I pulled him closer with both hands, fisting the front of his shirt, my mouth opening under his. The kiss deepened—messy, hot, reckless. His hand slid lower, across my thigh, then under, fingers skating up until he found the lace between my legs.
His mouth was still on mine, but his breath stilled.
“You’re wet,” he muttered into my mouth. “Still want me, even now?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
His fingers pushed the lace aside, teased, pressed. I shuddered, legs tightening around him, my head falling back with a breathless moan.
He kissed down my throat, biting gently at my collarbone. “You miss this?”
God, yes.
I’d spent six years pretending I didn’t.
He slipped a finger inside me. Then another. Slow. Deep. My body clenched around him.
I moaned, low and shaking. I hated him. I wanted him. I needed?—
Then he stopped.
Pulled away.
I made a sound I couldn’t control—half whimper, half protest—and reached for him before I realized what I was doing.
But he was already backing up.
He didn’t look smug. Or proud. Or even satisfied.
He looked…ruined.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, voice hoarse. “You make me forget this is a bad idea.”
I swallowed hard, my chest heaving.
“Miles—”
“Good night, Serena.” And with that he left, leaving me panting with a half-eaten grilled cheese and stirred-up feelings.
CHAPTER 21
Miles
The sharp soundof tires crunching on gravel cut through the ocean’s roar, jolting me from my reverie. I leaned against my car, the salty tang of the sea air filling my nostrils and the vast Pacific stretching before me.
He actually came.
It’d been a few days after the summer soirée and the whole town had found out what had gone down between Pops and Vincent.
I’d noticed Pops had been off his mark for a little while now, but for him to do what he did at the party? I was hoping I could either fix things or find some reasonable explanation.
Serena wasn’t answering my calls. At first the phone would ring and ring and ring, but now it was straight to voicemail.
That fucking stung.
Erik exited his G-Wagon, looking as exhausted as I was, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, obscuring his expression, his hands shoved deep in his sweatpants.
“I can’t believe you did it,” I told him. I could barely look at him.
