1: Avery
The apartment is almost completely dark. I turned the lights off a few minutes ago and was already on my way to bed, but I came back for water and noticed the balcony door sitting slightly open. I was out there earlier, so I tell myself I must not have shut it properly. Except I’m almost positive I did.
I walk over anyway, my hand almost on the handle when something moves in the reflection of the glass behind me. I barely have time to register that someone’s there before a hand clamps over my mouth and an arm locks around my waist, dragging me backward against a hard body. I scream into his palm and jerk forward, but his hold only tightens. I dig my nails into the hand covering my mouth and twist as hard as I can, trying to tear myself free.
Panic hits harder when I realize how easily he’s holding me, like all the fighting I’m doing is just wearing me out while his grip stays exactly the same. I try to remember all those self-defense classes I took and how fucking useless every single one suddenly feels. Drop your weight. Stomp the foot. Drive an elbow back. Twist toward the weak point in the grip. What fucking weak point? Or was I supposed to throw my head back first? Fantastic. Was I even paying attention?
Then whoever’s holding me leans closer, warm breath brushing my ear.
“Go ahead and scream. I want to hear what you sound like when you think you’re about to die.”
My first attempt comes out muffled against his palm. Then he actually takes his hand away, although the arm locked around my waist doesn’t loosen at all.
“Help!” I scream as loud as I can. “Someone, please help me!”
My voice tears through the apartment, and the intruder starts—laughing?
Is that what I’m hearing? Yeah. He is.
I go quiet after that, somehow even more unsettled because I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with someone who laughs when I scream for help. Then cold metal touches my throat, and every thought in my head disappears. He presses the blade lightly against my skin, just enough that I can feel exactly where it is.
“I said scream, didn’t I?” His voice is dangerously low now.
My heart is beating so fast it makes me dizzy, and I swallow carefully because even that tiny movement makes me aware of the knife. “Please. Please don’t hurt me.”
He presses it a little harder. “Not good enough, Avery.”
Wait—Avery? How the fuck does he know my name?
“Who... who are you?” My voice is shaking so badly I barely recognize it.
“Guess.” His mouth brushes close to my ear, and then his tongue drags slowly along the side of my neck.
I flinch, which only makes the knife press more firmly against my skin.
“I don’t fucking know!”
His hand slides lower, catching at the waistband of my shorts, and my entire body goes rigid. I don’t know what he’s reaching for, but humiliation hits before he even gets any farther because I already know what he’ll find.
“What the fuck?” A quiet laugh brushes my ear. “Are you actually turned on?”
Heat rushes into my face. Of course my body chooses the worst fucking moment imaginable to do this. His fingers slip beneath my shorts and inside me, and my head tips back against his shoulder before I can stop it. My body keeps reacting even while every thought in my head is telling me to get away from him. His breath catches against my ear, and then I feel how hard he is against my lower back. My face burns hotter. He’s getting off on this—on scaring the shit out of me and watching my body betray me anyway.
“Still this fucking responsive to me,” he murmurs.
My thoughts snag on the words. Still?
He eases the knife away from my throat. “Come on, Avery. You really haven’t figured it out?”
It can’t be. No. No fucking way.
“Miles?”
He loosens his hold enough to let me turn around, and the second I see his face, whatever tiny part of me was still hoping I was wrong disappears. He looks different. Older, obviously. Eight years will do that. But I know that face. I used to know every fucking inch of it, and now I can’t seem to look anywhere else.
“I thought you were—”
“In prison?” His mouth twitches. “Disappointed?”
My hand connects with his face before I even decide to do it.
His head turns with the hit, the crack of it loud in the apartment, and my palm starts stinging almost immediately. I’m breathing hard by the time he looks back at me, a red mark already spreading across his cheek.
“You fucking asshole.”
Miles smiles, and that only makes me want to hit him again.
“You think this is funny?” I shove him in the chest, but he barely moves. “You scared the hell out of me!”
Miles folds the knife and slips it into his pocket. I swing at him again, but this time he catches my wrist. I yank at his grip, but he grabs the other one too and walks me backward until my back hits the balcony door. The glass rattles behind me as he pins my hands beside my head and leans in close enough that I can feel his breath against my mouth.
I turn my face away and pull against his grip. “Get off me.”
“Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for.”
