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)
“Your dad?” he asks. It hasn’t escaped my attention that he’s only asking questions about me and not telling me anything about himself, but I let it slide for now.
“Oh, he’s a dick, if you couldn’t tell by the way he talked my mom into dropping out of school. She hadn’t come from much. He came from money. He held that over her a lot. And he hates me.”
He scoffs. “No one hates you.”
I nudge his arm. “Aww. Are you saying you like me?”
“Fuck no.” Miles pulls his arm away.
But I think he does. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be walking with me right now. He wouldn’t have stuck up for me at the party or helped me home that night.
We stop at the Health Sciences building, and I suddenly wish I didn’t have to go to class, that I could pick Miles’s brain or at least let him pick mine some more.
“You’re here,” he says.
“Good observation. I hope no one gets close enough to me to smell my cum breath,” I tease.
He pulls breath mints from his pocket, and I hold out my hand, Miles shaking one into my palm. I want to uncover every secret he has, to pull back every layer of Miles and figure out what’s beneath.
“You’ll be late,” he tells me. “If you want to blow me again, I’m game.”
I laugh. “Only if you blow me first.” I wink, then go into the building.
9
Miles
I impatiently wait for him at our next Figure Drawing session.
“If you want to blow me again, I’m game.”
I tried to sound cool, but really, if he hadn’t needed to be in class, I definitely could’ve gone for round two. I rarely do repeats, Tatum being one of the few exceptions, but despite knowing Dax shouldn’t fuck with me, part of me doesn’t want that.
And now that I know what he can do with that mouth, it’s even worse. It’s not even just the skill that guy’s developed. It’s the chemistry between us. Raw, powerful, explosive chemistry. Something intense enough to drown out the noise in my fucking head. And as hard as I’m trying to convince myself that what we did was a mistake, I feel like I crossed a bridge and then torched the damn thing behind me. I can only imagine how he’ll be during his modeling session today, deliberately toying with me. He’ll look my way, but not directly at me, as he poses. The occasional smirk when he’s swapping positions. His lips will beg for another load in his belly. And I’m gonna give it to him.
“Okay,” Professor Reger says. “Dax couldn’t make it today, but we have another model helping us.”
What…the…fuck?
“She’s in the back room, getting ready, but she’ll be out in a moment, so in the meantime, I’ll review what we’ll be working on.”
My thoughts scramble as I spiral. He said he wanted to mess around again, but what if he changed his mind? Maybe there wasn’t as much chemistry between us as I thought. If that’s the case, it’s not like he must stop modeling for class just because of that.
Before we even get started, I’ve already made up my mind that Dax just enjoyed hitting and quitting it and clearly wants nothing to do with me anymore. It’s for the best. He can go fuck himself. But why, when it’d be better if I was fucking him?
Class is torture as I force myself to draw the model, my hands tensing, trying to pull me in a different direction, because I know who they really want to draw. Even her lips aren’t right, and as Professor Reger passes behind me, assessing my work, I’m wondering if she notices whose lips they are.
“Nice work as always, Miles,” she assures me before moving on to the next station.
Wish I could enjoy the compliment, but I just grit my teeth and keep on, ruminating on what he told me about his mom.
It was such a shock to my system. Not that it’s a huge shock to meet others who’ve lost parents, but it amazes me that he can be this fun-loving guy despite that. Although, I knew there was more behind his smile. Fucking knew there had to be, and this proved it. But more than that, it touched something in me, something a lot more important than anything we did sexually. I could hear the pain in his tone, see it in his eyes, and I know that pain. That loss. So fucking deep. Excruciating. And he could’ve kept it to his damn self if he was just gonna write me off after.
The thought haunts me the rest of class and through my next one, Medieval Art History. Don’t know why I’m stressing. If Dax doesn’t want to fuck around again, I can just as easily find someone else tonight at the TaskFrat Challenge—this masochistic thing the Peach State frats do where we volunteer for humiliation to entertain the frats and sororities.