Page 63 of Best Kept Secret
I tip toe down the hallway toward the kitchen to get my Moon Milk, caught off-guard by the sight of Millie lying there, fast asleep on the couch, bathed in the soft glow of the ESPN screen displayed on the television. When I see the information screen is from our game tonight, my heart swells because not only did she watch the game, but it looks like she fell asleep waiting for me.
I take off my suit jacket and drape it over the back of one ofthe kitchen stools, uncuffing my sleeves and rolling them up my arms. Stepping around the back of the sofa, I round the coffee table, brows furrowing as I scan the mess covering it: her laptop, candy wrappers, an empty soda can, a giant pink water bottle, a box of half-eaten Chinese. I shake my head on a soft laugh. My messy little brat.
As I stand over Millie, taking her in, a foreign feeling causes my throat to clog. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I didn’t think it was possible, but she might be even more beautiful in sleep; her face soft and peaceful, lips slightly turned up at the corners, lashes fanning over her cheeks. The blanket covering her has slipped off one shoulder, and I try not to notice, but the white tank top she’s wearing is sheer, and she’s not wearing a bra.
Eyes up, Perv.
Bending at the knees, I carefully slip one hand under her thighs, the other under her arm, and half roll her so she’s on her back before lifting her as slowly and gently as I can so as not to wake her. When she hums a contented sound, her head nestling against my chest, I ignore the way my heart clenches, releasing the breath I’ve been holding. Walking back around the coffee table and the couch, I continue down the hallway toward her bedroom.
Millie’s bedroom is dark, save for the gentle flicker of the LED candle she has on the nightstand, the small flame gradually changing colors. I smile at the subtle addition to her bedroom. This room was nothing but a bed and a stack of my own shit that I hadn’t bothered to send to storage ever since I moved in a year and a half ago. The moment Millie told me she wanted to come stay here, I called Maeve, the interior designer who furnished the rest of the apartment, and within twenty-four hours, this room was all set up and fit for a slightly bratty princess. No one knows that. It’s my little secret. But I wanted to make this place perfect for her. Perfect so that maybe when the time comes, she won’t actually want to leave.
I move to the side of the bed, carefully depositing Millie ontothe mattress, on top of the comforter. I pull her weighted blanket up higher, covering her, lingering a few inches and taking her in. The rose pink of her lips, the freckles that dot her nose and cheeks, the tiny scar at the bottom of her chin—I don’t know what it’s from but it’s adorable and adds character to her otherwise flawless face. My God, she’s stunning. Gut-wrenchingly so. And the way she has my heart in a chokehold. I swear, I’m a fucking goner for this woman, and I don’t even think she realizes it.
Considering myself a moment, I look from her face, down her body covered by the blanket, and back up again. I lower just enough, my lips grazing the soft curve of her cheek and, with the whisper of a kiss, I murmur, “Sweet dreams, Red.”
But just as I go to pull away, a hand grips onto my arm, stopping me.
Freezing, I look down to see Millie’s thick lashes flutter, hazy eyes opening and finding me as a smile plays on those pretty pink lips. “Logan.”
My name whispered in that throaty, sleep-filled way does things to me I cannot for the life of me begin to fathom. And whatever self-control I had is waning by the second the longer she looks up at me, mossy green gaze dazed and heavy lidded.
“Get some sleep,” I whisper, tamping down the sound of the voices bickering inside my head; one is screaming at me to walk away, the other calling me a pussy and demanding that I kiss her.
With her eyes set firmly on mine, Millie’s hand moves from my arm, up over my shoulder and down the front of my chest, fingers gripping the front of my shirt. And just when I’m about to tell her that whatever this is that’s happening is not a good idea, the words on the tip of my tongue evaporate into thin air the second she tugs me closer, so close until our noses are touching.
“Millie, I?—”
“Shut up,” she interjects, pulling me even closer, her lips claiming mine.
And sure, she’s possibly in one of those semi-conscious states between asleep and awake, not at all of sound mind, but I’m only human.
Millie’s lips move against mine, slow and tentative, yet firm with determination, and it’s taking all I have not to wrap my hand around the back of her neck and shove my tongue deep inside her mouth. This isn’t about me. This is all her. She’s in control right now. I need to shut the hell up and enjoy the ride, taking whatever I can get.
Her soft hand comes up to my face, cupping my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheek in a way that’s so tender it causes my heart to skip a few beats. She snakes her hand behind my head, nails raking through my hair as she urges me impossibly closer. When I feel her tongue drag along the seam of my lips, I part just enough for her to push inside my mouth, and an involuntary groan tears up the back of my throat and falls into our kiss, seeming to spur her on.
Millie shimmies out from underneath the blanket, and I cast a sneaky look downwards, another guttural groan rumbling from deep in my chest when I see that she’s wearing nothing but a pair of tiny silk shorts, and fuck me, her thighs are my Kryptonite. All I can think about is exactly how they felt clamped around my head last night as she came apart on my tongue. I’m forced to squeeze my eyes closed before I implode and come in my pants, not for the first time over this woman.
Blindly, I kick off my shoes before climbing onto the bed, nudging one of my thighs between hers while trying to keep my weight off her. I trail a hand down her side, reveling in the feel of the soft curve of her hip beneath my palm. Fuck she’s hot, and I am a weak, weak son of a bitch. I press my thigh against her pussy and she sucks in a gasp, a whimper slipping from her mouth and into mine, and I stifle my smug smirk, taking over the kiss and thrusting my tongue into her sweet mouth.
Millie’s hand moves down my chest, my stomach, stopping at my belt, and tugging on the buckle. And I know I should stop this before it goes any further, but again, I’m a spineless asshole when it comes to this woman.
My hand seems to have a mind of its own, moving from her hip and magically slipping between her legs, grazing her center. She’s so warm, the silk of her shorts damp, and I mutter a curse, licking into her mouth again as my hand rubs against her, causing her hips to buck.
Her fingers are frantic as they try and fail to release my belt, and I feel like a fucking teenager again, desperate to reach second base in the back seat of my mom’s car. But I don’t care. It’s as if I’m having some sort of out-of-body experience, and all I need more than air right now is Millie Shaw.
My thumb presses against her clit through her shorts, and I can smell her mouth-watering arousal, feel just how wet she’s getting, and something low in my gut starts to unravel. I need her. I need her so fucking bad it hurts.
“Logan,” Millie whimpers against my mouth.
I clamp her bottom lip between my teeth, my lids heavy when I look into her eyes to find her pupils blown out, desire and need evident within her dazed gaze.
“Fuck me,” she whispers. “Please.”
And there it is. That’s what does it.
Most guys would probably laugh and call me a sorry ass son of a bitch, but Millie whimpering my name while pleading me to fuck her is like a slap to the face I didn’t know I needed. This isn’t right. We can’t do this.Ican’t do this. Not here. Not now. Not when she’s half asleep and barely fucking conscious, regardless of how wet her pussy is. I like this woman. I more than like her. She means more to me than I can even begin to comprehend. But I can’t do this here, not like this. She’s a virgin. And when the time finally comes, when I do get to claim her, it’s going to be special, not here, half-asleep, and especially not while I’m dressed in my fucking game day suit.
“Millie, stop.”
