Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I’ve always been into kissing, but there’s something about the way he does it that’s even more addicting. Miles is shit at communicating, but he seems to say more with his kissing than he does speaking—I hate you. I want you. Get away. I hate myself. At least, that’s what his kiss tastes like to me.
His strokes speed up, that fire now shooting up my spine and exploding in colors in my eyes. His hold on my throat tightens. He’s not restricting my breath. Just holding me, but even the slight pressure is enough to push me over the edge, my balls high and tight as I shoot all over him, marking him in a way I hadn’t planned on doing but like.
“Fuck,” he says, pressing his forehead against the stall.
“I know. I’m good.”
“Does it make you feel good to keep telling me that?” he asks without looking at me, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I mean, if you’re not going to give me compliments, I’ll have to give them to myself.”
Is it me, or are the corners of his mouth turned up slightly? If they are, he’s definitely fighting it.
“You made a mess.” He looks down at the cum on his shirt.
“That was closer to a compliment,” I tease, and he bites back another smirk.
“You’re annoying.”
Miles gets some toilet paper, cleans himself up, and then we get dressed and head out of the stall.
“Are you going to run away again?”
“Only if you keep asking dumb questions.”
Huh. I didn’t expect that. I thought for sure he’d turn into Angry-Ass Miles and storm off, but apparently, that’s not going to happen.
“Okay…then you can walk me toward the health sciences building.”
He cocks a brow as if to say he didn’t sign up for that, his lips in a tight, cute scowl that’s less I fucking hate you than normal and more I want to fucking hate you but you’re intriguing. I can work with that.
I’m surprised when Miles holds the bathroom door open for me to walk out first. I almost make a joke about him deciding to push me out and lock himself in the bathroom, but I don’t want to give him any ideas. If anything, our rushed hookup and now him walking me to class have made me even more curious about him. What makes this guy tick? What caused that self-loathing he gave me a glimpse of after the party the other night?
“Thanks for getting the door. See? I told the guys you weren’t so bad.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, and I wince, wishing I hadn’t said anything.
“Nothing. They were just giving me shit about sticking up for you.”
“I don’t need you to stick up for me.”
I feel like I ruined whatever common ground we found, so I’m racking my brain to make it better. “I know. Anyone would be a fool not to see how independent you are.”
I’m not sure if my words help, but they don’t make it worse either. We’re quiet for a moment, but it’s Miles who breaks it.
“So…” The word hangs in the air for a long moment, like he’s trying to think of something to ask me or trying to talk himself out of asking me. “You’re going into something to do with medicine?”
“Yeah, I want to be a nurse.”
“Why?” He frowns as if it’s a strange field to get into. “You want? Or your family wants?”
I’ve never had someone ask me that before, and it makes me wonder why he is. Does his family try to push him toward something he doesn’t want to do? “Me. I like helping people. I want to be there when they get better, and I don’t have the patience to be a doctor. Plus, nurses are the lifeline of the medical field anyway.”
His brows draw together as if he’s unsure what to think. “You’re passionate about that, huh?”
“I am. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. My mom wanted to be a nurse too. It didn’t work out for her, though.”
“Why not?”
“She dropped out of school to marry my dad. I’m not sure why she couldn’t get her degree and marry him, but that’s what they decided. I think he just wanted a stay-at-home wife, then a stay-at-home mom. She was more of a trophy to him than anything.” My hands fist, but I shake them out, hoping he doesn’t notice. I’m a fairly open person with most things, but no one has asked me about my mom before, so I’ve never shared that she walked away from her dreams for my father.
“Was?” He looks at this huge, blooming Eastern Redbud tree, which happens to be one of my favorites on campus. I love the heart-shaped leaves.
“Yeah…she died. Car accident.”
When I look down, I notice his hands tightening and loosening. Did I say something wrong?