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)
Miles cracks a small smile, and I like that we can do that in a moment like this, still find some pleasure together, even when we’re talking about things that hurt.
“He doesn’t see you. Not if he thinks of you as anything less than what you are or can’t connect with you. He doesn’t see what everyone else does.”
My heart raps quickly against my chest. “What you see?” I ask, fishing for a compliment. “I’m more interested in how I look to you.”
He smirks. “I see someone I want,” he tells me, and it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. So fucking simple at its core, yet real, and it makes my dick twitch. “Are you going to get hard while I’m painting you?”
“Keep telling me you want me, and I will.”
“You tricked me into it.”
“Entrapment?” I tease. “Or is it that I’m irresistible?” I want to be irresistible to him.
“You know you are.”
It’s fun being with him like this, bouncing from serious to playful, revealing more of who he is.
I’m tired of standing in the same position, my body ready to move, but I don’t want him to lose his momentum.
“You stopped talking,” he says, and I chuckle.
“My needy grump.”
“Yours?”
“Maybe you’re irresistible too,” I flirt, the sound of his breath hitching making mine do the same.
He doesn’t respond, so I find more to share with him, the good stuff and the bad. If it’s the only way he can paint me, the only way he can show me how he sees me, I have to let him in. “I was with her when she died.”
He stills, his eyes meeting mine. “That’s where the dark comes from—that and your father.”
He words things so strangely sometimes, but…I get what he means. There’s this sadness I always carry with me that no one else has taken the time to see. Just Miles. Only Miles.
“What happened?” he asks, his gaze darting between me and the canvas, like he’s unsure if he should be giving me his full attention.
“You can paint,” I tell him, then answer his question. “I was bored. I’ve always had a lot of energy, but it was worse when I was a kid. I wanted to go and do something. Cedric and Dad were together, and I begged her to take me somewhere.” Emotion clogs up my chest, bleeds into my throat, making it hard to speak…to breathe. “She was on her phone a lot that day, I remember. I don’t know why that sticks out to me. Anyway, she said yes, and we left. We got t-boned on the driver’s side. I was in the back, but on the other side of the car. Somehow, I hardly had a scratch on me, and she died.”
My vision blurs, the room becoming watery. I swipe at the tears chasing each other down my face…and then Miles is there, wiping them away.
“Oops. I got paint on you.”
I chuckle. “It’s okay. Sorry. I didn’t think I would cry like that. I haven’t talked about her in a long time. I’ve never shared that story with anyone.”
“But you shared it with me.”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re mine.” Miles brushes his lips gently against mine.
I’ve had a hundred guys say that to me, usually when fucking me, and I know it doesn’t mean anything, but somehow, with Miles, it feels like it does.
He takes possession of my mouth, and everything he does is with so much passion, so much feeling. Sometimes that might not come out in the best ways. We’ve all seen him lash out, but when he touches me, kisses me, it’s all want and desire, and I’d like nothing more than to drown in it.
“Thank you for sharing that with me. One day…”
“I can wait,” I say. “Are you done with my painting? Do I get to see it?”
“No.”
“No you’re not done, or no I can’t see it?”
“No, you can’t see it.”
“Not fair.” I pretend to pout. “Let me.” I kiss him. “See it.” Another kiss. “Please. I’ll do anything you want me to.” And I’ll love every second of it.
He chuckles. “You already do.”
Good point.
“Please, Miles?”
“Yes,” he says, then leads me over.
17
Miles
Dax follows me to the canvas.
Aside from what Tatum and I do for cash, I don’t normally share my work with people. It’s not insecurity because I know I’m good, but it’s one thing to share an anonymous video where no one knows it’s me, another when they do and can look, maybe even probe, for what’s really under the surface. However, I’m not uneasy as I share this with Dax. I want him to see himself as I see him, not like his dad sees him; although, I doubt his dad sees him at all.
I give him a moment to absorb it, hoping he’ll see what lies behind each brushstroke, every carefully executed movement to get it precisely as it needed to be. But yes, this is right. There’s the bright yellow of the face, green eyes looking out at us as he wears a familiar smile that doesn’t irritate me nearly as much now that I know him better.