“Miles,” I say with a sad laugh. “Look at this thing. It’s gorgeous. It’s art! You’ve already done so much to it.”
He shakes his head and gives me a laugh. “He’d give me shit for not having it done, though. He liked to pretend to be this grumpy old man, but he had a soft side he only showed to a couple of us.”
This image makes me smile. “Those are the best kinds. It means more when you’re one of the lucky ones who get that side of them.”
“Exactly,” Miles replies, looking back down at me.
“Did he like your ex?” I ask, the question tumbling out of my lips unexpectedly.
Miles seems puzzled by this question but shakes it off. “Nah, he pretty much hated her. The first time I’d ever heard him use the word bitch was in reference to her.”
This makes me giggle so hard I have to cover my mouth. “I think I would have liked your grandpa a lot.”
Miles tilts his head thoughtfully at me, assessing me up and down for a moment. “For some reason, I think he would have liked you, too.”
“Oh?” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning on the car. “Why would I get special treatment, you think?”
He shrugs. “I think because you’re so real, Mercedes. You don’t put on a show for people, and everything you say is exactly what you are. It’s a rare quality—to be exactly what you show people.”
Guilt crushes down on me at his words. Then the words from Dean the other day pile on top of that. I need to tell him my name. This was the point of tonight. It’s gone on long enough. I’m playing games, and when you play games, someone always loses.
Miles’s stunning blue eyes are full of pain and passion, and so open to me that I feel like I can see his entire soul. I know the time for the truth is now. I need him to know all of me. The boring and the brave. “Miles, I need to tell you—”
I can’t finish my sentence because his mouth is on mine. His huge frame hunched over, and my face cradled in his hands as his tongue sweeps between my lips to caress my tongue.
My hands reach up and grab the back of his arms, holding on for dear life as his lips possess me in such a tender way that I feel butterflies erupt in my toes, in my legs, in my belly, my head. Even in my chest. Especially in my chest, right in the place that thumps harder as he presses my backside flush to the cool metal behind me.
He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, thoughtfully paying homage to both my upper and lower lip before his tongue dives into my mouth, massaging against my own, artfully giving and taking. Ebbing and flowing. A gentle claiming.
I feel his arm shift and flex under my hand before hearing the audible opening of the truck door. Without taking his lips from mine, he slides me over so my butt hits the soft bench of the truck. He kisses me all the way into the truck until I’m laid out flat on my back, my thighs squeezing tight around his sides as his weight presses down on me, hard and heavy.
Finally, I break away, our bodies rolling uncontrollably into each other. “Miles, are you sure?” I croak because I want him to be aware of where we are right now. “You want to, here?”
“Shhhh, Mercedes,” he husks, dropping a soft kiss to my lips before opening his pleading eyes to mine. “Just give me this moment. Please. No research. No thinking. I…you feel so good, and I need to feel good right now.” He exhales heavily and adds, “I need this.”
I swallow down the agony of his voice, my own guilt consuming me entirely as he pulls back and undoes my jean shorts, slowly pulling them down and off my legs along with my underwear. He presses his palm to my mound and swipes between my folds. “You’re always ready for me. Always.” He says it with such reverence that I almost feel guilty.
He falls back down on me, taking my lips again and kissing me feverishly, unceremoniously shoving my shirt up and pulling my bra cups down to pull a nipple deep into his mouth. So hard.
My hands slice through his hair, raking through the thick, short tresses as I pump my hips up into him, riding the delicious punishment he’s giving to my body.
We grind against each other so much my clit is almost raw from his jeans. “Miles, I need you,” I husk softly, no longer able to withstand another moment of this painful torture.
He lets out a deep grumble. “I don’t have a condom on me.” He presses his forehead against my chest, clearly tortured by the idea of having to go upstairs.
I don’t want him leaving me like this, so I reply quickly, “I’m on the pill.” Miles’s head pops up, his eyes so serious on mine. It makes me nervous, so I quickly add, “And I trust you.”
He stares at me, blinking several times and taking me in for a long moment before asking slowly, “Are you sure?”
I nod because honestly, I’m the untrustworthy one here. Miles is perfect.
I reach down between us and begin shakily fumbling with his jeans, a frenzy overcoming me with every minute that ticks by that he’s not filling this ache inside me. I need him just as badly as he needs me. Pleasure will take away the guilt and anguish consuming me. I need to lose myself with his weight and his body and not think about everything I’m hiding from him and how badly this could all come to an end.
I push his jeans down his butt cheeks and fist his girth tightly in my hand, positioning him between my slit and right where I need him.
“Miles,” I cry out in a beg. “Do it.”
“Mercedes,” he growls and thrusts into me. Deep. So deep.
“Yes,” I cry out because the flesh against flesh contact is wonderful. The fullness is miraculous. The pressure is life-affirming.
“Mercedes,” he moans again and again, alternating between my name and kisses to my neck and collarbone. And it isn’t long before I feel tears prick the backs of my closed eyes. Tears of my impending doom.
He’s never going to forgive me.
I frown down at my phone clutched tightly in my hand, mindlessly willing it to ding. To ring. Something. Anything. It’s been days since I took Mercedes out to my house, and I haven’t heard a word from her.
I know going without a rubber is dangerous, but is she worried she caught something from me? I’m fucking clean. We even spoke more about it afterward. I never go without a condom. Even in all those years with Joce, we still always used condoms. She was so paranoid about getting pregnant, which is ironic, considering it was an accidental pregnancy she had with that rich fucker.
And I know I’ve slept around some since then, but I’ve always been careful. So fucking careful. I don’t know what came over me that night in my grandpa’s truck. I guess I just had two worlds collide. The old and the new and it felt so right, so natural, so…real. I had to have her. There. In that truck.
My gramps would have been fucking proud, too. He’d have patted me on the back and probably told me to put a ring on any girl’s finger who’d spread her legs in a vintage truck.
I laugh at that thought and take a long pull of my beer, then gesture to the bartender for another.
“Dude, have you been listening to me at all this entire time?” Sam says, turning to face me, his ginger beard long and scraggly, his eyes narrow and angry.
“Yes, I listened to you. Your uncle wants you to buy him out at Tire Depot. That’s fucking awesome, man.”