Page 53 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“Where exactly do we need to be?” I ask, confused. We’ve visited the Belmont campus and we’ve stopped by his mom’s office, but I was unaware we had any other plans.
Blake loops behind me and grabs my waist with both hands, quite literally steering me toward the exit. He nuzzles his head into my shoulder and his husky, sultry tone sends chills through my body when he murmurs against my ear, “Walk faster, Mila, because I can’t take it any longer. I want you. And I want younow.”
21
Blake shoves me up against the front door of his house, his lips trailing hungrily along my jaw as he wrangles his keys into the lock. The door falls open behind me and I stumble backward into the house, Blake’s chest pressed to mine, my hands in his hair.
Our passion for one another is in overdrive, built to breaking point during the chaotic drive back to town, and Blake definitely bagged himself a speeding ticket this time. This insatiable lust has been mounting for weeks now. The desire behind quick glances, suggestive smirks, and wandering hands. The thought ofmaybespending our future together in Nashville has tipped us straight over the edge. We can’t fight it anymore.
I claw at the hem of Blake’s shirt, tugging on his belt as I kiss the soft skin of his neck. “I told my dad I’d be back in time for dinner,” I whisper, but we continue to stumble further into the house, sending an art canvas on the wall swinging as we knock against it.
Blake winds his hands into my hair. “Tell your dad I’m sorry,” he murmurs, guiding my lips back to his and kissing me deeply. The sound of scuttling paws races through the house to greet us, a bundle of golden fur pouncing all over Blake’s leg. “Bailey, not now! Stay!”
My back hits the banister of the staircase and Blake runs his hands down my body and under my butt, swiftly lifting me straight off the ground as Bailey continues to lap circles around our feet. A breathless gasp escapes me and I tighten my legs around Blake’s waist, allowing myself to laugh in pleasure as he effortlessly climbs the stairs. God, his strength is so sexy. As he carries me upstairs, I grab his jaw and turn his head away so I can kiss the spot right behind his earlobe. It may have been a long time since our first time together, but I’ve never forgotten the way he shuddered when I accidentally discovered his biggest turn on.
“Mila,” he groans, and he kicks open the door to his room. “Bailey, I said stay. You are notgetting in the room this time!” And I only catch a split second of Bailey’s confused expression as Blake shuts him out of his bedroom, leaving him out in the hall. There’s no time to feel sorry for him, though. I nibble Blake’s lower lip and rake my hands down his chest, full of adrenaline and anticipation.
Blake releases me onto his bed and the spring of his mattress catches me. I sit up on my knees by the edge of the bed as he stands in front of me, and I wrap my fingers around his chain necklace and meet his shining gaze. We are eye level, our hearts pounding.
Suddenly, his expression sharpens and he turns gravely somber. “There’s just one thing I need to ask you.”
I let go of his necklace and straighten my shoulders, my stomach dropping from the fear of the unknown. What could Blake possibly need to ask me rightnow? “What, Blake?”
He grasps my wrists and presses his chest to mine, his dark eyes staring so intensely into mine I’m sure he can read my soul. The corner of his mouth curves and the dimple in his left cheek pops when he whispers, “Are you nervous?”
We both erupt into laughter. Blake presses his body harder into mine, lowering me onto the mattress and pinning my wrists against the pillows. I will forever be nervous around Blake, but these heart palpitations hurt in all the right ways. Even now, my body trembles with desire and my skin tingles with goosebumps, and I simply cannot get enough.
We push and pull against each other, fighting for control, and with all of my might I roll us over so that I’m sitting smugly on his stomach, straddling him with confidence. A stream of early evening sunshine, all golden and hazy, shines through the cracks in the Venetian blinds and reflects in Blake’s smoldering eyes. I whip off his T-shirt to reveal his toned body and he gets comfortable, interlocking his hands behind his head and watching me leave a trail of kisses all the way down to his stomach. His skin feels cool and I kiss every line of definition around his sculpted abs, following the V-lines toward the Hugo Boss branded hem of his boxers. I sit up and shimmy off my blouse, and Blake traces the curve of my breasts with his fingertips.
I press my hands flat to his chest. “Promise me something, Blake.”
“Anything,” he says.
“Promise me you won’t let me go home without saying goodbye this time.”
Blake squeezes his arms around my waist and hugs me tight, flipping me back over as he whispers, “I promise.”
Our bodies entwined as one, we lose ourselves in each other.
As I peel open my eyes, my contact lenses burn with a grainy dryness, and I rub hard at my eyelids in an effort to soothe them. I steal a quick peek to my left and Blake is on his stomach, face buried into his pillow, his breathing shallow as he sleeps soundly. His muscular frame is too tantalizingly attractivenotto touch, and I find myself running my fingers down his back before I realize we are in darkness, save for the streetlights outside casting a glow through the open window. It was daylight before. How long have we been asleep?
I clutch the sheets to my chest and scramble for my phone on the nightstand, the harsh glare of the screen momentarily blinding me. But then as I blink fast and my home screen draws into focus, I see the time.
“Oh my God! It’s after ten,” I gasp. I leap from the bed, dragging the sheets with me and leaving Blake exposed. I throw my phone onto the mattress and search Blake’s floor for my clothes in a blurred state of panic. I grab what I think is my blouse but is really his T-shirt.
Blake groans and presses his face harder into his pillow. He stretches out his arms, biceps bulging, and reluctantly rolls over and sits up. His hair is ridiculously unruly, sections poking out in all directions thanks to my obsession with pulling at it, but I can’t even laugh right now. I throw his T-shirt at his chest and grab my jean shorts from behind his bedroom door. Bailey must hear us awaken, because he begins scratching at the door and whimpering to be let in.
“Hey, relax,” Blake says with a yawn. He runs his hands through that messy hair of his, frustratingly calm as I fly around his room with a sneaker in one hand and my blouse in the other. “What’s the rush to leave? My mom is staying in Nashville tonight. We have the place to ourselves. Stay, Mila.” He purses his lips flirtatiously as he pats the spot next to him. “Come back to bed.”
“It’s after ten! I was supposed to have dinner at home at seven.Ten minus seven equalsthree hours late.” I grab my other shoe and then stand rigid by the bed, shaking my head at Blake in exasperation, not only because I broke the promise I made Dad that I’d be back from Nashville in time for the dinner he was personally cooking, but also because I can’t find my goddamn bra. “Where is my bra?”
Blake whips my bra out from beneath him and swings it around his index finger by one of the straps with a playful smirk. “This?”
I snatch it from him and throw it on at record speed. “Do you want my dad to hate you? You need to take me home.”
Blake rolls his eyes like I’m being melodramatic but does climb out of bed and sulkily fetches his boxers. As he gets dressed, I check my phone again and am horrified to see all of my missed call notifications. Both Dad and Sheri were trying to call me hours ago, and they’ve left me with an influx of texts. As predicted, Dad is livid.
Are you running late? A heads up would have been appreciated.
