Page 53 of Secret Obsession
That thought breaks me.
“There,” he urges. He’s wrapped my leg around his hip, and his now free hand dips between us. He runs his fingers through my center, lazily circling my clit. Like the way he’s fucking me and teasing me are just… normal morning things.
Like he’s not in a hurry.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Whiteshaw boys always fuck and leave.
I grasp on to that.
Miles just wants me for sex. He wants to, I don’t know, claim to his brother that he was able to fuck me. And now that he’s done this, everything will go back to the way it was.
I’ll go back to avoiding the hockey team.
He’ll go back to dominating it.
“Fine,” I whisper. “Fuck me.”
He rears back to meet my gaze. I can’t keep my mouth open with his fingers on my clit. But I don’t really care that he’s getting a front-row seat to my sex face. His eyes shutter at whatever he sees in my expression. And whatever he was thinking, whatever was written plainly across his face, is slammed behind a brick wall.
I didn’t realize he had let a guard down… didn’t realize there was anything about him that needed guarding…
Until it was put back up.
16
MILES
She’s infuriating.
Being inside her is the most wicked thrill. Like I’m doing something wrong—well,I am—and right at the same time. My blood sings with harmony.
Until she tells me to fuck her.
And then I see the awful, cold truth of it.
Sex, to her, means leaving.
Or maybe, in a more complicated manner, sex leads to sleep, which is when my brother would always slip out of the room. That’s how I found her, more often than not. Sleeping in his bed while he drank downstairs.
I don’t want to psychoanalyze it, but Idothink it broke something in her.
Something deep and dark that she doesn’t even realize.
Okay, maybe I do want to psychoanalyze her.
Maybe I’ve been doing it for a long fucking time.
But it’s mid-morning. We’re not going to sleep—but there is a chance that I’d leave after I come inside her again. That’s what she’s thinking.
“Miles.” Her hand slips higher, up my arm, to my neck. Then my jaw. Her fingers are featherlight on my face.
Loathing rips through me.
I can’t stop it—and I don’t even try.
I pull out of her and drop her feet to the floor. Her knees give a little, and only my hands on her forearms keep her upright. I turn away from her and shove a chair. It topples over with a crash.
“Fuck!” I yell.
