Page 96 of Rock Me All Night
It's been a long week. The warm water soothes my tense muscles. But the heat isn't enough release. I need his body against mine. I need him in here with me.
I take my time with soap, shampoo, and conditioner. The shower is safe and warm. I'm alone. No one can see me crumble.
Cold air surrounds me as I step out of my safety bubble. I walk into the main room. Miles is still standing there, but now he has a towel in his hands. He keeps his eyes on mine as he wraps the towel around me and cinches it tightly.
Why did he have to withhold that secret? I want to keep things fun. I want to feel the way I did when I got to the show—like I was in for a hell of a night.
Like the world was beautiful.
This is supposed to be a pleasant distraction.
But it's not. He sees through me. He sees everything I hide from everyone else.
His voice is low. "You've turned my cock against me."
"Have I?"
He nods. "It's agony doing anything besides tearing that towel off your body."
I drop the towel. His tongue slides over his lips. His fingers dig into his jeans.
Still, he stays put.
"You're killing me here," he groans.
I take a seat on my bed. "You're killing yourself."
"I'm not doing this. Not with you so miserable."
"Then don't. But you're the one turning your cock against you. He and I have the same idea for how this should go."
He nods and slides onto the bed next to me. He takes his time pulling off his t-shirt, kicking off his shoes. Then it's his socks. His jeans.
There's a casual intimacy to it, like he's undressing before bed, like we're old lovers.
I lay on my side. He lies behind me, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck. His breath sends shivers down my spine.
I bite my tongue to keep from begging.
"Lay with me." He runs his fingertips over my shoulders.
I melt into his touch. Whatever he wants, I want him doing it to me.
His chest is pressed against my back, his crotch against my ass. "My uncle. He had cancer. In his pancreas. I didn't take it well. I ran off. Got into fights. Drank too much. Fucked a bunch of women without exchanging first names." He pulls the comforter over us. "I spun out of control. Worse than I ever had before."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I fucked up, and I wasn't there for him. The guy was dying and I was stewing in self-pity over it. Same problems I'd refused to deal with for years."
He pulls me closer, his palm flat against my stomach. His heartbeat pounds against my back, his breath warms my neck.
There's something missing from his words. Something he isn't saying.
He presses his lips against my cheek. "I know it hurts. I know you miss her. I know it feels like it will never stop hurting. But you need to realize it's not your fault."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause I know." His voice waivers. "Trust me."