I look back at him. “What do you want?”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and the corner of his lips lifts.
“You. For starters.”
His mouth crashes into mine, cutting off my answer. I bite his lower lip hard enough to make him groan, but instead of backing off, he kisses me harder. My wrists are still trapped against the glass, the balcony door rattling behind me every time he presses closer.
Then he lets go of my wrists, catches me behind the thighs, and lifts me so quickly I only get his name out. A second later I’m over his shoulder, my stomach pressed against him while the rest of me hangs down his back, my hair falling toward the floor.
I brace a hand against his back, irritated by how fucking easy this is for him. “Where the fuck are you taking me?”
“Thought I’d start by fucking you in your own bed.”
Heat curls low in my stomach before guilt follows right behind it. The fact that those words still excite me at all feels deeply fucked up.
“Who says you’re getting that far?” I say, like I’m not already imagining exactly what’ll happen if he gets me to that bed.
“Your pussy,” he groans, slapping my ass.
I’d love to tell him he’s wrong, but considering what my body was doing five minutes ago, that would be a hard sell.
My hair swings across my face with every step, and from where I’m hanging over his shoulder, I watch the hallway pass beneath us until he turns into my bedroom without slowing. Wait—he didn’t even hesitate. He’s never been in here, so how the fuck does he know which room is mine?
He carries me inside and drops me onto the bed. The second my back hits the mattress, his mouth finds mine again. My hands go to his shoulders automatically, fingers tightening in his shirt as he settles over me, and this man should be the last person I ever let touch me again. I’m still not making him stop.
His hands drop to my waist, and he drags my shorts and underwear down my legs before tossing them aside.
“I was wondering if you’d still fall apart the second I touched you,” he says, the words rough against my skin as he lowers his head between my legs.
My breath catches, and Miles gives me that same infuriating little look he used to whenever he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on me. His hands settle along my thighs, warm and steady, and when he presses his mouth against my sensitive skin, every thought I was trying to hold onto starts slipping loose again.
I turn my face into the pillow like that might somehow make this less real, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes me more aware of everything. The scrape of his jaw against my inner thigh, the way his fingers tighten slightly whenever I move, like he feels every clench and answers it.
My back arches off the mattress when his pace picks up, and he uses the movement to pull me closer to the edge of the bed, gripping my thighs hard enough to leave bruises and holding me open while he works me with his mouth. My hips are moving on their own now, chasing his tongue, and every sound I fail to swallow seems to make him want another one.
I missed this. Fuck, I missed him. Not just the sex, but the intensity of Miles, the way he gets under my skin until everything else feels dull by comparison. Eight years and apparently nobody ever figured out how to affect me the way he does.
I grab his hair and pull him back up toward me, needing his mouth on mine, needing the weight of him over me before I can think hard enough to stop myself. I can regret this tomorrow. I can tell him to go fuck himself and swear this was a mistake. But right now, I don’t have any fucking desire to stop.
Miles pulls back just long enough to grab the back of his shirt and drag it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. I almost wish he hadn’t. There’s too much I don’t recognize. Ink I’ve never seen, pale lines cutting through it, pieces of eight years written across a body I used to know better than my own.
My hand moves over his chest before I really think about it, catching on one of the scars. No. Fuck that. I didn’t pull him into my bed to start feeling sorry for him. I shove at his shoulder and roll us, and he goes with it far too easily. There’s no chance I actually overpowered him, and the look he gives me from beneath me makes it pretty fucking clear he knows that too. Fine. If he wants to watch me make a bad decision, I’ll give him a fucking show.
I hook my fingers under the hem of my top and pull it over my head, watching his eyes move slowly over my breasts. He starts to sit up, trying to get closer, but I press a hand to his chest and push him back down. He grins as his hands tighten around my hips, his fingers digging in hard enough that I feel every one of them.
The way he looks almost angry about how badly he wants me, how completely his attention settles on me, sends a sharp pulse straight between my thighs. My fingers move to his jeans next. I work the button open slowly, watching his face instead of my hands, and there’s something almost addictive about the way his breathing changes when I pull the zipper down. Miles lifts his hips enough to shove his jeans and boxers down and kick them off.
He’s thick and fully hard beneath me, and I hate how quickly the sight of him turns my thoughts filthy. I lower my head and tease him slowly with my tongue, taking my time, giving him just enough to keep him wanting more without ever letting him have all of me.
