Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

I’m laying long-stemmed roses on the pillows of our queen-sized bed when my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket, feeling a little breathless, but it’s Miller and not Dirk.

“Heya, Mills.”

“Hey, angel. Whatcha up to?”

I let out a faux sigh. “Just waiting on my boyfriend. Nah, just kidding. Well, I am waiting, but it’s all good. How was practice?”

“It was pretty good,” Josh says. “Working with two girls and a guy in a quartet. Just messing around.”

I can hear the excitement in his voice, though, and it makes my chest go warm and fuzzy as I sit on the bed’s edge. I lie on my back, dangling my legs off the side.

“You gonna play for me this weekend?” I murmur into the phone.

“Oh yeah. I need to practice. You’ll be tired after Greeley and the gym on Saturday. So I’ll have a captive audience.”

That makes me chuckle. “Since when do I need to be tired to hear you play that good shit?”

He knows it’s true. I’m Josh Miller’s biggest fan. He claims it’s just the inherent beauty of cello, I’d be captivated by anyone playing it, but we both know that’s not true. It’s his fingers I want to see moving along the fingerboard. I want to see his eyes close as he plays for me, his foot tap gently on the floor. After he’s done, I wanna kiss his neck and ruffle up his dark hair.

I laugh. “I’m getting hard thinking about you with that cello.”

“You filthy auralist.”

I rub my hand over my boner, shaking my head with my eyes closed. “Someone who gets it up for music?”

“Yup,” he confirms.

“I’m a Millerist. Remember what happens when I sit on the sidelines at your soccer?”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Yeah, I think you’ve gotta wear a jock strap next time.”

Fuck, and now I’m harder. “I could be convinced to do that for you.”

“Shit, dude,” Mills says. “When is this Times guy coming? I want to blow you when I get home.”

“Dude! How is that helpful? What if he shows up right now when I’ve got a monster boner.”

“Luke said his plane was landing at 11:30 in Atlanta. It’s not even 2 yet, and he’s gotta drive from there to here. And don’t call my favorite dick a monster. He’s XL, and that’s A-okay.”

I start pumping myself through my basketball shorts. “Mills?” I whisper. “Can you hurry?”

“I’m about two minutes away. You want me to jog? I’ll do it.”

I laugh, and he says, “Now, don’t be coming, Ezra. Hold out for my mouth. Why use your hand when you can use me?”

Ohhhh fuck. “You’re not helping.”

The doorbell rings. My stomach drops. “What the—”

“Dude, lemme in,” he rasps through the phone. “I’m tenting my pants out here!”

“Dammn, boy. You don’t even sound breathless.”

“Soccer sprints, baby.”

I pull the door open, and Mills is looking like a snack. He’s got on beat-up jeans, tented by his massive boner, and the same red and white Henley shirt he pulled on this morning. But he’s got flushed cheeks from the jog, and he’s giving me this lust-slack grin as he holds his cock.

“Masturbating on the walkway. Miller.” Mills laughs, and then he launches himself at me—full-on tackle with his arms around my neck and his face pressed against my shoulder. I think he forgot about my ankle, still in its boot.

“God, you smell good. And this Polo.” He nips at the collar of the hunter green shirt I have on, then at my throat.

“Hope you don’t mind me borrowing,” I tell him. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

“You look fucking lunchable, babe.”

Such a weird endearment—makes me laugh my ass off. I pull him inside and slam the door shut. “Miller, Miller, Miller…what a dirty boy, trying to rip a hole in those jeans you stole from my drawer…”

I end up on my knees, working his button undone and unzipping his fly. I end up sucking his dick in the foyer because I can’t help myself. Mills slides down the door. He’s gripping the back of my head as he comes, and then he’s kissing my mouth. He’s taking my hand, leading me into the bedroom, where he stops short, wide-eyed and then open-mouthed as he takes in more than a hundred roses covering our pillows.

“Ez. Holy shit.” Now he’s kissing me. He’s walking me backwards toward the bed’s edge, wrapping his hands around my elbows and holding tight so I don’t fall in my boot.

I ease down on my back, and Josh is crawling on top of me. He tickles my cheek and then my throat with a rose…and my lower abs. Then he works my pants down my hips, freeing my hard cock, and he gives one of the best blow jobs of my life so far. The kissing, licking, lapping at my cockhead, sucking—it’s all just right. He nudges my balls aside and hesitates, and I groan, “Please, Josh.” Once he’s got a finger in me, I can’t hold out for long. I come almost violently, going a little dizzy as he finishes and lays his cheek on my hip. And that’s how we’re posed when the doorbell rings.