate. But just know, if you murmur, I’m probably not going to catch it.”

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