“Keep smiling. I want to see how long that lasts,” he gets out around a rough groan.
One second I’m the one tormenting him, and the next his hand is buried in my hair, fingers tightening as he thrusts into my mouth deep enough to make my eyes water, my hands bracing against his thighs as I try to slow him down, which only seems to encourage him.
He thrusts again, slower this time, leaving my eyes stinging and my breathing uneven while he watches every reaction like he wants to see exactly how far he can push me. Before I can take him again, he tightens his grip in my hair and pulls me back, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip as I look up at him, confused. Then his hand closes around my arm and he turns me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up until I’m on my knees, the whole thing happening fast enough that I’m still catching myself against the mattress when he settles behind me.
“Still so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, one hand gripping my hip as he presses against me. “Good. That’ll make this easier.”
He pushes into me slowly enough that I feel every inch, his grip tightening on my hip as I adjust around him. A moan slips out, and I immediately bury my face against the pillow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing another one.
Miles laughs softly behind me. “Bury your face all you want, baby. I can still hear you.”
I reach back to shove at him, but he catches my wrist and uses it to force me forward, my chest hitting the mattress as he holds my arm behind my back. My other hand fists in the sheets as my body closes around him.
“I fucking hate you.”
“Good.”
He lets go of my wrist and catches me around the waist, pulling my hips back against him as he starts moving harder. One hand stays locked around my hip while the other slips between us and moves lower, one slick finger pressing into my ass before drawing back and pushing in again. The sudden pressure punches a moan out of me, followed by a sharp rush of pleasure that makes everything tighten at once.
Miles groans behind me when my body clenches around his cock, and hearing how wrecked he sounds only makes me tighten around him again. When I push myself up on one hand, he takes advantage of it, sliding an arm around me and hauling my upper body back against his chest. His forearm settles across the front of my neck, keeping me upright while he fucks me from behind.
His other hand slips between my legs. His fingers find my clit, and within seconds my knees are weakening beneath me, my hand closing around his forearm while my hips start meeting him on their own. A part of me wants to tell him to go to hell, but another hard thrust knocks the words apart before I can get them out. The pressure is suddenly everywhere, too much coming at me at once, and my breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.
My knees are barely holding me up, and my thoughts have narrowed down to nothing but Miles and the unbearable fullness of him.
“Fuck, Avery.” His teeth catch lightly against my shoulder before he starts driving into me harder, and the wet sound of him fucking me fills the room. He keeps hitting the same spot while his fingers refuse to give me even a second to come down from it.
My thighs start shaking first. Then my stomach tightens so hard I can barely breathe, and I dig my nails into his wrist as the orgasm tears through me. My whole body locks against him, clenching around his cock while he keeps me upright and lets me ride it.
He stays buried inside me while the contractions work through my body, his arm holding me against his chest as he waits for the worst of it to pass. He gives me just enough time for my grip on his wrist to loosen and my breathing to start coming back before his hips move again. He doesn’t ease into it. He fucks me harder, dragging every thrust through nerves that haven’t had time to settle, and the oversensitivity turns each one almost painfully sharp while his breathing grows rougher against my ear.
“You know what I want, Avery?” His mouth brushes my ear. “I want you so fucking sore tomorrow you remember me every time you move.”
A lingering aftershock ripples through me, squeezing him hard enough to drag a groan from Miles.
“Fuck.” His arm tightens around me. “Stop strangling my cock unless you want me to come inside you.”
He drives into me once more, deep and slow, then stays buried as far as he can go while my body pulses around him like it’s trying to keep him there.
“You want that, don’t you?” he murmurs. “Too fucking bad.”
Then he pulls out at the last fucking second. Warmth spills across my lower back and ass as his hand clamps around my hip, keeping me there while he finishes with a rough groan.
His breathing is still uneven as his palm drags across my ass before he gives it a sharp little slap that sends me sprawling onto my stomach. I turn my head toward him, half ready to say something, but Miles is already dropping down beside me, one arm thrown across the pillow as he catches his breath.
Then the adrenaline starts wearing off all at once. My limbs feel heavy, my eyes sting with exhaustion, and somewhere between telling myself I should get up and deciding I absolutely will in a second, I drift off with him beside me.
