The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)
He chuckled. “That’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me. Not sure how I feel about that. I like having my minions cower in terror at the mere sound of my voice.”
“I doubt that happens very often.”
“Why don’t you head to bed? I have to let Stormy out. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
He pushed to his feet and offered a hand to help her up. She took it without hesitation, and when she was standing upright, she leaned in and lifted her face to his.
His breath caught in his chest and remained there when she went onto her toes and gifted him with a sweet, lingering kiss.
“Thank you for today, Miles. It meant so much.”
He palmed the side of her face and, for the first time, initiated a kiss. The embrace was tentative at first, as he tested her receptiveness, but when she opened her mouth to his tongue, he grew bolder and asked her for more than she had previously given him. More heat, more passion, and so much more hunger.
She groaned and encircled her arms around his neck. She undulated against him, a slow roll of her body against his, the sensuous movement seemed unintentional, but it set his every nerve ending alight and had a very predictable effect on his half-mast cock. He went hard as an iron spike, and the way she was grinding herself against him, he knew she had to feel it.
His captured her still slowly rolling hips in his palms and stopped the movement, but she made a sound of protest.
He lifted his mouth from hers, and she cried out in frustration.
“PG-13 remember?” he reminded. Speaking between harsh, gasping breaths was difficult, but he managed to get the words out coherently enough.
Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess and her lips swollen. She looked fucking irresistible and it took more willpower than he knew he possessed to step away from her.
She looked so bereft by the movement that for a second, he considered throwing caution to the wind and taking her back in his arms. But before he could act on that impulse, the glaze in her eyes faded and she nodded shakily.
He knew he had made the right call when she folded her arms defensively across her chest. Her walls firmly back in place.
“I should tidy up,” she said, her voice throaty and sexy.
“No, that’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“It’s my job,” she reminded him frostily, and he winced. Right…those walls were being heavily fortified if Mrs. Cole felt the need to assert herself in this moment.
“Nah, that’s Mrs. Cole’s job, and she’s not here tonight, remember?”
“God, you make me sound like I have multiple personality disorder,” she said with an impatient huff. “Rest assured, Mrs. Cole and I are the same person.”
“I know…but I also know you wear the persona like an armor. You don’t have to with me.”
“It’s a professional identity. Not a persona.”
Miles disagreed with that. Mrs. Cole was a disguise plain and simple. But he didn’t argue. Choosing instead to say, “But you were here in your personal capacity tonight, Charity. As my friend. Not my employee.”
“It’s just a few plates, Miles,” she said, her voice softening.
“I know, which is why I’m perfectly capable of cleaning them up myself.”
She sighed, and the starch went out of her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I…goodnight, Miles.”
She left before he had a chance to return the greeting. Miles heaved a deep sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.
He was still hard and wanting and dreaded the prospect of yet another cold shower before bed tonight. It had been a kiss. A tame kiss with a little grinding thrown into the mix. He had done more risqué things when he had been a fumbling adolescent with his first girlfriend. His over-the-top reaction to a bit of light petting was rather embarrassing.
He shook his head and moved to open Stormy’s crate. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he had first imagined.
“You’re up early,” Charity observed when Miles and Stormy joined her in the kitchen the following morning.